Page 101 of Sweet Obsession
But I didn’t freeze.
I reached down fast, fingers curling around a jagged shard of glass from the floor. As one man grabbed my arm, I drove it into Chernov’s bicep, the blade biting deep. He roared, staggering back as blood sprayed.
I kicked over the barrel beside us, oil spilling fast across the floor.
They hesitated.
I didn’t.
A match from my coat pocket flared to life, then dropped.
Flames rushed like vengeance.
Smoke. Screams. Chaos.
I ran, my heart pounding, a match in my pocket flaring to life as I tossed it, the flames erupting in a roar, a diversion that sent Chernov’s men scattering, their shouts lost in the chaos. I fled, my legs burning, my breath ragged, the warehouse a maze of fire and shadow as I escaped, my hands shaking, my mind a storm of fear and defiance.
I ran. Not away, through. Through fire, through smoke, through the nightmare I’d willingly walked into for the girl I couldn’t stop protecting. The flames clawed at the rafters behind me, the stench of burning oil thick in my lungs. I was dizzy, bleeding, barefoot, and still I ran.
Then came the roar of multiple engines. Tires screeched. Men shouted. I skidded into the street just as headlights slammed into me like a spotlight, freezing me in place.
And then, I saw him.
Misha.
He stepped from the black SUV like a storm wrapped in skin. His gun was already raised, his jaw clenched, pale eyes scanning, murderous.
“Luna!” he shouted, but it wasn’t just anger in his voice. It was terror. It was fury. It was something close to love.
Chernov’s men surged from the warehouse after me. Misha didn’t hesitate. He opened fire, fast, brutal, surgical. One dropped. Then another. Blood hit the snow. Screams cut the cold.
I tried to run to him, but my legs gave out.
Misha caught me mid-fall. “You’re hurt,” he growled, tucking me behind his body with terrifying gentleness. “Stay down.”
I didn’t listen. I never do.
A shot rang out, and Misha flinched.
He spun, shielding me, firing back with a snarl. “They’re fucking dead,” he muttered, voice ragged with rage. “Every last one.”
He fought like something unholy. Like the devil had crawled into him and made him its sword. Blood sprayed. One man got close—and Misha pistol-whipped him so hard I heard the skull crack.
He turned to me, panting. “Are you with me?”
I nodded, trembling. “Always.”
He yanked me close, one hand cradling the back of my head. “You shouldn’t have come. You nearly died.”
“I had to,” I whispered. “For her.”
His mouth crashed into mine, fierce and angry and raw. A kiss like war. Like surrender.
Gunshots still echoed behind us. Sirens wailed in the distance.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he said into my lips. “Then I’m burning this whole fucking city down.”
Once we were home.
