Page 4 of His Grip

Her thoughts were miles away—or rather, just a few feet outside.

Excusing herself with a polite smile, Sofia made her way to the entrance. The sight of Viktor’s unmistakable figure made her pulse skip. Even without the tailored suit and the meticulously combed hair, he stood out. His messy hair and disheveled appearance only made him look more untouchable. Dangerous.

And then she saw the knife.

And the guns.

Her breath hitched.

Her father had always told her it was foolish to bring a knife to a gunfight. But watching Viktor, she wondered if he might be the exception to that rule.

The knife twirled in his hand like it was an extension of him, the blade catching the dim light as he moved. His stance was relaxed but coiled, like a predator toying with prey.

One of the men barked something in Russian, his words sharp and angry. Viktor didn’t flinch. His calm, quiet menace filled the space like static electricity before a storm.

Then everything erupted.

The man lunged, firing a shot. Viktor moved faster than her eyes could follow. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped the bullet,grabbed the shooter, and used him as a shield. The knife was at the man’s throat before anyone could react.

The cut wasn’t deep enough to kill, but the blood told a different story.

Viktor’s voice was low, almost conversational, but it cut through the chaos like a blade. “Here’s how this works. You tell your boss to back off, or next time, I won’t stop with a warning. I’ll gut him like a fish. And you? You’ll be next. Understand?”

The man stammered something unintelligible. The other lowered his gun, his hands trembling.

Viktor shoved his bleeding hostage aside and laughed—a cold, sharp sound that made the hair on Sofia’s arms stand on end.

Her father was right. Viktor had the power to make her feel like the only person in the world, but he was dangerous. Too dangerous.

When his eyes met hers, his laughter stopped.

He stalked toward her, his gaze hard. “I told you to go inside,” he said, his words deliberate and cutting.

“And I don’t take orders,” she fired back, her voice steadier than the rapid thrum of her heart.

Viktor’s lips curved—not quite a smile, but a dangerous approximation of one. Before she could process it, he pulled her into his arms, the movement swift and commanding.

“You really shouldn't defy me, Sofia, I've killed men for less,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, brushing against her skin like the edge of a blade. The intensity of it sent a shiver straight down her spine, igniting something primal and undeniable.

The air between them was sharp and crackling, a taut wire ready to snap. For one breathless moment, she thought he might kiss her. His gaze lingered on her lips, his grip firm but not cruel.

But then, just as quickly, he let her go.

The absence of his warmth hit her like a sudden chill. Stunned and furious, she stumbled back a step as he turned and disappeared into the crowd without a word.

Sofia clenched her fists, the ache in her chest building with every second he walked away. But instead of retreating, she pushed forward, her determination outweighing her trembling knees.

She stopped directly in his line of vision, her voice cutting through the noise. “What the hell was that?”

Viktor turned to her, his expression maddeningly calm. “An example,” he said simply as if the answer explained everything.

“An example of what?” she demanded, quickening her steps to keep up with him. “Your god complex?”

He halted abruptly, and she nearly collided with his back. The room seemed to tilt for a second, her anger evaporating into something more potent as he turned, his eyes locking onto hers.

Viktor stepped closer, and Sofia instinctively moved back—until the cold, unyielding wall met her spine.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips as she realized her mistake. He closed the distance with deliberate slowness, his dark, unreadable eyes fixed on her. She tried to hold her ground, but the intensity of his presence made her breath hitch, her pulse a chaotic drumbeat in her ears.

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