Page 96 of Claimed By the Damned

Blood spatters across my arm as he collapses. A third man tries to run, but I’m on him in seconds, grabbing him by the back of the neck and driving him face-first into the wall. His skull cracks, his body going limp before he even has the chance to scream.

Then I see him, Luke. The traitor. The bastard who led Lila out of the house, straight into Kolya’s trap. A fresh wave of fury crashes through me, so potent it almost blacks out my vision. We promised Grim a piece of this bastard, for what he did to Lila, for the danger he put her in.Oops. Guess I got here first. He’llforgive me... eventually.Luke barely has time to react before I’m on him. He tries to stammer out a pathetic excuse, hands raised as if that will save him. It won’t.

I slam my fist into his face, the sickening crunch of his nose breaking beneath my knuckles sending a dark thrill through me. He stumbles back, blood pouring down his chin, but I don’t let him fall. My hands close around his throat, squeezing, feeling the frantic thump of his pulse beneath my grip. His eyes bulge, fingers clawing at my wrists.

“You sold her out,” I snarl, tightening my grip. “You fucking delivered her to that monster.”

His mouth opens, gasping for air, but I don’t care. I throw him to the ground, kicking him hard in the ribs. He wheezes, rolling to his side, and I press my boot to his throat.

“Give me one good reason not to rip you apart,” I growl.

Luke chokes, hands weakly scrabbling at my boot, trying to relieve the pressure. I apply more, his body jerking beneath me. Then, just before the light leaves his eyes, I shift, pulling my gun and putting a bullet between them. His body goes still.

I don’t even look at his body twice. Just another stepping stone to Lila. I exhale harshly, forcing myself forward, my blood still roaring in my ears. There's a shift in the air, a presence just ahead. My instincts hone, my focus zeroing in. Bone gives under impact, blood mists the air, but I don’t register it, don’t hesitate. I’m a storm, a force of nature ripping through Kolya’s empire.

That’s when I spot him.

Dimitri.

He stands like a sentinel before a door, gun raised at me, body rigid. His stance tells me everything: he knows why I’m here, who I’m looking for. He damn well knows Kolya and Lila are behind that door. And the bastard looks like he's made his peace with dying to keep me from her.

The moment our eyes lock, a slow smirk spreads across his face. “You’re too late.”

Too late for what? My stomach twists. Did Kolya already take her? Did he move her somewhere I can't reach? Or did he already hurt her? The thought sends a spike of white-hot rage through me, my vision narrowing to a pinpoint focused solely on Dimitri.

Rage detonates inside me.

I don’t speak. I lunge.

He gets a single shot off, a deafening roar in the confined space, the bullet whining past my ear, close enough to feel it go past. But I’m already a fucking blur, an explosion of movement fueled by raw adrenaline. There’s no time for him to aim again, no chance for a second shot before I crash into him.

We collide like animals, teeth bared, fists flying. His gun clatters away, forgotten in the sudden, brutal shift to close-quarters savagery. Dimitri is strong, a trained killer, but I’m out of my fucking mind with rage.

I drive him backward, fists slamming into his ribs, his jaw. He grunts, but he fights like a man who has nothing to lose. He gets an elbow into my gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. As I stumble, he slams me back against the corridor wall, his forearm pressing hard across my throat. For a second, the pressure is too familiar,the rope, the cell, no air, and a blind, desperate fury surges through me. I roar, a primal sound, and throw him off with a strength born of sheer panic before my training reasserts itself. The world tilts from the blow to my temple, but I don’t go down.

I grab his wrist before he can land another strike and twist—a sickening pop echoes through the hallway as his shoulder dislocates. Dimitri screams in agony, but I’m already moving, already driving my knee into his gut. He staggers, spitting blood, but refuses to fall.

He pulls his knife from its sheath, his expression shifting, not to fear, but to acceptance. His lips curl into a smile, his eyes burning with a desperate determination. He knows he won’t walk away from this, but he’s willing to try to take me with him.

I see a flash of steel as he slashes at my ribs, catching fabric, but not skin. I twist, grab his wrist, and shove his own blade back toward him. We struggle, muscles straining, blood dripping from both of us. His breath is ragged, my grip unyielding.

Then I overpower him.

I plunge the knife into his throat, deep—his breath catches, a choked, broken sound. I don’t stop. I twist the blade and relish in the way his body jerks, his strength failing.

His knees buckle. He tries to speak, but only blood spills past his lips.

I shove him off the blade, letting him crumple to the floor at my feet.

Lila

The walls tremble around me, the deep boom of explosions rattling the foundation of the house. Gunfire erupts outside. The air is thick with tension, the acrid scent of smoke already seeping through the cracks in the wall. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs. Someone is attacking the mansion, and for the first time in what feels like forever, a small glimmer of hope flickers in my chest.

Could it be the guys? Or has Kolya pissed off someone even more powerful than himself? The idea sends a ripple of uneasethrough me. If it’s not them, then who? And what will they do to me if they take me?

Kolya’s panicked movements snap my attention back to him. Sweat beads along his hairline, his breathing shallow and erratic. He whirled towards his desk, his hand slamming a concealed button on an intercom panel. '??????? ????! ??? ?????! ????? ?? ?????!'(Gather everyone! Code Omega! No one leaves!)he snarled into it, his voice tight with fury and a dawning panic. The words were harsh, guttural Russian, unintelligible to me, but the venom in his tone was unmistakable. He didn't wait for an answer, already spinning back, his eyes darting wildly around the room, no longer calculating, just frantic, manic. His hands tremble, fingers twitching as if he can’t decide whether to grab his gun or his knife. His control, is gone. He’s coming apart at the seams, and he knows it. This isn’t the calculated monster I knew; this is a desperate man, and he knows he’s losing everything.

His hand flies to a drawer, yanking it open so hard that the wood cracks. He pulls out a gun, his grip tight, white-knuckled, like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity. His wild eyes draw to me; I am all he has left.

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