Page 5 of Pregnant Bratva Prisoner

Chapter 2 - Kiril

I rub my fingers into my temple, trying to force the images out of my mind, but they are locked in. I can’t stop picturing her, lying on the floor of that container. When we first opened it up, she was barely breathing, hardly moving. It was only when someone tried to pick her up that she suddenly came back to life and started fighting like a wildcat. It shocks me that even though she was weak, bleeding, and broken, she still managed to fight hard enough against us to do some damage.

I trace my fingers over the teeth marks on my arm. The skin is blue and turning darker. Her teeth pierced through my skin and the doctor is insisting on giving me a shot, worried about infection. But there is no swelling apart from the norm and although it hurts I can’t even think about that pain after seeing the state of her body.

A deep and angry growl vibrates through my chest. We know who did this.

Alexander Golubev. That filthy, scummy, sick, disgusting excuse for a human being. That man deserves to die. He is known for human trafficking, which is exactly why we refuse to do business with him.

We still have no idea why his container was on our dock, but my brothers and I are looking into it. My anger grows deeper when I think about how any one of those girls could have been my sister. They are someone’s sisters. Someone’s daughters, mothers even, wives, girlfriends. I think of my sister lying in that cold metal container, alone, beaten, bruised, and bleeding for who knows how long.

I stand up and slam my fist into the top of my desk.

The state of her body. I can’t even imagine what she has been through, what they did to her.

I find myself walking towards her room again, where I have been keeping her safe in my mansion outside of town. The property borders my brother Fyodor’s, where he lives with his wife and son. The land is huge, and our homes are designed with the utmost attention paid to security. Guards patrol the property. I know no one can reach her here, but I am still so fearful that they will try and take her again.

I walk quietly into her room and stare down at her frail, small frame. Her ribs show where the blanket has shifted down and her top has shifted up.

The doctor sedated her in order to get her out of the container. She was too wild, too desperate, and too scared and we had no other way of getting her out of there safely. For her own protection and ours, we chose to sedate her. I gently pull her top down and tuck the blankets around her again. Even heavily sedated she has been tossing, kicking, and turning in the bed. Sometimes she knots herself in the blankets so badly I have to carefully untangle her from them.

It has been two days since we found her, and the doctor has insisted on keeping her sedated the entire time. He tells me that it was a dangerous choice to bring her here. That I am putting myself at risk as we don’t know who she is and what she is capable of.

I think when he looks at her, he sees no hope. He sees someone so destroyed that she will probably never recover.

I don’t see that at all. What I see is a fighter. Someone with so much inner strength that she survived this; she even had the strength to fight us when we arrived, and she will continue to fight and be all the stronger for it.

I also see the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on in my life.

Even though she was covered in dirt and blood and bruises, I saw the brightness of her green eyes when she stared up at me in horror in the container. They were fierce and I could not look away from them.

Her long blonde hair is a mess of knots across the pillow, but it is soft and beautiful.

Her rose-pink lips are full and parted slightly as she breathes softly. Sometimes, they move as she mumbles, pleading, fearful, and begging for freedom.

The doctor has cleaned and dressed her wounds. She had eight stitches on her thigh, six stitches across her stomach, and two beneath her eye. I gently wiped away as much of the filth from her creamy pale skin as I could manage, but the doc said we can wait until she is awake and then let her have a proper wash. I am trying to be a gentleman, taking care of her vulnerable body, covered in only her underwear and a thin strapped tank top so that the doctor can easily tend to her wounds, but I have to admit that it is a challenge not to appreciate her soft curves and the delicate shape of her waist, how her back curves and the shape of her shoulder blades.

She must have lost weight being stuck in there for however long she was there, so she is on the skinny side, yet so beautiful. When she regains consciousness, I will make sure she has an amazing meal, healthy and fulfilling. I will be there every step of the way to nurse her back to health.

I sit in the chair pulled close to the side of her bed and I hold her slender fingers in my hand, tracing my fingers across the back of her arm.

“You are safe, little rabbit. I’ve got you.”

She looks so young, much younger than I am. She went through this, and she will have to live with it for the rest of her life. I am going to do everything I can to help her.

The doctor told me yesterday that she is going to need intensive rest in order to recover. He told me that she has suffered incredible physical trauma, her body clearly showing the signs of it, and we have no idea what emotional trauma she will be dealing with as well. He told me she needed to be checked into a clinic, but I cannot release her.

I insisted that she stay here with me. The furthest I have gone from her is to the room across the hallway. I have had her in my sights since she arrived. I am the only one, apart from the doctor, who has access to her because I simply do not trust another soul near her.

I will take care of her, no matter how long it takes.

I don’t know what it is about her. I don’t know why I feel this way. I don’t even understand what it is that I am feeling. All I know is that I have to protect her, and I will never ever let anyone hurt her again.

She stirs, fighting the demons in her mind. I move to sit on the bed next to her, pick her up carefully, and pull her into my arms, holding her against my chest and rocking her slowly, speaking softly. I can feel her entire body shaking.

This is the way I have been helping her whenever she is plagued by the dreams that have been haunting her. Except they are not dreams, are they? She really suffered; she has experienced genuine pain and fear that is beyond what any human being should have to endure.

I brush my fingers slowly up and down her back as I rock her.

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