Page 148 of Sweet Obsession
The device exploded... light, heat, smoke. Screams.
I ducked, rolled behind a steel pillar. Lev lunged, missed. I slammed a pipe into his gut.
Alexei tackled me. I elbowed his throat, grabbed his gun, fired—miss. Fired again—blood. He dropped.
I ran back. The smoke parted like curtains...
Chernov stood over Misha, blade raised.
I screamed and charged.
He turned too slow. I slashed across his face. Blood sprayed. He staggered back, clutching his cheek.
“You think you’ve won?” he roared, fury blazing through the pain. “If your death is the price, I’ll take it. We’ll all burn together!”
I barely had time to register the second charge flashing red from where I’d hidden it.
This one wasn’t smoke and distraction, it was real.
The second blast tore through the room like a wrecking ball.
Walls buckled. Heat and shrapnel punched the air from my lungs. The ground jumped beneath me.
We flew—Misha, Chernov, me—all flung in different directions as fire chewed through metal and concrete.
Everything blurred.
And still... I crawled toward him.
Smoke. Fire. Screams.
The blast had torn through the far side of the compound, collapsing part of the ceiling and flinging bodies like dolls. But Chernov wasn’t dead.
Neither was Misha.
I choked on dust, ears ringing as I forced myself up. Every bone ached. My vision blurred—but I could make out the twisted chair, toppled sideways, and Misha’s blood-slicked body slumped against it.
I crawled. My knees burned over broken glass and scorched tile.
He was conscious—but barely. Pale. Bleeding from his throat, his hand, his wrists. His chest heaved with shallow, ragged breaths.
“Misha,” I rasped, grabbing his face. “Look at me.”
His eyelids fluttered. “Luna... run...”
“No,” I growled, dragging myself to his side. “I didn’t come this far to watch you die.”
His arms were bound with reinforced leather and chains—sick bastards weren’t taking chances. I found a knife—Chernov’s, still sticky with Misha’s blood—and began sawing through it.
Gunfire rang out in the distance. Not from Nikolai. Not Oleg.
They’d failed.
We were alone.
The knot refused to give. I screamed in frustration and used the blade, ripping into the leather until it gave way, freeing one arm. Then the next.
He collapsed forward with a groan, heavy against me.
