Page 55 of Forced Pregnant Bride

Arlo chuckled behind us, tossing a dagger in the air and catching it. He was making circles around the four-cornered mat, observing with one hand in his pocket. “Unless you’re ready to get more poorly designed tattoos on your skin, my best advice to you is to back out, Ivan, now that you still have the chance. Boss is going to make a mess with your blood.”

He swiped the blood on his arm and stuck his thumb into his mouth. “It’ll be for a noble cause.”

Arlo scoffed. “Fuck noble.” He tossed the dagger in his hand to me, and I caught it effortlessly, grinning.

“Still want to go through with this, Ivan?”

“Learning from the best to beat the best.”

“Suit yourself.”

The men cheered and whistled as we clashed again. Blades collided with sharp, metallic clangs. His strikes were fast and aggressive, each one aimed to kill, but I was faster. I parried and countered, driving him back step by step. My knife sliced across his thigh, his shoulder, anywhere I could find an opening.

The chants spurred me and fueled my adrenaline, but he didn’t go down.

Ivan lunged again, his knife aiming for my throat. I grabbed his wrist mid-strike, twisting it hard until the knife clattered to the ground. I punched him in the face with my free hand, feeling the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking under my knuckles.

He stumbled back, blood streaming down his face, but he didn’t stop.

“You want to beat the best?” I smirked, circling him. “You’re making this too easy.”

He dived for his knife, and I let him pick it up. I wanted him to try again, but I wanted to end this on my terms despite his willingness to continue. His focus, high level of resilience, and determination were among the reasons I chose him for serious operations.

But then a thought slipped into my mind, and again, I remembered the one time he slipped up when he should have paid closer attention—Serena. Her face flashed in my head. The fear in her eyes when she looked at me, the hope that sprung alive in her when I held her close, the way she clung to me.

I was still fucking pissed at him, but I needed to clear my head to concentrate.

Too late.

He’d noticed the hesitation, the flicker of distraction, and he seized the moment.

His knife slashed upward, catching me completely off guard. Pain exploded in my arm as the blade sunk into my flesh. The heavy Russian victory chants died instantly, and Arlo’s eyes narrowed.

“Shit.” Ivan paled at the sight of red quickly spreading across my arm, soaking the white fabric of my shirt. “Boss, I swear…I thought you were going to miss that one.”

Fuck

I grunted, stumbling back, clutching the wound. Blood seeped between my fingers, sticky and warm.

Rage flared in me, hot and uncontrollable. My grip on the knife tightened, and I forced myself to focus. “I didn’t ask you to fucking stop.”

“But Boss—”

I snarled, pushed through the pain, and launched myself at him one last time. My knife found its mark, but I curved thedagger to the side and plunged my clenched fist deep into his chest. His eyes went wide, the fight draining from him as he collapsed to the ground, trying to catch his breath.

I stood over him, breathing hard, blood dripping down my hand and staining the floor beneath me. I pressed against the wound, but it was not enough to stop the pain.

“If you want to be the best,” I glared at Ivan, “then you have to always think like the fucking best, not a fucking pussy.”

Turning away from him, I grabbed a bottle of water from Arlo. “That’ll be all for today. Not a shabby job you did this time, Ivan. Everyone is dismissed.”

****

I’d built the training complex within the estate, and though there was some distance from there to the main house, I didn’t bother taking a ride. Arlo followed closely behind in the car, probably waiting until I got pissed off or tired enough— or both—to enter the fucking vehicle.

Much to his utter disappointment, I didn’t. And I didn’t bother saying a word to him when we got to the gate leading up the driveway to the house. He parked the car beside the others under the shade covers, and I marched up the steps.

I slammed the door behind me harder than I should have, ignoring the echoes reverberating through the halls of the house. My forearm throbbed in protest, the knife wound burning like fucking hellfire, but I didn’t stop moving. Blood soaked through my t-shirt, sticking it to my skin, and each step sent a fresh wave of irritation through me.

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