Page 53 of Stolen By the Bratva

I grimaced but nodded regardless. “A few times, my…” I wasn’t sure what to call Rosamund. “I was expected to help with some injuries.” Telling him that I had been required to do my best and stitch up Rosamund’s split flesh would instill much confidence in my abilities. “I can try,” I amended.

He turned, working on removing his jacket, and I got closer to help him get his garments off. Blood had the fabric sticking to his skin, and he sat on the bench in the voluminous bathroom while I wiped off the blood and sweat. Over and over, I dipped a washcloth into the sink. Red, then pink, the basin filled with his blood until it was mostly clear.

Unlike the other apartment, this one was stocked with ample first-aid supplies, and I had more than enough to work with to begin stitching him. I doubted the topical cream numbed his flesh adequately, but he didn’t flinch as I did my best to sew up the gash on his shoulder and back. I was no doctor, but I was certain I was helping, not hurting, the situation.

“Is this…” I sighed, hoping to settle my nerves. I’d done the hard, squeamish part already. I’d sewn up his wound. As the quiet and lack of fighting filled the air around us, my emotions swarmed over me, consuming me with too many thoughts, worries, and questions. Flashbacks of pulling the trigger on Andrey haunted me, and I fidgeted under the enormity of all that had happened.

I was married.

I was a killer.

I would be wanted, already with one hit on my head, but damned more so for killing Pavel’s son.

“Is this where we will live?” I finished asking. I needed to focus on something, anything, now that I was done concentrating on sewing Alek’s shoulder and back wound. If I let this quiet get to me, if I gave in to this idle calm and allowed my mind to wander, I’d go restless and crazy.

“No.” He stood, turning to face me.

Without a shirt on, he cut a sharp contrast to my mostly white attire. Strips of the ribbons from my skirts were missing, but only minimal blood marred the shirt he’d given me. His taut skin glowed, tanned and healthy, but the suggestion of his being closer to nudity alerted me to wanting to see—and feel—more.

“I have a few other places.” He lifted his hand to tip my chin up, and I blinked at the somber need in his eyes. “We’ll find something together. A marital house.”

I struggled to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry at the intensity of his stare. We simply gazed at each other as too many unsaid things passed in the air between us.

From him, I saw gratitude, maybe even something like respect or admiration. I wasn’t going to wait for him to thank me for saving his life. I had yet to tell him thanks for saving mine, too, and he had in more ways than one. He’d spared me from getting married to an abusive man like his cousin. He’d gotten me away from my father’s reach.

If anything, it was I who owed him. Those nerves built and stretched, making me suddenly more anxious and unsettled. He saw the uneasiness in my eyes, and he gripped my elbow, tugging me toward him as he backed us out of the bathroom.

I was his property now. His to move as he wanted, to do with as he pleased.

For the first time, the idea of being his—completely his—thrilled me.

I was Alek’s wife, not some used-up virgin he’d taken.

I was his woman.

His other half.

“Remember what I promised?”

I stumbled, looking deep into his dark brown eyes as he led me further from the bathroom and toward what seemed to be a richly decorated yet masculine bedroom. Lights were dimmed low, but I wasn’t stumbling in the dark. I reached for him, anyway, hanging my arm around his neck and careful not to touch the tender flesh I’d just sewn up and bandaged.

“You’ve made no promises,” I argued, hoping I sounded playful, not scared.

“You didn’t run,” he reminded me as he picked up my hand and kissed the spot where my wedding band rested on my finger. “And I told you if you didn’t think about running…” He pushed me.

I stepped away slightly, and as the backs of my knees hit the mattress, I lost my balance and tumbled onto the king-size bed. Captured by his smoldering look, I scrambled to sit up and watch him, unable to tear my attention away for a single second.

His fingers made quick work of his pants. He unzipped and lowered his clothes, and his long, hard dick sprang free.

I moaned, so low and quiet, I doubted he could hear, but he saw me rub my thighs together.

“I told you if you didn’t run, you could have this.”

I exhaled a shaky breath, watching him rub his fist up and down his shaft. Already, the tip leaked drops of precum, and I licked my lips in anticipation.

He was right. I wouldn’t have considered it a promise, per se, but he had taunted me and left me unsatisfied in the other apartment. He’d led me on, teased me to a dripping, sex-crazed mess, and aborted seeing me come.

I was more than eager to have him now. If he was offering, I’d take anything to chase away the tumultuous visions filling my mind. Sex would grant me a reprieve from dwelling on the horror of what I’d done.

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