Page 21 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

“He’ll live,” I say quietly. “He needs more than this. Fluids. IV antibiotics. Monitoring.”

Kolya tilts his head slightly. “Can you keep him alive until he talks?”

I nod, mouth dry. “If you give me what I need.”

He stares for a moment longer. Then, without a word, he steps back.

The tension in the room shifts. Not lighter. Just different. Like the decision’s been made—for now.

Boris moves past me, bending over Yuri to adjust the blanket they’ve thrown over him. I stay where I am, knees aching, hands bloody through the gloves.

I don’t speak. Don’t move. I know the second I stop being useful, everything changes.

The fear hasn’t gone anywhere. It pulses in me like a second heartbeat, every breath laced with adrenaline.

Kolya says nothing as he turns away, the sound of his boots heavy against the wooden floor. He moves with slow certainty, like a man who never needs to rush because the world will wait for him. Or break under him. Boris falls into step behind him, leaving me alone beside the man I’ve just kept from death.

Yuri moans softly, his face slick with sweat. I adjust the gauze again, more to keep my hands busy than because it needs fixing. I don’t want to stand. I don’t want to look away from him. He’s the only thing tethering me to the world I knew—fragile as that tether is.

I hear the door creak, then click shut. I’m alone.

Not truly, but close enough. The silence is dense, broken only by the rasp of Yuri’s breathing and the occasional groan of the wind pushing against the house. I finally peel the gloves off, blood sticky against my fingers, and drop them into the dented metal tray at my side.

I wrap my arms around myself and breathe in deep, slow, trying to slow the thudding in my chest. My scrubs are damp with sweat and cold air. I feel like I’m still falling, the ground shifting under my feet, even though I’m not moving.

They’re not going to let me go. I know that now, in a way I hadn’t let myself believe earlier.

They need me, though. At least for now. That… that might be something I can use.

I reach over and press my fingers to Yuri’s neck again, counting the seconds between heartbeats. Still weak. Still alive.

I close my eyes, just for a moment and try to remember how to be brave.

Chapter Five - Kolya

Yuri’s breathing is steady now.

Not strong—far from it—but even. Slow. The color has crept back into his face, banishing that sickly gray pallor that hovered too close to death. The fever’s broken under the young doctor’s hands, and the bleeding has stopped. His leg is still a mess, still reeking of infection, but it’s clean, dressed, bound tight.

For now, he’ll live, and it’s because ofher.

I stand just outside the doorway, watching her. She doesn’t know I’m there yet—she’s too focused, too consumed by the wound, her hands moving quickly over the supplies we gave her. She’s tying off the fresh gauze, fingers stained with Yuri’s blood. Her breathing is shallow, skin pale beneath the smears, hair clinging to her face. But her eyes—they’re sharp. Focused.

Controlled. That’s what gnaws at me.

She should be crumbling. Shaking. Begging. I’ve watched grown men piss themselves with a gun to their head. I’ve seen killers fold under half the pressure she’s been under in the last hour. Yet here she is—trembling, yes, but not breaking. Not unraveling. There’s too much steel in her spine for that.

And it irritates me more than I’d like to admit.

I step inside and let the floorboards creak beneath my boots. She startles at the sound, drawing back from Yuri as if burned.

“He’s stable,” she says quickly, wiping her hands on the hem of her shirt. “He needs rest. No movement. I did what I could.”

I say nothing. Just watch her.

Her eyes flash with something—fear, still, but also defiance. A flicker of something else too. Something that doesn’t belong in someone tied up in a strange place, with a gun still within reach of my hand.

“I want to go home,” she says after a long pause.

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