Page 20 of The Bratva’s Captive Flame

All I can do is stare as he grabs his shoes and socks and walks out, not even bothering to lock the door. What the hell does it mean when the man who claims to own you calls you darling?

Do I even want to find out?

12

DEMIN

Ileave Isabela toweling off in the bedroom and go to my office to hear what the night cost me. The wound in my side pulls with every step. I should never have exerted myself that much, but damn, that woman when she touched me. I just lost all control.

The house is quiet now, the early light just starting to fill the windows. Everyone is worn down from the long night and my second string is standing guard, though I heard a few shouts from Octavio a moment ago. He doesn't seem happy to be here. He seems to understand what's really happening… Good. He'll adjust faster.

The doctor's waiting when I come in, hovering with an update on our guest the chemist. But his eyes glue to my side the instant I shut the door. Mishka leans against a wall with his eyes shut, but they snap open when I speak.

"How is our guest?" I say, lowering myself into the chair behind the desk. "He's making a bit of noise." Mishka pushes off the wall and rubs his eyes, but Dr. Weber speaks first.

"Stable." He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at my side harder. "Severely dehydrated, malnourished, and there are old fractures in his ribs that healed wrong, but nothing that's going to kill him. He'll mend with rest."

"Good."

"He won't let me near him, though." Klaus Weber has been our family doctor since we set up shop here in Berlin. Trustworthy, but opinionated. "He won't take fluids, he won't eat, he won't let me touch the ribs. He keeps saying one thing, over and over, in Spanish and bad English both. He wants his daughter. Until he sees her, he says, he eats nothing and he lets no one put a needle in him."

Stubborn old man. The whole goddamn family is that way. No wonder Isabela is so feisty. I run a hand down my face and feel the exhaustion sitting behind my eyes. I want to climb into bed and let my eyes shut, but I have to know what happened tonight and whether anyone was injured. I didn't get a full report yet, but I need one.

"He'll see her," I say. "Tell him she's safe, she's in the house, and he'll see her after he's slept. If he wants to starve himself before then, that's his choice, but tell him he's being a fool." Mishka's eyes look so heavy he could drop at any second, but he nods at me and I see his phone slip out of his pocket as he starts texting—probably Bart or Mikhail, who've been put in charge of watching the old man.

"He's frightened," the doctor says, "more than he should be. Whatever Solano did to him down there, it traumatized him." Dr. Weber shakes his head, fidgeting with his stethoscope as he continues to glance from my face to my side. I look down to see what he's so fascinated with and notice I'm still bleeding, enough to stain the shirt.

"It usually does." I look back up at him with my own scowl. That damn bullet could've killed me. Isabela is lucky I have this damn fascination with her. "But I need that man healthy, Doctor. He's no use to me dead."

"I'll do what I can." Then Weber changes the subject, saying, "You're bleeding through your shirt."

"It's fine…"

"It is not fine. Sit still." He's already pulling open his bag, and there's no point arguing with him about it. He's keeping us alive, so I let him peel the shirt back and bandage the wound properly with gauze and tape. He works deftly, proving he's done this more than once. "This needed stitches three hours ago. You're lucky it's closing on its own. Keep it dry, keep it clean, and stop walking around like you weren't shot."

His deep, furrowed brow creases but his hands keep working. "Why didn't you come to me?"

"I had other things on my mind," I grumble, wincing as he presses the bandage in place harder. Other things included finding out exactly what reaction Isabela was going to have to my saving her life, which was quite obvious. She knew it and she thanked me, but I never dreamed she would be so forward.

That was the best orgasm I've had in years. And she felt incredible.

"Well, next time you get 'other things' on your mind, remember not to exert yourself." He lifts an eyebrow at me, as if he knows exactly what I was doing. "And remember if you do and it starts bleeding again, you need to call me right away so I can stitch it properly."

"Are we finished?" I'm the fucking boss around here. People don't give me orders. Dr. Weber is the one man on this planet I may eventually listen to if I think his advice is warranted. But I will damn well fuck who I want when I want, and if that means exertion, I'm going to enjoy myself.

"We're finished." He packs his bag, shaking his head, and leaves me alone.

When he's gone, Mishka sinks into the chair across from me just as the door swings open and Bart walks in. Tonight was intense, and after nearly taking a fatal shot, I want to know what went wrong. No way we had that much resistance unless we were set up.

"Talk to me," I say. "Were we followed back to the strip?" Bart struts over and sits down next to Mishka, and he looks just as tired, though his hands are stained with someone's blood. Hopefully not his.

"No," Bart sighs. "I had eyes on the road behind us the whole way and put two men on a loop around the airfield before we boarded. Nobody trailed that convoy out of the city."

"Then explain something to me." I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "The second team came out of that south building ready and waiting, like they had timed to the moment perfectly. They knew we were coming. But I don't understand…"

Mishka's eyes flick away anxiously. He knows what it means and he knows how I'm going to react. "Mikhail says they called us 'The Russians' when they were shouting… Which means they knew who we were too. But no one even spoke Russian."

"We were covered head to foot," Bart adds, shaking his head. These two are as baffled as I am. "No fucking way they saw our ink or knew who we were… I swear, Boss, we didn't fuck this up. Someone tipped them off."