Page 49 of Obsessed Bratva King

The words scrape against my nerves like sandpaper.

My fingers twitch against my lap. The cold air seeping through the crack in the window feels sharper, more biting than it should. A deep, primal warning hums in my bones, but I shove it aside.

Ivan needs me. He’s hurt and he needs me.

I push open the door and step out. The city’s glow barely touches this part of town—an industrial graveyard of rusting machinery. The pavement stretches dark and empty ahead of me, the warehouse looming like a sleeping beast.

I reach for the handle and turn it, stepping into the darkness.

Hands grab me at once.

A vice-like grip clamps around my waist, yanking me backward. A second pair of hands snatches my wrists, twisting them behind my back, wrenching me off balance.

Panic explodes in my chest.

A scream claws its way up my throat, but a rough hand slams over my mouth, muffling the sound.

No.

I thrash, jerking, twisting, kicking with everything I have. My heel connects with something solid, a grunt of pain sounding behind me. My captor’s grip falters for a fraction of a second—just long enough for me to lurch forward, trying to rip myself free.

But they’re too fast.

An arm snakes around my throat, yanking me back hard. My air supply cuts off, my vision splintering for a brief second before I manage to twist just enough to slam my elbow into a ribcage.

The man behind me grunts, but his hold doesn’t break.

I need a better angle.

I kick backward—hard—my boot landing squarely against a knee. Something pops. The man lets out a strangled curse, his balance shifting.

I move.

I drive my shoulder forward, twisting violently, using his momentary loss of footing to throw my weight into him. He stumbles. I almost get free.

But then?—

A fist slams into my chest.

Pain explodes through me, knocking the breath from my lungs. I fold inward, gasping, body rebelling against the brutal impact. Before I can recover, another hit crashes into my ribs, a crushing blow that sends white-hot agony flaring through my side.

My knees buckle.

Hands shove me forward before I can catch myself, my legs tangling beneath me as I collapse to the ground.

No.

I push up, clawing against the pavement, my limbs sluggish and shaking. I manage to get halfway to my feet before a boot slams into my side.

A strangled sound rips from my throat as I roll onto my back, pain screaming through me. The world tilts, my vision blurring as more figures close in, shadows swallowing the edges of my sight.

No. No. No.

A slow chuckle slices through the air.

A voice I know. A voice I hate.

"You thought he could protect you?"

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