Page 77 of Beautifully Deranged

“No. You listen. I’ll follow the rules, sure. I’ll play nice. But not when it comes to Mikhail.”

“You always follow—!”

“Not when it’s him!” I snap.

The tension crackles like a live wire ready to blow. Mikhail growls. Low. Controlled. Barely held back.

“I’m barely holding it together right now. Don’t make me lose it. Talk to her with respect, Pakhan.”

Roman turns his glare on him. “You’re fucking whipped, Misha. You’re not thinking straight.”

“Is he? Or are you? You almost got Bratva men killed because you couldn’t handle one girl being put at risk,” I spit. “You want to talk about weakness? Don’t look at him or me.”

He doesn’t respond.

Crack.

Then another.

And another.

A second wave of bullets slams into the outer walls. I move, but Mikhail’s faster. He tackles me, shielding me with his body as glass explodes around us. Roman fires twice out the window, but it’s no use. The shooters are already gone.

They waited until Ayla was out of the line of fire.Cowards.The mansion falls quiet again. I lift my head, fingers tangled in Mikhail’s shirt.

“You okay?” I whisper, eyes scanning him.

He doesn’t answer. My palm is wet. I lift it. Blood. There’s a deep, soaking wound in his side.

“Mikhail—” My voice breaks. “Misha, no. No, no—Roman! He’s hit!” I scream.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, pressing both hands against his side. The blood pours out, warm and slick, slipping through my fingers like water. “You’re okay, Misha. You’re okay. Stay with me.”

His eyes go glassy. His breath is short, uneven. His lips part, and his chest stutters as he tries to speak.

“Don’t talk,” I beg. “Save it. Just stay awake. Stay with me, okay?”

His bloodied hand trembles in the space between us. His fingers reach for my hair, tangled, damp, and gritty with sweat. He tucks a strand behind my ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps.

I choke on a sob. “Mikhail, please—”

His thumb brushes my jaw.

“I’ll always protect your life with my own,” he whispers. “Always.”

Roman shoves towels into my hands. “Put pressure here. I’m calling in a surgeon.”

Mikhail’s arm drops. His eyes flutter closed. I scream so hard it tears my throat raw.

“MIKHAIL!”

If he dies, I know without a doubt I will follow right after him.

?Chapter Thirty six?

Lola

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