Page 15 of Bratva Wolf

“Are there more?”

I hear a gun fire as Cynric flies back from the impact, grabbing his side, and crumples forward. Saxon is there to kill the man, but my heart leaps into my chest. Cynric is on the ground with blood pooling around him. I glance around and realize we’ve killed the intruders.

Saxon waves at the camera. “Izzy come here. Cynric’s down.”

Moments later, Isabella runs into the room and kneels beside my brother, barking orders at Saxon and me. She’s asking for tampons or something, and Saxon hits my arm. “Get her bag.”

“What the fuck?”

She yells. “Thane. In the hall closet is a large black bag. Bring it to me.”

“What? Now you need your luggage.”

She stares at me with a red face. “Get my fucking med bag now. Shut the fuck up with the comments so I can save your brother.” I don’t move and she screams. “Now.”

Footsteps pound into the hall as my father marches in with more men, barking at one of them to grab the bag Isabella wants. Saxon bounds into the room with an armful of feminine products.

What the fuck does she need those for? I watch her as she pulls the maxi pads out of the wrappers and presses them to Cynric’s wound. Damn. I never would have thought of that.

She’s growling at Saxon to open more. “Thane, get me towels.”

This time I don’t argue and move to grab her towels from the laundry room, setting the basket down by her side as a man gives her the black bag she asked for.

My father assists Cynric’s woman as he pours water over her blood-soaked hands.

Air rushes out of my lungs. I’m no stranger to blood, but that’s Cynric. He’s always been larger than life for me. I wasn’t worried when he had his car accident and had severe burns and injuries. I knew he’d survive. His reputation as a beast was only enhanced by his new scars.

Isabella picks up metal forceps out of her bag, and I grimace. “We need a real doctor.”

Anatoly scoffs behind me. “She’s in her last year of med school, Thane. She’s done this before at a clinic in a bad area. She knows what she’s doing. Leave her the fuck alone.”

I turn to glare at the enforcer. He’s near my size but my anger makes me much more dangerous. I envision slicing his throat with my knife.

Papa praises Isabella and draws my attention.

She blurts. “I’m worried about blood loss.”

Papa answers in his usual calm tone. “So, give him blood.”

Saxon steps forward. “We’re all O positive. It’s a running joke in the family.”

I realize I should have volunteered. Cynric is my responsibility, but before I can offer, my father’s illegal doctor, his “dentist” enters the room asking Isabella what she needs. He asks her if he needs her to stitch the wound in his chest.

My heart is racing as concern forces me to answer. “You should do it. You’re a real doctor. She’s just pretending at it.”

Papa’s growl resonates throughout the room with murmurs of surprise by the men.

She yells in a voice I never expected to hear. “Get out!”

I jerk to my full height, ready to argue.

“Get the fuck out of here. Now.” Her bloody gloved hand points to the destroyed area where the door used to be. I look at my father as she screams, telling me I’m making it harder. My father nods at her, giving her his blessing as she barks at me in Russian. I forget that she was raised in the Bratva, as her father lived his life in it and died protecting me. Shame and guilt wash over me again like a splash of ice-cold water from a bucket. She stands with a knife in her hand, threatening me, and I see her in a whole new light. She’s what is best for Cynric.

Saxon growls from the floor with a catheter in his arm. “Mom’s spinning in her grave.”

I don’t hear the rest of what he says as I’m focused on my father’s angry face. I turn my head to Isabella. “Don’t let him die.”

Cynric lifts his head. He’s alive. He whispers, shooting daggers at my eyes. “We’re not done with this.”

---