Page 61 of Obsessed Bratva King

The door cracks open an inch. Ivan doesn’t relax.

"Maxim," Ivan growls.

A man similar to Ivan steps inside, his face scarred. “Brought the doc with me,” Maxim says.

Behind him is a man in his sixties, his gray hair sticking up wildly like he’s been electrocuted, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

His white button-down is wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to expose a watch that looks more expensive than the entire hotel suite. His eyes scan the room with the detached amusement of someone who’s seen far worse.

"You’re the patient?" he asks, taking a long drag from his cigarette. Ivan catches his wrist mid-motion, stopping him.

"Not in here," Ivan says flatly.

The doctor exhales through his nose but shrugs. "You got a problem with me smoking? Got me out of bed in the middle of the night but now you’re making demands."

“Not in here. Put it out or I will.”

Maxim rolls his eyes. "Cora, meet Dr. Roth. He’s discreet. Mostly. And he doesn’t ask questions. Roth, you can go without nicotine for ten minutes, can’t you?"

Dr. Roth sniffs. "Fine." He squints at me. "You gonna make this easy, or do I have to wrestle you to the ground?"

Ivan’s hand tightens on my shoulder before I can answer. His grip is possessive.

"You will not touch her." Ivan’s voice is low, cold, terrifyingly calm.

Dr. Roth sighs dramatically. "Christ. You bratva boys never lighten up. How am I going to treat her without touching her, you psychopath?"

I can’t help it—I laugh.

Ivan’s glare snaps to me. "What’s funny?"

I shake my head. "Nothing.”

Dr. Roth smirks. "C’mon, princess. Let’s see how bad he let you get hurt."

Ivan makes a sound low in his throat, a dangerous warning, but I nudge his hand off my shoulder before he starts growling at the doctor like a rabid wolf.

"Relax, Ivan. I’m not going anywhere."

He doesn’t relax. Not even a little.

Instead, he stays right there, unmoving, looming like a damn sentry while Dr. Roth checks me over.

"Jesus, possessive much?" Dr. Roth mutters as he examines me, Ivan hovering at his shoulder.

"Watch it," Ivan growls.

The doctor ignores him.

"Bruising looks nasty, but nothing broken," Dr. Roth announces. "You’ll live. But…" He glances at me, then at Ivan. "That’s not what you’re worried about, right?"

Ivan goes rigid. Like a beast ready to lunge. “Well?”

"Hard to tell right now. You can take another test but I’ll need you in the clinic to get a proper look. Not a lot of ultrasound equipment in hotel rooms."

Dr. Roth pats my knee, ignoring the murderous look Ivan levels at him. "You’ll need check-ups, just to be sure everything is fine. But as long as you don’t do anything stupid—like shacking up with him—you should be okay." He turns to Ivan. “Do a better job of keeping her safe next time.”

Ivan bristles. "You want to walk out of here on two broken legs?"

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