Page 98 of Dirty Damage

The rider’s head snaps back. His bike careens sideways, taking down two more attackers in a tangle of metal and limbs.

Uri lets out an appreciative whistle as we swerve right. I’m knocked back to the floor, my shoulder connecting with something sharp. Pain blooms bright and sharp, but I don’t really feel it.

My head is quicksand.

Time is fluid.

I lose track of how long we drive, how many shots are fired. The world narrows to the thunder of my pulse and the acrid scent of gunpowder.

Then warmth encircles my wrist. “Up, princess. We’ve lost them.”

Oleg pulls me onto the seat beside him, his arm sliding around my shoulders. The gesture is protective, possessive.

As if he didn’t just kill a man in front of me.

“You okay?”

I twist to face him, searching for any trace of the Beast. But his features have softened again. He’s the Oleg I know.

The Oleg IthoughtI knew.

“Is that a trick question?” I croak.

“Kind of. The limo is bulletproof. And I happen to be an excellent shot.”

I flinch, remembering the rider’s head snapping back. The violence had been too quick to process in the moment, but now, the images flood my mind with horrible clarity.

Too crisp.

Too fast.

Too fucking red.

“Who were they?”

“People who want something from me.”

“By running you off the road and trying to kill you?” Hysteria edges into my voice. “Seems like a stupid way to get what they want.”

“Her first Bratva run-in and she’s making jokes already.” His hand drifts up my neck, thumb brushing my thundering pulse. “I knew you were something special.”

“Don’t be too impressed. Pretty sure it’s the shock talking.” My fingers press against my sternum, trying to cage my rioting heart. “Really, Oleg. Who were those men?”

That emblem flashes through my mind again. It’s like a word on the tip of my tongue, right there, begging me to remember.

But Oleg’s proximity is making it hard to think. He’s radiating heat like a furnace, his arm still tight around my shoulders.

The scent of gunpowder clings to his skin. It mixes with his cologne in a way that should repulse me but instead sends heat curling low in my belly.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I sure as hell am gonna find out.”

His touch is innocent enough, but my body responds like he’s caressing bare skin. Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline, or maybe it’s the way he handled himself tonight—the way he protected me.

Either way, I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact between us.

His eyes darken as he reads the shift in my breathing. “You’re trembling.”

“Side effect of almost dying.”

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