Page 32 of Dark Obsession

I spot the so-called vendors, yanking guns out from their carts, their faces stoic and focused. They shout to each other in Spanish, their movements coordinated. These guys aren’t amateurs. This was a hit.

My blood runs cold. Fuck.I can’t stay here. I need to think, I need to move—fast.

But there’s no cover, nowhere to hide. I’m completely exposed. My mind races, adrenaline spiking as I look around, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to survive this.

Then things go from bad to worse. A van screeches to a stop at the entrance of the park. My stomach drops as the back doors swing open and three men jump out, all of them armed to the teeth.

One of them stands out immediately—he’s tall, heavily tattooed, and wearing a balaclava. He starts barking orders, and the others fan out, guns raised.

My mind is racing as I glance over my shoulder toward the wooded area behind me. It’s obvious they’re trying to trap me, to block off all the normal exits. But they won’t expect me to run into the woods.

It’s my only chance.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest, as I leap to my feet and bolt for the trees. My boots crunch against the dirt as I sprint toward the wooded area, the cold wind biting at my face. I can hear them shouting, and I know they’ve spotted me.

I don’t look back. I run, tearing through the park and into the woods, grateful for the cover.

The shouts in Spanish get louder, more frantic.

Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of silenced gunfire, bullets splintering into the bark of the trees around me.

My heart’s in my throat, hammering so hard I can barely hear my own thoughts. I have to keep moving or I’m dead.

I run deeper into the woods, legs burning, lungs aching, but I can’t stop. Not for a second. I duck behind a thick tree, pressing my back against the rough bark, trying to catch my breath. Through the trees, I spot the old brick wall that forms the border of the park.

Almost there.

I inch forward, silently making my way through the trees, trying to put distance between me and the men fanning out behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I can see them getting closer, their shadows flitting between the trees.

They’re moving fast, and I can hear what I assume is Claudio’s voice loud and clear, barking orders in Spanish.“Separarse y encontrarla,” he says.

I don’t speak much Spanish, but I know that meanssplit up and find her.

They’re closing in. I grit my teeth and move. There’s no way in hell I’m letting them catch me.

I can hear leaves crunching beneath heavy boots as footsteps approach. My pulse thunders in my ears. He’s so close now, I can almost hear him breathing.

I spot him, moving just in front of me, scanning the trees. It won’t take long before he turns and spots my hiding place.

I glance around, my eyes darting frantically for something—anything—to defend myself with. That’s when I see it, a rock, half-buried in the dirt. It’s not huge, but it’ll do the job if I can get close enough.

Don’t hesitate, I tell myself, hearing Grigori’s voice in my head.Hesitation means death.

I grip the rock tightly, inching forward slowly, quietly. My hands tremble, but I keep going, raising it above my head as I get closer. Just when I’m close enough, he turns.

Bam.The rock connects with his face, the impact sending him staggering back, his eyes wide with shock.

But before I can catch my breath, his finger clamps down on the trigger of the machine gun, spraying bullets wildly into the air. The deafening sound rips through the trees, and I know I’ve just set off the alarm for every assassin in the park.

He stumbles, falling backward and smacking his head against a tree with a sickeningthud. He’s out cold, but that’s only a small comfort. One guy down, but now everyone knows exactly where I am.

I hear frantic shouts in Spanish coming closer now. My heart slams against my ribs, and I don’t think, I justrun. My legs pump as hard as they can, my boots hitting the ground in a desperate rhythm as I make a mad dash for the brick wall.

More shouting. They’re closing in.

I reach the wall, jump, and grab hold of the top. My fingers scrape against the rough brick as I start pulling myself up. But before I can go any further, I feel a hand clamping down on my ankle, yanking me back.

"Not so fast, chica.”

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