Page 19 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

I’m never going to forgive the bastard for what he did to you. I hate him.

More blood seeps onto the ground. His head falls to the side and his lifeless eyes find mine. The color drains from his face. Blood soaks my shoes as I drop to my knees beside his body.

My scream is the last thing I hear.

Chapter 8 - Nik

As I carry Hazel into my house, I can’t get her blood-curdling scream out of my head.

Never has a scream bothered me like that. I’ve killed countless people without so much as a second thought. I’ve done what I had to do to survive, without emotions or feelings.

Hearing her in that state was something else. It pierced through every wall I’ve built around myself and shook me to the core. She howled like she was a wounded animal waiting for slaughter. Her head hitting the floor when she passed out froze the blood pumping through my veins.

I walk down the hall, to the living room, and lay Hazel on the dark green suede couch. Her hair fans out around her as she sighs softly. I take her petite wrists in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over the red rings. Her bottom lip quivers at the touch.

“Nik?”

I take one last look at her wrists before putting her hands down gently. “In here, Doctor Logan.”

Doctor Logan strides into the living room, his white lab coat billowing out behind him. “I came straight from the hospital when Dimitri called. What’s wrong with the patient?”

I take a couple of steps back, giving him space to set his black bag on the coffee table. He opens the bag and pulls out a blood pressure cuff.

“We had an incident at the factory. She passed out. Hasn’t woken up yet. It’s been an hour.”

The doctor nods and fits the cuff around Hazel’s arm. He takes her blood pressure and pulls out a small pad, jotting down a couple of notes.

His deep frown has me clearing my throat.

He continues to check her over, his hands gliding over her body. I perch myself on the armrest of the armchair and wait.

After a few minutes, he packs up his bag. “She’s going to be just fine. She’s in a state of shock right now and dehydrated, but she should wake up soon. She might be a bit confused and emotional when she wakes up.”

“As to be expected.” I glance at Hazel, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. “Keep your phone nearby. I will call you if there is anything else.”

Doctor Logan sees himself out. I wait until the door slams shut behind him before sitting beside her on the couch.

I thought that the tightness in my chest would ease by now, but it still doesn’t. The little vixen has been broken. She was so confident and brave until I put a bullet through her friend’s head.

When I saw her like this, I felt a jab in my heart, as if a knife had stabbed through it. I’ve watched women cry over their husbands’ dead bodies and felt nothing. It took everything in me to maintain my composure instead of rushing to her and taking her into my arms when she fell to the ground.

Blood stains her hair and skin from falling into her friend’s body. I sigh and get to my feet. I head into the kitchen and pull out a washcloth, wetting it with warm water.

When I return to her, she’s still breathing softly. A muscle in her jaw twitches as I wipe away some of the blood on her face. Her soft groan is the only sign that she’s close to waking.

Once the blood is gone from her skin, I prop a pillow behind her, straighten her up a little, and take off her jacket. She still doesn’t wake up; her body lies limp in my arms.

Carefully, I work her stained shirt up her torso, before sliding it over her head and tossing it to the side. Staring at her profile, I admire the column of her neck, the sweet, nose, and her full breasts under the lace bra … she is a study in beauty.

I ball my fists in an attempt to stop myself from running my hands over her body. But before I do anything stupid, I ask one of the maids to take off her shoes and remove her jeans, while I rummage through my drawers until I find an old T-shirt from one of my favorite bands.

She stirs a little when I slip my T-shirt over her. It falls over the curves of her body and ignites flames inside me. My erection pulsates painfully as I imagine her in my bed instead of on the couch.

Fuck. There’s something about seeing her in my shirt.

None of this fucking day makes any sense.

I should have been happy to see her break down. It’s what I wanted. I wanted her broken. Instead, all I feel is an uneasiness that I can’t shake.

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