Page 11 of Marked & Bred By the Bratva
He doesn’t say anything while he works. His hands are big,rough. Skilled. Confident. He tightens something with a sharp grunt, then reaches blindly behind him and says, “Towel.”
I scramble to grab one and hand it to him without a word.
He wipes his hands, closes the cabinet, and finally stands to face me.
“All set,” he says simply.
“Seriously? You fixed it?”
He gives a short nod.
I blink. “Wow. Thank you. I didn’t even…I wasn’t sure you’d answer the door.”
One thick, inky eyebrow quirks.
“I mean, you don’t really say much. I wasn’t even sure if you lived there full-time.”
“I live there.”
Right. Obviously. Ava, shut up.
Now that he’s standing close, it hits me just how big he is. At least six-four, with shoulders wide enough to block sunlight. His chest is massive under that thin black tank, nipples barely visible through the fabric. My eyes drop for a second before I catch myself.
He notices.
Of course he notices.
I feel my cheeks go hot. “So… um, thank you. Really.”
“You shouldn’t go out like that.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re in a hoodie. No pants. No shoes. What if it hadn’t been me?”
I give him a smile. “I mean, you were the one I was knocking for.”
His jaw ticks. “Still.”
There’s something sharp in his voice. Not judgment, more like frustration. Like I’ve done something wrong and he’s trying not to snap at me for it.
I frown, feeling suddenly awkward. “Well, thanks again. I’ll let you…”
“You live alone?”
It’s not a question so much as a demand for confirmation.
I hesitate. “Yeah.”
Another tick in his jaw. His eyes flick over me again. Assessing.
“I’ll give you my number,” he says. “Next time something breaks, call me. Don’t wait.”
“Okay,” I murmur, pulling out my phone.
He recites it.
I type it in. “What name should I put?”
