Page 5 of Obsessed Bratva King

“Bratva aid station,” he says simply.

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

He exhales through his nose, a hint of amusement sliding across his face. “It means we get hurt a lot. So we need places like this where we can get fixed up.”

We. Not I.

Whoever this man is, he’s not alone in this world.

Unlike me.

I press my lips together and flip the kit open.

“Okay, what now?”

He sits on a crate, his posture absurdly relaxed for a man bleeding this much. “First, gloves. You don’t want my blood on you.”

I pull them on and he nods approval.

“Good. Now disinfect the wound. There’s a bottle in the kit—brown, labeled in Russian.”

I find it and hesitate again. “Is it going to hurt?”

He smirks faintly. “You worried about me?”

I scowl. “I just don’t want you punching me if it stings.”

That smirk deepens. “I’ll be nice. Promise.”

I press a soaked gauze pad to his side.

“Now,” he says evenly, like he’s teaching a class instead of bleeding all over the place, “take a clean gauze and pat it dry. Then grab a butterfly strip, peel it, and press the edges of the wound together.”

I fumble through the supplies, my hands shaking. “I can’t?—”

“You can,” he cuts in. His voice is quiet but firm. Not soft, but not unkind. “Trust me.”

I grit my teeth and press the strip into place.

He nods, approving. “Good. Now cover it with one of the patches—blue package, silver backing.”

I find it, peel it open, press it over the wound.

He smirks. “Make a doctor of you yet.”

I shake my head, stripping off the gloves. He’s just another man. Another liar.

I clear my throat, gesturing at his tattoos. “So are we going to talk about those, or should I just pretend I don’t see them?”

He glances down at himself, then shrugs, unbothered.

“You want a history lesson, printsessa?”

“I want to know what the hell I’m nursing.”

He leans back slightly, giving me a better view of the ink. Most of it is black—harsh, military-like designs mixed with intricate patterns and Russian script. Some symbols I recognize. Others look older.

He gestures to a star tattoo on his collarbone. “Vor v zakone. Means ‘thief-in-law.’ High rank in the Russian mafia.”

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