Page 33 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

As we approach the hideout, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. It may not be home, but for now, it’s our haven.

“Help me get him inside,” I say to Gael. Together, we carefully support Damien’s weight as we lead him into the small cottage and lay him on a decrepit-looking couch. Once done, I turn to face my brother.

“Thank you, Gael,” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Anything for family,” he replies, giving me a reassuring smile. “Want me to stay?”

“No,” I oppose his suggestion vehemently. “I’ll take it from here. I don’t want Father wondering where you are. And Gael?”

He looks up at me, afraid.

“Please keep it to yourself. Please. I can’t bear to make Papa upset.”

He sighs, conflicted within, but eventually nods. He understands where I’m coming from.

“Let me at least get you a first aid kit,” he offers, motioning toward Damien. He brings the box from his car, leaves it on the table next to where Damien lies, half unconscious, and leaves. “Call me if you need something,” he whispers from the doorway before shutting it closed behind him.

It’s just Damien and me now, and it’s up to me to keep him safe. I only pray I don’t mess this up.

***

The dim light from a single hanging bulb casts shadows across the dingy room, making it feel eerily cold and unwelcoming. My heart thuds in my chest as I open the first aid kit. Damien’s shallow breaths are a constant reminder of the precarious situation we’re in.

I bring out some cotton and antiseptic and begin to clean his wounds. His eyes flicker open on the first touch, meeting mine with a mix of pain, gratitude, and vulnerability that I’ve never seen before.

“Let me help you,” I say softly, determined to put him at ease. He nods and closes his eyes again.

For hours, I work meticulously, cleaning his wounds and dressing them with bandages. My fingers tremble with fatigue, but I refuse to give in. As I tend to him, I can’t help but notice the intricate tattoos that adorn his body.

I wonder why he likes this—putting himself in pain. The tattoos are large, all over his back, his shoulders, and up his arms. They must have hurt. And the boxing? It could have killed him. Tears spring to my eyes as I think of what haunts this man so much that pain becomes a reasonable outlet.

I wipe away my tears and keep at my work. I would have loved to have given him a painkiller, but he’s so dazed and out of it that I know it’s better to let him just rest. It isn’t until I finish securing the last bandage that my exhaustion catches up to me like a barreling train.

I put aside the first aid box and go sit in a chair near Damien. I must stay awake to check he’s still breathing and make sure he doesn’t need anything. To keep myself awake, I check in on Lev. He tells me he’s alright, but he and Anoushka are hiding out in another hideout because the cops might still be looking for them. Once it’s safe, they’ll head home. He asks if I need help.

I think better than to tell him what’s happening because I know Lev and Anoushka might put themselves in danger to get to us. “He’s a little banged up, but I gave him some first aid.”

“That’s good, Sis,” Lev says. “If you need me, just holler.”

“I think we’ll be okay,” I mutter. I put aside the phone. My eyelids grow heavy, and despite my best efforts, I drift off into a fitful sleep, still seated next to Damien.

When I awake, disoriented, the room is shrouded in gentle darkness. A sliver of moonlight sneaks in through a crack in the curtains, illuminating Damien’s face as he painstakingly attempts to change his bandages one-handed.

“Damien?” I say, sitting up.

“I bled through,” he grunts. I look at the discarded bandages on the floor, stained with blood and pus.

“Oh God. Let me help,” I whisper, rising groggily from the chair. He hesitates for a moment, then nods, allowing me to take over the task.

As I gently unwrap the old bandages, replacing them with fresh ones, our fingers brush against each other, sending an electric jolt through my veins.

“Thank you,” Damien murmurs, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”

I glance up at him, our eyes locking in a moment of unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to thank me,” I reply, my heart swelling with an unfamiliar warmth. “That’s what family is for.”

“Family,” he repeats, tasting the word as if it’s foreign on his lips. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and for the first time since we’ve met, I catch a glimpse of a man as human as one can get; gentle, soft, seeking affection and love.

Our eyes lock into place, and I get lost in them. I can feel every change in the air, the prickles tickling my arms and neck. I soft, sweet shiver goes down my spine, and he leans forward, ever so slightly. He winces a little, but I know what he wants. Without a second thought, I lean forward, bringing my lips to his. His lips are rough and unyielding, but beneath the surface, I can feel the tenderness, the vulnerability he’s been fighting to hide. I can taste the bitter tang of his pain, but there’s also a sweetness that I’ve never tasted before. I can feel him morphing into someone else right in front of me. A man in need of my love, my comfort, my strength.

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