Page 63 of A Mistake of Identity
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A small sound of distress pulled Gabriel from the memory. He leaned forward instantly, running gentle fingers through Ellis’ hair until the younger man settled again.
“Shhh, mon coeur,” he soothed. “You’re home now. You’re safe.”
He watched the shallow rise and fall of Ellis’ chest, studied the bruises already fading under regular applications of Smooth. The medical-grade cream was working—the abrasions on Ellis’ wrists were healing, the brutal marks on his skin slowly diminishing—but not fast enough. Never fast enough.
The quiet click of the door announced Dr. Nguyen’s arrival for her hourly check. Gabriel didn’t look up from where his thumb traced careful circles on Ellis’ palm, but he asked the question burning in his mind: “When will he wake?”
“Not yet.” Her tone was gentle but firm. “The first course of treatment is aggressive. This new combination therapy has only been available for the last decade, and while its effectiveness is remarkable, the interaction between the compounds causes severe physical distress as they work.We need to flush the cocktail of drugs they used to keep him compliant from his system, and that process alone...” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “The withdrawal would be excruciating if he were conscious. Keeping him in a medically induced coma for this initial three-day course is kindest. We’ve barely finished day one.”
Gabriel watched her check the IV drip rates with her usual efficiency, though her movements seemed gentler than her typical brisk manner. She turned to face him, her professional mask firmly in place.
“Along with the detox therapy, he’s on an aggressive course of antibiotics and antivirals,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Two weeks of forced contact with multiple unknown partners means we’re treating him for every possible exposure. These medications need time to work through his system properly. We can’t rush this, Gabriel.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “And after?”
“Five more days of oral medication while awake. Then, we run another full panel. He was lucky,” she added, checking Ellis’ IV lines with practiced efficiency. “No surgical repairs were needed, but the trauma was still extensive. I’m prescribing complete bed rest for a minimum of one week after he wakes, followed by at least a month of minimal physical activity.” Her dark eyes met his. “And I will be monitoring his recovery closely.”
“Understood.” The word came out rougher than he intended.
Dr. Nguyen nodded, made a few notes on her tablet, and quietly left them alone.
Gabriel turned back to Ellis, taking in how vulnerable he looked against the white sheets. The untouched bourbon forgotten, he took Ellis’ hand again, carefully, mindful of the healing skin.
He would find every person responsible for this. Would dismantle their operation piece by piece. Would ensure they suffered as Ellis had suffered, and then some.
But that was for later. For now, there was only this, Ellis’ cold fingers gradually warming in his grasp, the quiet beep of monitoring equipment, the knowledge that his petit oiseau was home and safe and his.
Gabriel pressed a gentle kiss to Ellis’ palm. “Je suis là,” he whispered again. “Je serai toujours là.”
The room darkened gradually as evening crept in, broken only by the soft glow of medical monitors and a small lamp in the corner. A plate of food Annabelle had insisted on bringing sat mostly untouched on the side table, his fork occasionally pushing a piece of chicken from one side to the other.
The quiet knock at the door revealed Alain. His security chief entered silently, waiting until Gabriel nodded before speaking.
“Twenty-three total, including Ellis.” Alain’s voice was soft but clear. “Two were already dead when we found them. Another didn’t make it to the hospital.”
Gabriel’s hand tightened fractionally around Ellis’ before he forced himself to relax.
“The police are questioning survivors, but the Trafficking Survivor Advocates stepped in quickly. They’re mediating, keeping the more zealous officers in check.” Alain moved to stand by the window, his reflection barely visible in the darkened glass. “Most victims were as heavily drugged as Ellis. The few coherent enough to speak only mentioned Russian rescuers.”
A slight smile touched Alain’s lips. “The Bratva are already being hailed as heroes in the press. Word is they’re trying to leverage this ‘humanitarian intervention’ to get federalsurveillance moved from their territory. No idea how that will play out.”
He shifted, and Gabriel recognized the posture that meant there was more.
“Nika and I secured rooms in Fourth Cat shelters for those without immediate family connections. Nika is...” Alain’s smile widened slightly. “Well, he’s complaining extensively about pro bono work, finding families, arranging travel home, dealing with people in general. But he’s satisfied this should fulfill his annual pro bono requirements.”
A soft exhale that might have been a laugh. “He’s also apparently appointed himself efficiency expert for the Survivor Advocates organization. They’re overworked, underfunded, and while well-intentioned...” Alain shook his head with what looked suspiciously like fondness. “Nika’s already reorganizing their entire management structure. They seem too relieved for the help to question his methods.”
Alain checked his watch, then looked pointedly at the untouched food tray beside Gabriel. “You should try to rest. Dr. Nguyen said she’ll keep him under for at least two more days.” When Gabriel didn’t respond, Alain added quietly, “I’ll stay with him. He won’t be alone.”
Gabriel knew he should move, should attempt to sleep in something other than the chair he’d occupied for the past eighteen hours. But the thought of leaving Ellis, even with Alain’s watchful presence...
“Gabriel.” Alain’s voice was firm but gentle. “You won’t do him any good if you collapse. Four hours. That’s all I’m asking.”
Reluctantly, Gabriel nodded. He pressed a soft kiss to Ellis’ palm before laying it carefully back on the bed.
The next three days blurred together in a cycle of quiet vigils and reluctant departures.
