I don’t turn. My gun stays where it belongs, pressed to Kirill’s skull.
Kirill’s eyes burn up at me, hate twisting what’s left of his dignity. I holster the gun. A bullet is too clean for him. Too merciful.
My fist smashes into his face. Once. Twice. Again. Bone cracks under the assault, his nose collapsing, cheek splitting open. His blood sprays hot across my knuckles, but I don’t stop. I hammer him until his features blur into ruin, until his smug mouth is nothing but torn flesh and broken teeth.
He groans, body sagging. One last punch drops him flat on the floor, his head bouncing off the concrete. He twitches, blood pooling, his face a mangled mask.
I step back, chest heaving. He’s breathing, but barely. Weak. Ruined.
Demyan still has Anton pinned, his forearm crushing Anton’s windpipe. Anton’s eyes bulge, his face blotched purple, spittle running down his chin as he claws uselessly at Demyan’s arm.
“Don’t kill him,” I order, my voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Not yet.”
Demyan glances at me, then eases his hold just enough for Anton to gasp and sputter, dragging air like a drowning man. Blood pours from his split lip, his chest heaving. He looks like he wants to beg, but he’s too far gone for words.
I stare at both of them—Kirill broken on the floor, Anton trembling in Demyan’s grip. The balance has shifted. They wanted to be kings in my world, but all I see now are carcasses waiting to be burned.
“No—Niko!”
Noelle’s scream rips through the din, sharp enough to cut through the haze of blood and gunpowder. My head jerks towardher voice just in time to catch the glint of steel—a barrel leveled at me from behind.
I pivot hard, muscles firing on instinct. The shot cracks, deafening in the confined space, but it doesn’t hit me.
Anton’s scream tears through the warehouse instead. The bullet rips into his thigh, shredding flesh and bone, and he drops like dead weight, writhing on the floor beside Kirill’s bloodied body. His cries echo against the concrete, raw and broken, while blood gushes across the ground.
Kirill is still down, barely conscious, his face swollen and ruined. Now Anton’s body thrashes against the floor right next to him, their groans and curses blending like some pathetic chorus of failure.
I snap my gaze back to the shooter. He doesn’t get a second chance. My gun is up, and one precise shot shatters his skull, spraying the wall with the last mistake he’ll ever make. His body crumples into the dirt like it was never meant to stand.
My chest heaves. The ringing in my ears fades enough to hear Noelle again—her voice ragged, desperate.
I holster my gun, eyes never leaving the two broken men writhing at my feet. They thought they could touch what was mine.
Not anymore. Not ever again.
I turn to Demyan, my voice low and final.
“Arrest them. I’ll make them regret ever crossing my path.”
Demyan doesn’t argue. “Yes, Boss.”
He jerks his chin, and two of our men peel out of the smoke, weapons raised, moving to drag Anton and Kirill out like the filth they are. Their groans fill the air, pitiful and small, as chains and zip ties clamp down on their wrists.
I don’t watch. I’ve already sentenced them.
Instead, I storm forward, the haze parting, my boots heavy against the blood-soaked floor, toward Noelle.
She’s still strapped to the chair, trembling, her eyes wet but locked on me like I’m the only solid thing in this hell. My chest squeezes at the sight, rage and relief colliding so violently I almost stagger.
I close the distance in three long strides, the rest of the war behind me dissolving into static. As I near her, I realize nothing exists but her.
My chest seizes, a violent ache that nearly drops me. I’ve stared down death a thousand times, felt bones break under my fists, but nothing—nothing—has ever gutted me like this.
I should be furious. She left. She walked right into the jaws of the wolves I’ve spent years keeping at bay. The thought of her slipping past my guards, of her choosing to trust anyone but me, should have me spitting fire.
But the fury collides with something else—relief so sharp it hurts. She’s alive. Still here. Still mine.
My hands curl into fists at my sides, the urge to break, to kill, to punish burning through me. But when I look at her trembling lips, the way her chest shudders as she tries to steady her breathing, all I want to do is pull her into me and never let go.
