Page 63 of Konstantin
She scrambles to her feet, disappearing into the closet on the far side of the room. The soft click of the closet closing is the last thing I register before the bedroom door rattles.
I wait behind the portioned wall, silent, still. The need to rip apart whoever dared to walk in here is overwhelming. Whoever they are, they won’t leave this room alive. And when I have their bodies, I will send bits and pieces to whoever sent them.
When the door bursts open, three—no, five—men rush in, all in black. Ski masks. Gloves.
Is it the DeLuca crew? Have they really become this stupid?
I will find out soon and make them all pay.
With a growl, I squeeze the trigger once from behind the wall, dropping the first man before his boot crosses the threshold. Blood sprays across the white carpet.
Another dives behind the couch. I roll toward the dresser and fire again, hitting his leg, then crouch down and roll again before firing into his skull.
A third swings his weapon toward me, and I charge him before he can pull the trigger. My shoulder smashes into his chest, and we hit the floor. He struggles. But he doesn’t stand a chance. I snap his neck and shove him off me, panting through my nose.
Two more left. Two more bodies standing in the way of me keeping her safe.
My adrenaline pumps through me, her face appearing before my eyes.
No one is going to hurt you again.
One of the guys charges, swinging a blade, and we collide. Igrapple with him, slamming him into the edge of the dresser. My fist connects with his jaw, and he kicks my leg out before we go down together.
I can’t see the last man.
Where the fuck is he? The bastard was just here.
All I can think is that Tessa better still be in that fucking closet.
Because if she isn’t, I’ll tear apart this entire hotel and everyone in it to find her.
And I won’t stop there.
EMILIA
My breaths are shallow, though not out of fear. This isn’t my first rodeo, and it won’t be my last.
Yet here I am, trapped in a closet, sidelined like some helpless kid, while he gets to have all the fun.
If he knew who I really was, who trained me, what I’ve done…maybe he’d stop treating me like something breakable. But of course that’s not possible.
Through the thick slats of the door, I catch glimpses of the chaos. Konstantin moves like he was built for war. Outnumbered, but far from outmatched.
He fights with precision, power, like the odds don’t even matter. Like a man who’s had to claw his way out of hell before.
I’m almost impressed.
Whoever these men are, they came to take him out, and I need to know why and who they are. Maybe this is that DeLuca crew Gerardo mentioned.
I don’t care what happens to Konstantin. If he dies, I won’t cry, not that I ever do. But heisentertaining in a maddening, overbearingsort of way. And I do need him alive…at least long enough to get the evidence that can clear Nate.
Sure, Riley could probably dig it up on her own, even if Konstantin was six feet under. But keeping him alive? That’s just better for my plan.
When one of the men moves behind him, raising a gun, he doesn’t see it. He’s too busy choking the one in front of him.
Shit.
Before I can think, I slip out of the closet, gun raised. My feet hit the floor with barely a sound, and I shoot the jackass and the man Konstantin is close to murdering.
