Page 45 of Obsessed Bratva King

She stiffens. It’s subtle, but I catch it—the slight tightening of her fingers around her legs, the way her shoulders lock in place. She doesn’t look at me.

"Until that happens," I continue, my voice calm, absolute, uncompromising, "you do exactly what I say. You stay here. You don’t leave. You don’t fight me on anything. Which includes letting my doctor check you over."

Her head snaps up at that, her gaze locking onto mine, sharp and wary. “Why do you care so much?”

I exhale slowly, pushing off the dresser. I don’t answer right away. Instead, I step closer, slow and deliberate, closing the space between us inch by inch until I’m standing over her.

“Because you’re mine,” I say.

If she was smart, she’d argue, tell me she doesn’t belong to anyone, least of all a monster like me.

My phone buzzes. Her gaze flickers toward my pocket, and I force myself to step back, dragging air into my lungs as I pull the phone free. I already know who it is before I even check.

Maxim.

I bring the phone to my ear. His voice is sharp, cutting straight to business. “Darren’s men are moving weapons through the docks. He’ll be there for the next hour.”

I don’t react, don’t allow myself to tense, but my pulse beats once, heavy. A rare opportunity. Too rare.

I glance back at Cora. She’s curled up on the pillow, facing away from me.

Turning away, I lower my voice. “I’ll set off now.”

There’s a pause. A beat of static.

"Wait," Maxim warns. "We don’t know how many men he’s got. I need to organize back up."

I exhale slowly, my body already settling into the inevitable. It doesn’t matter.

"Tell them to meet me there," I say. “I could end this before it gets started.”

Another pause. Longer this time. Maxim knows better than to argue, but I hear the hesitation in the way he exhales through his nose, the slight delay before his clipped response.

“Understood. Be careful. Funerals depress me.”

“Even mine?”

“You’re an asshole but you’re still part of the family.”

“I’m touched.” I hang up, and turn to the bed.

She’s fallen asleep, her brow drawn tight even in rest, like some part of her is still bracing for another fight.

I grab a scrap of paper and a pen, my hand steady as I scrawl a quick note.

I’ll be back soon. Do not leave.

I fold it once, placing it on the nightstand where I know she’ll see it the moment she wakes. For a moment, I hesitate, my eyes lingering on her face, my mind whispering things I don’t have time to acknowledge.

Then, I walk out the door.

I step onto the docks, boots quiet against the wet concrete. The industrial maze of shipping containers rises around me, towering steel walls that turn the space into a labyrinth of rust and decay.

I think of going back and telling Cora that Darren is dead, how she’ll smile at me, thank me, make me feel good. I like the idea.

I give signals to my men.

Maxim moved fast. I’ve got four good men as back up. They arrived while I was still scoping the place. They fan out, moving like wraiths through the dark, weapons drawn, senses razor-sharp. The distant slap of water against metal hulls is the only sound cutting through the silence.

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