Page 32 of Brutal Bratva King

I thought he was going to kill that guy. He was savage. What he did was absolutely brutal. I’ve never seen someone so aggressive towards another person before.

I don’t know what I would have done if he had killed him.

I know he was angry because he was scared of what almost happened to me—he actually wasn’tthatmad with the guy until he saw that the bullet had grazed my arm—then he flared up like a savage beast.

And all I could do was stand there staring in horror.

Except—if I am honest with myself—that isn’t actually true.

I wasn’t completely horrified about what I saw. Not as much as I should have been.

There was a part of me that was really turned on by his wild aggression. His uncontrolled animal side. The brute force he used against the man who hurt me.

Does that makes me a terrible person?

I bite my lip thinking about it.

I didn’t have any control over my reaction. It just happened. My pulse quickened and my heart was racing, and I could have mistaken it for adrenalin except for the heat building between my legs.

His brutal strength and all of that pent up masculine rage. It showed me what he was capable of. It showed me how far he was willing to go to protect me and defend me.

Yes—it turned me on.A lot more than I want to admit.

Even now, my skin tingles at the memory of it.

And then he went from a wild, raging beast to a man who wanted to hold me in his arms and kiss my head in the most gentle way.

I continue to bite my lip as we enter the office. I desperately need to think about something else.

Without any warning, Rodion lifts me in his arms and sits me on top of the desk. My legs are dangling over the edge.

I swing them impulsively, trying to disperse some of the pent up energy. Both desire and shock—mixed together in the strangest ways.

I’ve never been shot before. It doesn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I thought it would. I know it’s just a graze, but it still counts.

I’ve also never had a man fight like that for me before, either.

But it does bother me to be tuned on by aggression in this way. What does that say about the type of person I am?

Rodion is crouched down on his knee in front of one of the office cupboards. He’s pulling out a large canvas black zip bag.

He mutters something I can’t hear, then stands up and places the canvas bag on the desk next to where I’m sitting.

“Let’s see what we have in here. It’s been a while since I had to use this one. The staff have their own first aid kits in the locker room.” He unzips the top and pulls the flap open. I peer inside, curious about what’s in there.

It’s very neatly packed with bandages and disinfectants, a sewing kit with fishing line,scissors, alcohol wipes, Q-tips, creams—

“Here we go,” he says, placing a few items in a row on top of the desk.

Then he turns to me and raises his brows.

“Take off your top,” he says, completely matter-of-fact.

I glare at him in horror. “I’m only wearing this top—I don’t have another one on underneath it,” I say, aghast.

“And? The office door is closed. No one is coming in here.”

I chew my bottom lip. It’s not like he hasn’t already seen me in less than my underwear—it just feels really weird to be doing it now, at work, after I got so turned on watching him fight the other guy. It wasn’t even much of a fight. The other guy didn’t get one shot in.

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