Page 21 of Paved in Hate

“I’m sorry,” she quickly says.

“Katya, don’t move.” I step closer, grimacing when she moves her feet again and I see drops of blood on the floor.

She turns a pair of wild, blue eyes up at me. “It was my fault, not hers.”

I raise a hand in what I hope is acalm the fuck downgesture. “No, I’m pretty sure Simona broke the mug, but it was just an accident.”

Katya looks back at Simona, eyeing her pregnant belly. “No, it was my fault.” Then she looks up at Danil, who’s looking just as confused as I feel. “Don’t hurt her. It was my fault.”

“Why would I hurt her?”

Katya looks back at me, trying like hell to understand. “But she’s his pet.”

“No,” Danil gently tells her. “She’s my wife, and I don’t hurt her.”

I don’t even feel like cracking a joke about their soundproofed room and the butt cushion I bought for her after he spanked her ass because she put her life in danger to try and save him. Looking down at the bloody footprints, I know I can’t take any more of watching her cut her feet. Stepping closer, I scoop her into my arms, making sure the arm I have under her thighs is also keeping her sweater dress tucked in so she’s not flashing everyone.

Her blue eyes turn to mine. “What are you doing?”

“You’re cutting your feet. We need to get them bandaged.”

“But the glass,” she starts to say, but Roman cuts her off.

“Don’t worry, Katya. We’ll get it cleaned up.”

She looks at him, still obviously confused by my brothers’ behavior. I tell him thanks and carry Katya back upstairs. She doesn’t resist being in my arms, but she also doesn’t settle in against me or go out of her way to touch me. It’s more like she endures it, and I tell myself I don’t care.

I pass back through our room and into the bathroom before setting her down on the large counter. She scoots sideways so I can put her legs up. The cuts are still bleeding, and I let out a frustrated sigh.

“What in the hell possessed you to walk through fucking glass?”

When she doesn’t say anything, I give a harsh laugh and shake my head. “No, you don’t get to stay silent on this one. I want to know why you did it.”

She waits a few seconds, and I know she’s weighing her words, trying to decide how honest to be with me. “I didn’t want Simona to get in trouble for it. She’s pregnant. The beating wouldn’t hurt me as badly.”

“The beating?” I ask, barely getting the words out. A flash of rage burrows itself inside me, slowly building to something that threatens to overwhelm me when I ask, “Do your brothers beat you?”

“No,” she quickly says.

“Do they allow others to beat you?”

“No, they don’t. I promise.”

“I don’t understand. Why would you think Danil would beat his wife?”

“She’s his pet. I saw her tattoo.”

“So your brothers have pets that they beat?”

She clamps her mouth shut at that question, which is more than answer enough. Not wanting to push her too far, I give up the questions for now and look down at the feet that are dripping blood into the sink.

“I need to clean these cuts and make sure there isn’t any glass in them.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

Grabbing a cloth and the small first-aid kit I keep under the sink, I run some warm water and start to look at her feet. The cuts aren’t deep enough to need stitches, but I know it hurts, and I know it’s going to hurt worse when I start digging around to look for glass. It bothers me more than it should. I’m not even remotely squeamish, and I’ve killed men in ways that would make sane men vomit, but somehow the sight of her blood is upsetting to me.

“I’ll try to make this as painless as possible,” I tell her.

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