Page 84 of Never Distract a Biker

“You cheat!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth.

“No,” I say evenly, my voice cold. “You’re the cheat, Vovka. I know you’re an untrustworthy fellow, so I took precautions.”

He roars in frustration and lunges at me with his bare hands, but he’s slow, his movements clumsy with anger and pain. I sidestep easily and deliver a hard punch to his jaw. Blood and spit spray from his mouth as he stumbles back.

“That’s for my mother,” I say, my voice steady.

The weight of his defeat is palpable. His men exchange uneasy glances before lowering their heads in respect to me, their allegiance shifting in an unspoken acknowledgment of my dominance.

Vovka’s rage boils over, and with a guttural scream, he lunges at me one last time. His movements are wild and uncoordinated, a stark contrast to the precision he displayed earlier.

I sidestep his attack effortlessly, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. The sound of his shoulder dislocating echoes through the space, followed by his howl of pain.

“Enough,” I say coldly, my voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

But Vovka doesn’t relent. His defiance only fuels my determination. I deliver a series of calculated blows aimed with precision to incapacitate him. Each blow is a reminder of the pain he’s caused, and the lives he’s taken.

Before he can recover, I land another blow to his jaw and grab his neck. Wrapping my arm around his throat, I tighten until I feel the snap of his jugular. His body goes limp, and I let him fall to the ground.

The circle of men watches in stunned silence as their former leader lies motionless. I pick up the gun Vovka tossed aside earlier, walk back to his body, and aim at his blank, lifeless stare.

“Unlike me,” I say, my voice calm and deliberate, “you’ll stay dead, Vovka Sidorov.”

The shot is muffled by a gun silencer, but the bullet that goes through his skull tells me it is finally over.

I turn to Scarlett. She’s already rushing toward me, her now swollen face streaked with tears of relief. She crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. Pain flares from my wounds, but I don’t care.

“It’s over,” she whispers, her voice choked with sobs as she kisses my face, my lips, anywhere she can reach.

“Yes, it is,” I say, pulling her closer. One arm wraps around her while my other hand strokes her hair.

“You’re hurt,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she touches the cut on my arm.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, though the pain is a dull throb. “It’s over now.”

Her tears wet my shirt as she clings to me, and for the first time tonight, I allow myself a moment of vulnerability, holding her close and letting her presence ground me.

As Vovka’s lifeless body is dragged away, his men bow their heads in submission, one by one kneeling before me. The power shift is complete. I have not only avenged my parents but solidified my place as the unchallenged leader of the Russian Mob.

But my thoughts are not on victory, or the submission of my enemies. They are on Scarlett—the woman who risked everything to love a man like me.

I lift Scarlett into my arms as I do not want her exacting any more pressure on herself. “It’s done,” I say softly. “You’re safe now.”

Her lips tremble, but she nods, her trust in me evident. I gently kiss her forehead, a promise of protection and love.

The night may be over, but the journey ahead is just beginning. Together, we’ll face whatever comes next. For the first time in years, I feel the weight of the past lifting, replaced by the hope of a future worth fighting for.

39

Scarlett

Viktor's hands grip the steering wheel with a fierceness that matches the storm brewing in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, a muscle twitching as he navigates through the streets with unerring focus. The normally confident smirk he wears is absent, replaced by something I’ve never seen in him—worry.

He stretches one hand and places it gently over my abdomen. I glance down, and my hand instinctively joins his. He rubs the small swell that carries our future. “I’m fine,” I whisper, but my words barely reach him. His attention remains fixed on the road, the speedometer inching higher with every passing second. I know he is in a hurry to get me to the hospital.

Beside him, I feel small yet oddly safe. Despite everything—the chaos, and the danger—Viktor’s presence is a constant fortress. I steal another glance at him, his tattoos peeking from underhis rolled-up sleeves. The wound has stopped bleeding but still looks raw and angry. For the first time, I see a vulnerability in him, and it makes my heart ache.

“Viktor,” I try again, my voice firmer this time. He flicks his eyes toward me briefly, the intensity in them softening just enough to reassure me.

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