Page 150 of Vendetta Crown

Rage explodes inside me like a wildfire. My hand presses harder against my stomach where my babies—my twins—flutter with fear.

"No," I whisper, and the word carries a strength I didn't know I possessed. "I won't let you."

Seven years I've run from this monster. Seven years I've let fear rule me. Seven years of looking over my shoulder, of flinching at every camera flash, of telling myself that Jamie Fields was dead.

But Jamie Fields isn't dead.

She's right here.

With Aurora Dragunov's strength flowing through her veins.

I back away from Kristofer's advancing shape, reaching for something—anything—that I can use to put a barrier between myself and Kristofer.

That's when my fingers brush against a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Without hesitation, I yank it free and discharge it directly into his face.

He screams, stumbling backward, knife flailing blindly.

"You fucking bitch!"

My babies kick again, fierce and alive, triggering a primal, maternal rage I've never felt before.

"You will not touch my children," I growl, voice barely recognizable even to myself. "You will not take anyone else from me."

Kristofer wipes frantically at his eyes, trying to clear the chemicals. The knife gleams as he steadies himself.

In the dim light and covered in the white discharge from the fire extinguisher, he looks like a demon.

"What are you gonna do, Jamie?" He snarls. "You couldn't stop me before. You can't stop me now."

My hand tightens around the fire extinguisher. I grip it tight, feeling its reassuring weight.

"My name," I say through clenched teeth. "Is Aurora Dragunov!"

The fear that once paralyzed me transforms into something else entirely: determination.

Ruslan might be pinned down outside, but he's taught me something important: I'm not a victim anymore.

I am a woman who negotiated with the lord of Las Vegas.

I am a wife who stands beside the pakhan of pakhans.

I am a mother who will protect her children at any cost.

Kristofer lunges, knife slashing toward my belly as I swing the fire extinguisher.

He howls in pain, eyes wild with rage and disbelief.

And the knife falls to the floor.

I swing the fire extinguisher again, this time aiming for his head.

But he's ready.

A meaty hand shoots up, catching the metal canister mid-swing. Our eyes lock for one terrifying moment. His pupils are dilated with rage, while mine are wide with desperation.

"You were always predictable, you dumb bitch," he snarls.

With a vicious twist, he wrenches the extinguisher from my grip. The sudden loss of resistance sends me stumbling backward. I twist as I fall, managing to land on my side, as the air is driven out of my lungs.

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