Page 77 of Obsessed Bratva King

“I’m fine,” I murmur, but my body betrays me, leaning into him.

“You’re not.” His voice is sharp, but not unkind. He curses under his breath, then scoops me up before I can protest.

“Ivan—”

“Shut up.”

His arms are solid around me, unyielding as he carries me out of the range, through the halls, and straight into the kitchen.

He kicks the massive fridge open with his foot, scanning the contents with a scowl. “Pick something.”

I blink at him. “What?”

“To eat,” he says impatiently. “Or I’ll order something.”

I stare at him, still a little lightheaded but suddenly overwhelmed by how casual he’s being. Like this isn’t the most absurdly intimate thing he’s ever done.

I shift in his arms slightly. “Put me down first.”

He hesitates, then reluctantly sets me on my feet but stays close, his arms still hovering like he doesn’t trust me to stay upright.

I step forward, pull open the fridge, and glance at him over my shoulder. “You pick.”

His brow furrows. “Why?”

I hesitate, then give him a small, tired smile. “Because I trust you.”

Something flickers in his expression. His jaw tightens, his eyes darkening. Then, after a long pause, he grabs a container from the fridge and sets it on the counter.

I exhale, stepping toward him. Before I can second-guess myself, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my forehead lightly against his chest.

He goes completely still.

For a moment, he doesn’t react at all. Then his hands hover near my shoulders, like he’s debating whether to push me away.

“What’s that for?” he asks, his voice oddly rough.

I glance up at him. “For caring.”

His expression tightens, like he’s trying to fight whatever’s clawing its way to the surface.

Then, finally, his hands settle on my back, just for a second.

Before I can overanalyze it, footsteps echo down the hall. Heavy. Purposeful.

Maxim steps into the kitchen, his scarred face unreadable, but there’s something different in his stance. Tension. Urgency.

“Ivan,” he says, voice clipped. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Ivan straightens instantly, his entire body shifting from the quiet, brooding man who just carried me across the house to the cold, lethal killer he really is.

Maxim continues. “It worked.”

“Good.”

“What worked?” I ask.

“We hit the brothels, got the people out. Pissed him off royally. Then we sent out the location. We’ve got the fucker trapped. Darren’s location just pinged.”

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