Page 35 of Brutal Unionn
Nadia arches violently at the pressure, a strangled, wordless scream ripping up her throat. Her back bows off the brick wall, her head snapping backward as her entire body convulses under my grip.
And then she exhales.
Fast. Sharp. Like her lungs are trying to claw the air out of her chest instead of take it in.
I slap a hand over her mouth.
“Quiet, baby. Quiet. You’re okay. You’re okay.” I whisper.
But she’s not. I can see it in her eyes—wide, wild, rimmed in red. She’s riding the knife’s edge between consciousness and collapse. Her pupils twitch. Her throat works like she wants to cry but refuses. My Nadia doesn’t cry. She bleeds. She fights. She survives.
But she won't if I don't act.
My eyes dart around the alley. Smoke curls down the brick walls like oil slicks. The sounds of boots echo closer—louder, clearer. They’re almost on us.
My eyes land on a jagged strip of metal half-buried beneath the rubble. Twisted, scorched.Sharp.Still glowing faintly on one end. Part of the exterior signage of the Italian restaurant next door , warped by the blast and ripped free like a blade waiting to be used.
I press a kiss to her forehead—fast, desperate. Her eyes flutter. My heart cracks.
“Hime,” I let go of the pressure and grab the strip of metal. “Keep your eyes open and locked on me.”
It’s blistering in my grip. The heat surges instantly through my skin, branding my palm, but I don’t let go.
Nadia’s body jerks as blood rushes from the wound again, soaking my lap, pooling beneath her hips.
I glance back—shadows flicker across the broken alley door. They're here.Seconds.
I brace the metal against the lip of a dumpster, force it flat, and press it into the trash fire at its base. Flames lap around it, dancing, crackling with glee.
I take my knotted shirt and stuff it into her mouth, ignoring the bright white of her eyes questioning my every move. Once the shirt is inside I press my palm over her mouth, my fingertips pressing into the soft flesh of her cheeks. Her eyes dart to the metal burning in my hands and she starts to shake
“Breathe in deep, baby,” I whisper against her ear, my voice cracking. “Then bite down.”
Her eyes lock onto mine. Wide. Drenched in pain but defiant. The whites are bloodshot from smoke and tears she refuses to shed, and still—she holds my gaze like it’s the only thing tethering her to this moment.
But her bravery trembles. I feel it in the way her chest quivers as it rises against my arm, in the slight hitch of her inhale, in the tremor that rolls through her thighs.
I swallow hard.
She’s terrified. But she’strusting meto do this.
I want to scream. I want to stall. I want to kiss her until the world stops burning—and kill everyone in sight for the sin of seeing her like this. Vulnerable. Exposed. Mine.
Her screams, her blood, the raw, flickering panic in her eyes—all of it belongs to me. The way her body shakes. The way life growls back up her throat like she’s fighting death itself.
She is mine.And I will burn down everything that forgets that.
With my free hand, I grip the twisted metal—its tip glowing like a dying star, pulsing orange and angry. It radiates heat in waves, and the burn already eating into my palm tells me I’ve got seconds before it brands me too.
I lower it. And press the glowing edge directly to her wound.
The muffled sound is immediate andvile—a sickening, wet sizzle that drowns out everything else. It echoes off the alley walls like a monster hissing in agony. The scent hits next: acrid, putrid, the stench of burning flesh mingling with blood and smoke. It curls into my throat and turns my stomach.
Nadia’s bodyexplodesbeneath me—arching, convulsing, bucking like an animal caught in a trap. Her scream rips through her throat and into my palm, muffled but still feral, stillpure pain. Her eyes blow wide for half a second before they roll back, lashes fluttering like wings crushed in a storm.
Her fingers dig into my arms, nails scraping skin. Her entire body seizes as the fire cauterizes her from the inside out.
And Ihold her there,because I have to.
