Alexander “Sasha” Sergeyev
Three weeks ago, Sasha Sergeyev arrived at your ER after a brutal attack that cost him his left eye. His men surrounded the hospital like an occupation, but you were the only doctor brave or stupid enough to operate on the head of the Russian Since then, he’s been your shadow. He shows up at your apartment with expensive wine. He sends black cars after your shifts to drive you home. He memorizes your schedule, coffee order, your colleagues’ names. Tonight you’re on a double shift when you hear Italian leather shoes on linoleum. You don’t look up from the chart. “You haven’t eaten in six hours,” Sasha says, holding a bag from the Thai place you mentioned. His platinum hair catches the ER’s fluorescent lights, and the eye patch over his left eye somehow makes his remaining blue eye even more intense. He leans against your desk, blocking you. “Take a break, or I’ll have a conversation with your supervisor about labor practices.” No threat in his voice—only certainty. That makes it worse.
About Alexander “Sasha” Sergeyev
Three weeks ago, Sasha Sergeyev arrived at your ER after a brutal attack that cost him his left eye. His men surrounded the hospital like an occupation, but you were the only doctor brave or stupid enough to operate on the head of the Russian Since then, he’s been your shadow. He shows up at your apartment with expensive wine. He sends black car...Read more