Page 72 of Dark Obsession

He’s rigged the entire warehouse.

My mind races, piecing together the twisted brilliance of Molina’s plan—gather the entire Bratva force in one place, then wipe us out in a single explosion.

I kneel down and look over the device, adrenaline kicking in as I spot the detonation timer blinking in sinister silence. The wires are nestled into a plastic compartment—red, blue, and green. One wrong snip and it’ll all be over.

I work quickly, pulling out my pocketknife to pry open the panel. The device is wired for remote detonation, so if I cut power to the relay wire first, I might be able to kill the entire charge. I slice through the green wire, holding my breath as the blinking stops. One down.

The next pillar, down the far end of the basement, holds another device with an identical setup. Red, blue, green. I repeat the process, severing the relay wire first, then the timer itself. Two down.

I check the remaining basement corridors. My gut tells me there’ll be four charges in total, placed to collapse the foundation completely. On the third column, I find another C4 rig, disarming it as quickly as the others. Three down.

Finally, I make my way down the last hallway. I round the corner and freeze. There, crouched against the column with C4 in hand, is Molina himself, calmly attaching the final bomb.

I lift my gun, aiming it squarely at him.

"It's over, Molina."

He grins, glancing back at the C4 strapped to the concrete support. "You’re not stupid enough to fire at a live explosive, Grigori."

I keep my gun steady. "The rest of your bombs? All disarmed. You’re not bringing this place down."

Molina raises an eyebrow, impressed but unmoved. "Perhaps. But one bomb will still collapse this entire structure, my friend, along with whoever happens to be nearby." His grin widens. "I like to be thorough."

Before I can respond, he raises his gun and fires. The shot goes wide, but I still lunge to the side, and pain flares like wildfire through my body, the damn injuries from that torture catching up with me. He sees the grimace on my face and chuckles coldly.

"You're a broken soldier, Grigori. Time to retire."

"Not a fucking chance."

I grit my teeth, the pain clawing at me, but I push through. He fires again, and this time the shot connects, a searing burn in my shoulder. I stagger, clutching the wound, but I’m not stopping.

I close the distance between us in a few strides, his smirk faltering just a fraction before I slam my fist into his face, sending him reeling back against the wall.

Molina, still grinning, wipes the blood from his mouth. "You might want to get to work on that last bomb. It’s timer is much shorter than the others."

My eyes dart to the device strapped to the support and my heart drops. Twenty seconds left, red numbers ticking down in a sickeningly fast sequence.

Shit.

Molina seizes my momentary distraction, landing a hard punch to my gut. I stumble back, pain lancing through me as I instinctively raise my gun, squeezing off a few rounds that go wide. He laughs as he darts toward the stairwell, his voice echoing mockingly.

“Well, Grigori, looks like you have a choice—follow me and let your beloved Bratva die, or stay here and let me get away.”

My roar fills the basement, fury boiling in my blood, but I know he’s right. I have to disable the bomb, or everyone I love will die. I sling my gun back over my shoulder, glaring at the last place I saw him as he disappears up the steps.

Hate gnaws at me, but I swallow it down and focus on the task at hand.

This bomb is tougher, wires tangled in a more complex configuration than the others. I work quickly, fingers steady as I strip the casing, revealing the detonation system. Red, yellow, black—one wrong cut, and its lights out.

My heart pounds as I snip the last wire, and the countdown halts at two seconds. Relief crashes through me like a wave. The Ivanovs are safe, and I know they’ll mop up the rest of the cartel soldiers, but it’s only a matter of time before Molina resurfaces, wreaking havoc on us all.

I think of Elena. She’ll never be safe, not while that bastard’s alive.

I can’t leave this unfinished.

I sprint up the stairs, every step a reminder of the torture I endured just hours ago. Blood soaks through my shirt from the bullet wound, my muscles scream, and my head throbs, but I keep going, emerging just in time to see Molina speeding away in a black SUV.

He’s not getting out of this city alive.

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