Page 117 of The Bratva King

I walk down the hall and knock softly. “Nik?”

I hear a soft groan. I try the handle and open the door just a crack. It’s intrusive, but I’m too worried to care.

He’s just stepping out of the bathroom. The lights are on, and he’s wearing only a pair of briefs. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him.

“Nikolai,” I whisper.

His shoulder is bruised. Dark purple spreads across his skin. His forearm has angry red marks, some still seeping blood. There’s a cut near his hairline. He’s slightly hunched over, his careful movements giving away how much pain he’s in.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

I move closer, reaching for his arm. He pulls back slightly, but I catch his wrist and examine the wounds. “This needs to be properly cleaned before it gets infected.”

“I showered. I’m clean.”

“Not your body. Sit down on the toilet.”

He looks like he might argue, then changes his mind and moves carefully to the toilet.

“First-aid kit? I’m guessing you’ve got enough supplies for a small army.”

“Cabinet.” He gestures to a tall narrow cabinet in the corner.

I open it, and the supplies inside looks like it belongs in a hospital supply room.

“Right.” I pull out what I need. “Have you taken any painkillers?”

“No.”

“Stubborn,” I mutter.

I drop bandages, gauze, and some antibiotic cream on the counter. Then I grab a bottle of ibuprofen. He probably needs something stronger, but I doubt he’d take it.

I stare at his arm in the bright light and lean closer. “What the hell?”

I reach out, using my fingers to pull out something sharp and black. I look closer and realize there are more. It’s hard to spot the damage beneath all the ink.

“Dammit, Nik. Tell me you went to a hospital and that they somehow missed this.”

“No.”

“Cazzo.” I turn back to the cabinet for tweezers.

I return and bend closer, studying the wounds beneath the ink.

“This is going to sting,” I warn him.

“I know.”

I pour antiseptic over the wounds on his forearm. He doesn’t flinch. I use the tweezers to pull several tiny shards from his skin.

“Luke said you had blood on you.”

“Most of it was Pasha’s.”

I stop pulling out the shards. “Is he okay?”