Page 3 of Dark Obsession

More gunfire fills the air, sharp and deadly. My heart skips a beat, adrenaline pumping as I spot one of the men coming toward me, his eyes locked on me like a predator who’s found his prey.

I dive behind the bar, the cold tile biting into my knees. My hand scrambles for something—anything—and lands on a bottle of Louis XIII Cognac. Figures. Of all the booze in this club, I grab a bottle worth more than most people’s monthly salaries.

What a shame.

I tighten my grip on the neck of the bottle.

I wait until the footsteps get closer, until I can practically feel his breath, and then I pop up, swinging hard. The bottle crashes into his head with a satisfying crack, and the guy stumbles backward, dazed. I don’t wait to see if he’s getting up. My heart pounds furiously as I make a break for the exit.

I burst into the back maintenance hallway, the sudden quiet shocking my senses after the insanity I left behind in the club.

It’s too quiet and something isn’t right. My instincts scream at me but there’s no turning back now.

My footsteps echo through the quiet hallway.

I spot the exit ahead, my heart lifting slightly. I need to get outside, hop in a taxi, and get home. From there, I’ll call my brothers, tell them exactly what went down, and they’ll handle it. But first, I need to make it out of here alive.

Just then, a door slams open, and I whirl around to see who it is. One of the assassins steps through, his eyes locking on me immediately. His gun is raised, his voice cutting through the silence as he shouts something in Spanish.

My pulse spikes. I barely speak Spanish, but I know enough to understand he’s saying, “Where is he?” He’s demanding something, or someone.

He? Did I misunderstand him? My mind scrambles, trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about, but I don’t have time to think about it. He’s moving closer, his gun still trained on me, eyes dark with intent.

Then, with a sudden bang, the exit door flies open.

Relief floods through me the moment I see Grigori standing in the open doorway. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see that cold, unreadable face.

The assassin pulls the trigger, firing wildly. The shot goes wide as Grigori ducks for cover, his movements fast and precise. For a second, the assassin seems to lose interest in me completely. My head is spinning.

What the hell is happening?

Grigori fires off a couple of rounds, the shots echoing down the hall. "Stay down!" he shouts, his voice rough, commanding. I know better than to argue with him and duck.

The assassin shouts something else in Spanish, and Grigori answers back in the same language. Whatever they’re saying, it’s making my stomach knot. There’s clearly tension between them, something I can’t quite place, and I don’t like it. It’s as if they know each other.

Without warning, the assassin rushes at me. Before I can react, his hand grips my arm hard, yanking me to my feet. I stumble, my heart racing as he pulls me close, his gun now pressed against my side. He’s shouting—more threats, I assume—but his voice is all background noise compared to the roar of blood in my ears.

Grigori rises slowly from behind cover, holding up his gun as if he’s surrendering. But I know better. We’ve practiced this before—it’s one of the perks of having a private bodyguard who’s prepared for everything.

The assassin keeps shouting, but I barely hear it. Grigori and I share a look.

It’s all about timing.

Grigori winks, and I wink back. It’s go time.

I yank my elbow forward, then with all the force I can muster, I drive it straight back into the assassin’s gut. The impact is solid, and the satisfyingwhooshof air leaving his lungs tells me I hit the mark. His grip on me loosens just enough for me to twist free and dive to the ground.

Pop, pop.Two clean shots from Grigori’s gun and the assassin collapses, his body hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

It’s over.

Grigori’s on him in seconds. He kicks the gun away, making sure he’s down for good before helping me to my feet. "Nice work," he says, flashing me a grin. "But you should’ve kept your elbow a little tighter; more force that way."

I roll my eyes, brushing dust off my dress. "The guy’s dead, isn’t he?" I shoot back, voice dripping with sarcasm as westart moving toward the exit. "And their target—me—is still standing."

“Not quite.”

“Huh?”

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