Page 58 of Obsessed Bratva King

The sound cuts through the gunfire, through the pounding in my skull, through the chaos.

I freeze, my body going rigid.

I know that voice.

I turn, my breath slow and heavy, my grip tightening around my gun before I even fully face him.

Darren.

He stands near the far end of the warehouse, flanked by a handful of men, but he’s not hiding. He’s not running.

He’s waiting.

And the bastard is smirking. “Give me the flash drive and I’ll let you both live.”

The words land like a match to gasoline.

Rage ignites inside me, violent and absolute.

I see only him.

I raise my gun, aiming for the head. My finger tightens on the trigger.

One shot. One kill. Then this is all over.

I fire.

But Darren moves at the last second, just enough. The bullet grazes his ear, splattering blood against the collar of his coat. He staggers back slightly, his smirk faltering for just a moment.

Then—he laughs.

The sound is low, amused, taunting.

"See you real soon, Ivan,” he calls as he ducks out of sight.

I shoot, emptying my pistol but all he does is laugh from his hiding place. My body lunges forward, my instincts demanding blood, demanding I end this now. But before I can take another step, a hand grips my arm, tight and unyielding.

“Ivan,” Cora gasps, pulling at me with all her strength. “Not now. There are too many and we’re out of bullets.”

Her presence pulls me back from the edge. His men are running at us, shooting as they come.

I grit my teeth, my entire body vibrating with the need to kill him, to rip him apart, to finish this here. “Trust me,” she says, dragging me toward the exit. “We’ll get him next time.”

15

CORA

The hotel room is a palace compared to the filth Darren kept me in. Ivan booked us in under fake names, tipping the guy on the desk to make sure no questions are asked.

I sit on the edge of the massive bed, trying to hold myself together. Ivan’s stripped off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and is systematically laying out first aid supplies on the table near the minibar.

I should say something. Thank him, maybe. But the words feel too small.

Instead, I watch him. Watch the tightness in his shoulders, the muscle that jumps in his jaw every time he glances at me. He hasn’t spoken much since he tore me out of Darren’s grasp.

He kneels in front of me, pulling the first aid kit closer. "You’re hurt. Let me take care of you."

“I thought you’d called a doctor.”

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