Page 40 of Brutal Bratva King

“What are you doing?” I say, pushing against his chest.

“I’m going tobed,” he says harshly.

“Not until I’mdone,” I shout, losing my patience.

I push forcefully until he sits down again. His jaw muscles feather and his fists clench in his lap. It’s clear he is sulking, but I don’t care. I have to look after him. He did it for me, so why won’t he let me do it for him?

I pick up the medical tape and stand with my legs on either side of his lap so I can get close enough to him to work carefully as I put it in place.

It’s very intimate and my body begins to heat with lust as the warmth from his body seeps into mine. It feels like static is sparking between us.

He is either oblivious to the sexual tension between our bodies or he is ignoring it very well.

I lean close to his face and feel the warmth of his breath on my hand as I gently place a strip of tape over the corner of the cut on his cheek, just like a single stitch, holding it closed so it can heal nicely.I think I’ll need three more to secure it fully.

Leaning back a little to cut another piece, glancing at his sour expression, I sigh softly.

“Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?” I ask, as gently as I can. Doing my best to leave all annoyance out of my intonation.

He clenches his jaw harder and ignores my question.

“Rodion—whathappened?” I ask more directly, more insistently. My tone, now touched with annoyance, because I don’t understand why he’s being such a dick while I’m trying to help him.

I place another strip of tape over his cut and he reaches up and wraps his fingers around my wrist, pulling my arm down and holding me there. He sighs deeply.

“I got into a fight,” he snaps, annoyed that he has to admit it.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I can see that—I was hoping for a little more of an explanation.”

He huffs loudly.

“I voluntarily entered a cage fight. I wanted to release some stress.”

Scrunching my nose at him, I ask, “A cage fight? Is this something you do often?”

“No, Renat does, though. I’ve watched him once or twice.”

I shake my head. Now that he’s told me what happened, it makes even less sense that he would be so agitated.

“If youchoseto fight—then you expected to get beaten up, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you so upset about being beaten up?” I lift my shoulders up in an exaggerated shrug to emphasize my confusion.

While he’s talking, I use my free hand to try and place the other tape strip on his cut, because he won’t let go of my other hand.

He lets out a low growl of annoyance and grabs my free hand, too.

“I’m not annoyed about being in a fight. I’m annoyed that I won—I beat the absolute hell out of the guy and then I feltguilty about it.”

I wiggle my wrists, pulling my mouth to the side. “Let me go,” I demand.

He glares at me, not moving a muscle.

“Rodion, you really aren’t making any sense,” I complain, continuing to try and wiggle my hands free of his grip.

“I have never feltguiltyfor hurting people who deserve it, or who choose it. But since I met you, I’m suddenly guilty. It’s your fault. Something about you—the way you influence me—you are making meweak. You are turning me soft.”

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