Once Aaron was fully conscious, dried off, and wrapped in a robe with layers of towels still tight around his wrists, Rafi carried him to the bed. Staying in the room with the bloody tub would do no good for anyone’s state of mind.
“You need a hospital,” Tasha said, sitting beside Aaron on the bed with her arm tight around him.
Aaron, looking wet and small and much younger than—what was he, nineteen?—huddled into Tasha’s arms. “No. No hospital. It’d be all over the tabloids in an hour.”
A couple days ago, Rafi would have thought that was a stupid reason to risk one’s life. He could sympathize a lot more, now.
“We’ll call the concierge,” Julian said, his tone brooking no argument. “I’m sure they’ll know a doctor willing to make a house call.”
“You may need a blood transfusion,” Tasha s
