Page 53 of Obsessed Bratva King

Cora frowns, tilting her head slightly.

Then, suddenly—her expression changes.

Fear.

She drops the spoon. It clatters against the counter, sending flecks of sauce flying. The color drains from her face as she takes a step toward me, her eyes wide.

"Ivan."

I stiffen.

"Wake up. I need you."

The world shatters.

Pain slams into me, dragging me back to the surface.

I gasp, the breath knocking against my ribs as consciousness comes crashing in like a freight train.

Everything hurts.

A deep, throbbing ache in my skull, the slow, sticky warmth of blood dripping down my face. My head is slumped forward, mymuscles burning as I fight against the dead weight of my own body.

Rope. Tight. Unforgiving.

The chair creaks beneath me as I shift, testing the bonds. The bite of coarse fiber against my wrists tells me I’ve been here for hours—long enough for my body to settle into the pain, long enough for the bleeding to slow but not stop.

The overhead bulb swings slightly, casting long, distorted shadows across the stained concrete floor. The room stinks, the unmistakable scent of blood soaked into the walls.

I inhale slowly, forcing my mind to focus.

Where am I?

The warehouse. Darren’s men.

Memories snap into place. The docks. The ambush. My men falling around me. The blunt force of a pistol butt slamming into my skull.

And then?—

A voice.

Soft. Distant. Echoing in my skull.

Desperate.

"Ivan."

My pulse roars to life.

Cora. She needs me.

My head jerks up, the sudden movement sending white-hot pain slicing through my skull. Blood slides into my eye, blurring my vision. I blink hard, forcing it away.

She’s here. Somewhere in this place.

I try to listen past the ringing in my ears, past the steady drip, drip, drip of something leaking in the corner. The warehouse is eerily silent beyond the occasional shuffle of boots from somewhere outside the room.

I grind my teeth, my jaw clenching.

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