Arranged Bratva Love

Aurora

Two days later

I was in the library of the apartment building when I heard the front door open and close. I held a book I’d been trying to read for a few months, but each time I did, the words blurred together.

I put the book down on the small table that held my empty coffee cup, and got to my feet.

Slavik hadn’t been back home ever since he got that call. We’d shared one incredible night together, and it felt like he’d been avoiding me. I knew he wasn’t. There was no reason for him to.

I grabbed the cup, heading out to find Slavik hanging up the cell phone. He was covered in blood, and I saw a lot of it coming from his side.

“What happened?” I asked.

He looked at me. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

I rushed to the kitchen, looking through the cupboards, trying to find the emergency first-aid kit.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stood in the doorway.

“I’m looking for the first-aid kit. Where is it? Surely you keep one around.”

He chuckled. “It’s in the bathroom.”

I grabbed his arm as I brushed past him, not allowing him to leave my sight until I got him clean.

If I had to, I’d call a doctor. Not that I knew a good one. Since I’d been his wife, he hadn’t given me the chance to have all the necessary contact details I needed. Who to call in the event of an emergency and where to go.

“Sit.” I pushed him onto the toilet seat and looked through the cupboards, finding what I needed. “Remove your shirt.”

“If you wanted me naked, Aurora, all you’ve got to do is ask. This show of caring is sweet.”

“You think this is a show?”

“What else could it be?”

The urge to slap him was strong, but I felt I should be getting some extra good points for not hurting him. He’d deserve it.

With his jacket off, he worked at the buttons, and I quickly slapped his hands out of the way. Even though he was the one shot, my hands shook as I released each button. The moment I started, Slavik didn’t stop me.

He was calm. I was not.

There was so much blood.

“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” I asked.

“A joke, funny,” he said.

“You didn’t laugh. It couldn’t be that funny.”

“The other guy isn’t laughing. The other five men are not laughing.”

“Five? You were attacked by five men?”

He shrugged.

“Please tell me no one else was hurt.”

“You care more about people you don’t know than your husband, Aurora?”

“I care … about you.” I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like we’d talked or anything.

He had given me one night, and in the past few days, I’d thought nonstop about it. About him. About us.

Sex wasn’t everything, and it had somehow dragged me into its mystical web of need. This shouldn’t even bother me.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes, you know I do.” I filled the sink with warm water, grabbing a cloth to wipe away the dried blood. “You got shot.”

“How far does this caring go? I’m curious.”

I glanced into his eyes to find him watching me. “It’s nothing too serious. A lot of people care about each other. It’s not important.”

“I have a feeling you caring about me, Aurora, is important.”

“You’re my husband. I’m supposed to care about you.”

“No, you don’t. We both know your father gave you to me because he didn’t care what happened to you.”

I flinched. I couldn’t help it.

I was very much aware of what my father had done. “What does that make you?” I asked. “Willing to take a daughter who is only second best? He didn’t think you were good enough for his favorite daughter?”

Slavik reached up and touched the scar above my right eyebrow. It was a faint line and had happened so long ago.

“Your family strives on perfection. What happened to cause this little scar on a perfect face?”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Your face is flawless, Aurora. Smooth. Soft. You’re a beautiful woman.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

“Tell me about the scar.”

I’d never told anyone about my scar. No one had cared.

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m your husband.”

“And you’re demanding to know the truth?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. The excess blood had been cleaned off his body, and now I had to deal with the wound caused by the bullet. “Don’t you want to go to the hospital?”

“It’s a graze. I’ve got everything here I need.”

I slapped his hand away and started to rummage through the first aid kit, finding the sterile wipes.

“Tell me,” he said.

I got to work on cleaning his wound. The sight of it alone made me feel sick. If it was me, I’d be screaming and crying out in agony. Even as I cleaned it with the sterile wipe, Slavik didn’t seem to notice the pain.

It was kind of scary how he was able to take so much.

With the area clean, I looked through the kit and he took over, pulling out a packet with a needle, as well as something that looked like thread.

“You need to sew it together. I’ll instruct you.”

“I’m not a doctor or a nurse.”

“I don’t need either. I’ll tell you how to do it.”

He took the needle and thread, which it wasn’t, but I had no idea what the medical term was for it. For all I knew, it was needle and thread.

When he went to insert it into his flesh, I cried out. “Don’t you need to take anything?”

“I can handle it. I’m just getting you started.”

I winced as he pierced his flesh. He released a grunt and once he finished securing the first stitch, he waited for me.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

I highly doubted that.

On my knees between his spread thighs, I worked slowly, trying not to hurt him, but each time I touched the skin, I wanted to vomit. I’d put on a pair of gloves to try to keep the wound clean. He should have called a doctor.

“It hurts, Aurora. Tell me how you got the scar.”

“You’re saying that to manipulate me.”

“Is it working?”

“I got the scar when I was six or seven. I’m not sure exactly what age. Isabella had been out playing in the yard. She liked to play outside. I think she had a thing for the guards watching her. I’m not sure. She was always around them.” I shrugged.

“Where were you?”

“In the library. My father has a giant room. He never reads them. Just seeks out the most expensive titles so no one else can have them. He stores them and I spent most of my childhood reading them.”

“If you weren’t playing, how did you get the scar?”

“Isabelle decided to start throwing stones at the house. I don’t know why. I think she was angry because she’d been told no. One of the stones went through my father’s window. He got me and Isabella into the same room and because he didn’t want to punish his precious daughter, he slammed me around the back of the head, hard. I fell and I hit the corner of a cupboard. That’s how I got the scar.” I remember the pain from the blow. He’d always hit me. My father believed in physical punishments. I’d been belted, slapped, even kicked during my time at home.

Slavik’s hands clenched.

“Is it hurting?”

“Did Isabella get you punished a lot?”

“Not always. She struggled to be … good. She had a wild side, and each time he hit me or took it out on me, she’d come and sit with me after, read. Marrying you is the first time she hasn’t come to console me.” I offered him a smile.

“Being married to me shouldn’t be a punishment,” he said.

“It’s not.” There was freedom with being with him. Not a whole lot but at least I didn’t have to worry about my sister’s punishments anymore.

“You’ll never get hit here,” he said.

“You don’t have to worry about it. You asked and I told you.”

“And now I want to go and beat the shit out of your father.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“For hurting you and treating you like shit.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “I’ve been treated like shit my whole life. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You’ve gotten so used to it, you’re expecting it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten used to certain treatment. How do I finish this off?”

Slavik told me as I still reeled from our very normal conversation. I think it was the first time we spoke to each other without sex or anger being involved.

After finishing off the stitching, I covered his wound with a large bandage, using some tape to secure it in place. Pleased with my handiwork, I stood, gathering the used pieces of equipment.

Slavik grabbed his shirt.

“Do you want me to cook you something?” I asked. I didn’t even know why I did. Every other meal I’d cooked for him had gone uneaten or in the trash. The day after, I’d seen the plate full of food in a pile as if it had just been slid right in without a single taste.

It had cut me.

“You can cook?” he asked.

“Yes. I’ve … I left you food out before. I gave you a note or something.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“I never saw it,” Slavik said.

“What?”

“I never saw any meal waiting for me. It’s why I started eating out or I made myself a sandwich.”

“But all the food was dumped into the trash. I’d make myself and Sergei food, and I’d leave your plate in the oven. There was always a note.” I paused and then looked away.

“Sergei,” Slavik said. “He dumped my food in the trash. I had no idea you’d cooked for me, Aurora. I didn’t even know you could cook.”

“I can. I mean, I do cook. I don’t know if I’m any good.” I offered him a smile. He chuckled. “I’m sorry. I had no idea Sergei would do that.”

“Sergei would do anything to win your heart. I can see that.”

My mind replayed the moment he killed him. It was odd as I’d always felt sad about that moment. Knowing Sergei had done that, I was so annoyed. My marriage had been difficult from the start, and each time I attempted to make it easier, someone else came in and made it even harder.

Anger filled me as I turned to walk out of the bathroom.

Slavik grabbed my arm and tugged me close to him. I didn’t have time to question what he was doing as his lips brushed across mine. I knew he was in pain and didn’t touch his side as I kissed him back.

I liked his lips on mine, slowly growing addicted to his kisses. They always started out slow, tender, only to build to an inferno that consumed me. As he traced his tongue across my lips, everything faded into the background. There was no care in the world other than his lips on mine. I needed him, and I pressed my body against his, trying to get as close to him as possible.

Fire flooded my body.

Need pulsed between my thighs.

Everything was heightened.

I was hungry for more.

Desperate.

Just as suddenly as it all started, he pulled away, leaving me empty.

It was time to go and make food. Without a word, I left the bathroom, needing the space. I touched my swollen lips as I entered the kitchen.

It was just a kiss. To me, it felt like so much more, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop thinking about it.