The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

“I know you don’t like that tracking device,” I tell her. “But what you don’t know is that it’s for your own good.”

I didn’t know when I was sent to get her how this girl would affect me. How strong my need to protect her would be. How I’d need to make her mine. Dimitri is so determined to garner her money, if I let her go now, he’d send someone else after her. The very idea of any other man touching her… hurting her… my fingers curl into a fist before I realize it.

“I’m not usually like this,” she whispers.

“I know,” I say with a rueful smile. “Sit quietly while I make a call.”

I pull up Doctor Rothsky on my phone, and dial. I give him instructions in Russian. I want him to dress her wound, but he’ll meet me here. I glance at the time on my phone. I have twenty minutes before we need to return to Dimitri.

When I take her hand in mine and examine her fingers, I see they’re not injured, just stained with the blood from tearing at her own skin. She must have caused some real damage to actually bleed on the floor. I push her off my lap so she’s sitting beside me, and take her leg onto my lap. I ignore when she tries to swat my hand away. I pin her hand to her leg and lift the fabric. Gingerly, I run my finger along the tears on her skin.

“Do you typically self-inflict pain?” I ask her quietly.

When I get no response from her, I bring my eyes to hers. “Do you?”

When she looks away, I have my answer. I blink in surprise. I never expected Sadie would be the type to hurt herself. She’s so reserved and self-contained. But sometimes, the quietest ones are those that are wounded. Though Sadie hides it well, deep down inside she’s hiding something from me. Maybe even from herself.

“I know what that’s like,” I say, looking away from her. I do. There are times I punch a punching bag with bare hands until my knuckles bleed just to feel something. And when I have a woman under my control… tied up, in pain, or on the brink of orgasm and begging for release… the power feeds a hunger inside me nothing else satiates.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she says, turning away from me with her pretty little chin jutting out. I don’t regret for a minute spanking her ass. I do, however, regret leaving her here alone. It won’t happen again.

I glance at the clock, frowning. We don’t have a lot of time for this. I need the doctor to show promptly and handle her injuries before I snap my leash on her neck and have her sit with me and my brothers.

My phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. The doctor’s arrived and needs me to let him in.

“Sit,” I bark out, pointing to the couch. Though she pouts, and she’s frowning, I know she’s not up for trying anything risky. The good spanking I gave her will subdue her for at least a little while.

I walk past the damn closet and open the door to let him in. He’s a tall, young man with wire-rimmed glasses, a clean-shaven face, and eyes that meet me squarely. He knows who we are and what we’re capable of, but he’s paid well to keep his own counsel. His mother hails from Poland and his father from Russia, so he’s Russian born and bred.

“Mister Kasamov,” he greets. “Why the library?”

I step to the side to let him enter. “This is Sadie. She injured her leg and I’d like you to treat it.”

“Kazimir!” Sadie sounds shocked. “You called a doctor for a little scratch?”

I scowl at her and take several deep breaths before I reply. “Yes. I want to be sure it isn’t more than a few scratches. This is an old place, and untreated wounds could prove dangerous.”

Though Sadie huffs out a breath, there’s something in her eyes that’s a bit bemused. I tell the doctor what I need him to do in Russian. He nods, kneels down in front of her, and examines her injuries.

“Fairly superficial,” he tells me in Russian. “Some antibiotic ointment and bandages will help. She must not do that again.”

“Oh, she won’t,” I tell him, watching him with my arms crossed on my chest.

The doctor carefully tends her wounds, and she allows him to stoically. She doesn’t speak or say a thing, just watches quietly.

When he’s dressing the wound, he leaves me with several clean bandages and instructs me to clean them again before bed. Sadie hangs her head, no doubt embarrassed by what she did when she lost self-control.

I thank the doctor and look at the time. “We need to go,” I tell her, but before she does, the doctor holds up a hand and turns to her.