Page 21 of Obsessed Bratva King

He recovers too fast, grabbing a metal ice bucket and swinging it at my skull. I barely get my arms up in time, the impact sending a shockwave through my bones.

He goes for my throat, hands wrapping around my windpipe.

I throw my weight forward, twisting, and we both go crashing over the couch.

We hit the ground hard, rolling, grappling for dominance.

I get an elbow into his ribs.

He gets a fist into my temple.

Pain explodes behind my eyes, the world tilting for a second. He hits me again and I stagger. I lunge for him but he sidesteps, getting an arm around my windpipe.

“Any last words?” he says, groping down for the gun on the floor.

“You tell me,” I say as Cora appears above him, a knife from the room service tray in her hand.

She plunges the blade into his side. He gasps, staggering away from me, eyes blown wide in shock. “You bitch,” he says, fingers clawing her way.

I seize the opening, grabbing his head in both hands.

And then I snap his neck.

A sharp, clean twist.

The body hits the floor. A final, shallow breath.

The taste of blood lingers on my tongue. My knuckles are raw, my ribs aching, but none of it matters.

I turn to Cora. She’s staring at me. Something dark is rising up inside me. Something primal. Possessive.

My voice is rough when I speak. "I had it in hand."

Cora crosses her arms. "Could’ve just said thank you."

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. Almost.

She has no idea.

No idea that she just tied herself to me in a way that neither of us can escape.

She just killed for me.

I want to pull her close. To press her against the nearest wall and taste the sharp, intoxicating edge of her defiance.

But the moment shatters before it can settle.

She looks afraid and I know why. She’s terrified I’m turning her back into the killer she once was. She wants to forget that life. Now I’ve dragged her back into it.

Her body stiffens.

Her pulse spikes.

And then—she runs.

I know the exact second she makes the decision. It’s in the way her shoulders shift. The flick of her gaze toward the door.

She grabs the duffel bag but I get to the door, blocking her way.

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