Second Best (Volkov Bratva 1)

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.”