I nodded my head, but there was no way he could see the gesture.
“Pinch me if you do!”
I did. I pinched his arm.
“Good.”
I felt his weight lift off me, and I heard the car door open and close. I was so scared I dared not raise my head. I just lay there, shuddering and praying we made it out of this alive.
It was a battlefield outside; bullets were spraying like perfume, and men were dropping dead by the second. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder, those unrelenting, rapid shots tearing at my nerves.
I pressed my palms tightly over my ears, trembling in absolute fear. An abrupt scream fell from my lips when something I assumed to be a dead body thudded onto the car’s roof. Another slammed against the door with such force that my heart sank into my stomach.
As the seconds ticked by, I summoned the courage to poke my head from behind the shattered glass. That’s when I saw him: Demyon Tarasov, or should I say, the monster in him. He moved like a shadow in the dark, fast and agile.
I watched him fight with his fists, his knife, and his pistol. From where I was, it looked like a scene straight out of a John Wick movie. Demyon killed his enemies without mercy, his hands and feet a blur of rapid movements.
The cries of his victims filled the air as he snapped their bones like twigs, his blade tearing flesh with precise cuts. He squeezed the trigger with practiced ease, a testament to how long he’d been doing this.
I watched in awe, fascinated by his speed, battle experience, and agility.
“Get over here!” a deep voice bellowed in my face.
I screamed and leaned back in fear, shocked by the man’s sudden appearance. In a flash, his strong arm yanked the car door open, and the next thing I knew, I was being dragged by the hair.
“Demyon!” I cried out.
“Shut up, bitch!” my attacker growled, his voice thick with a Russian accent.
With lightning speed, Demyon dashed toward the man, striking a powerful blow. His fist connected with the man’s lower jaw, lifting him into the air. The man crashed hard onto the ground at least a foot away. Demyon pounced on him, drilling heavy punches in his face, muttering inaudible words. His knuckles were covered with his victim’s blood, but he didn’t stop. He kept hitting harder and harder until the man’s face was completely disfigured—unrecognizable.
By the time he rose to his feet, the man was already dead, and the shooting had stopped. I struggled to stand, my heart hammering in my heaving chest as I scanned the surroundings.
Bodies were sprawled across the ground, drowning in the pools of their own blood. My hands were shaking, and my legs seemed too weak to carry my weight.
Demyon’s gaze was fixed on me, blood dripping from his knuckles as his shoulders rose and fell with slow breaths. Moved by a strange force, I rushed forward and didn’t stop until I was in his arms.
I embraced him tightly, my heart filled with gratitude for how quickly he’d saved my life. He held my waist and pulled me closer, his eyes boring into mine.
“You okay? Are you hurt?” he whispered, his bloodied palm cradling my face.
I nodded, then shook my head, a gesture that showed my brain wasn’t thinking straight yet. With all that adrenaline coursing through my veins, I dared to reach out and place a gentle kiss on his lips.
It felt awkward at first, until he kissed me back, this time with more fervency and intention. His tongue invaded my mouth, drawing the air from my lungs as our heads tilted to the rhythm of this burning passion.
For a moment, the world around us faded away, and for once, neither of us pretended we didn’t want this.
Chapter 14 —Demyon
I’d never been so afraid in a long time—not for my own safety. No, for someone else’s. When those bastards ambushed us last night, I felt fear: raw, undiluted fear. At that moment, all I could think of was ways to make sure not even a hair on her head was harmed.
The terror in her eyes and the way her body trembled beneath mine when the violence broke out was something that would haunt me for a long time. It was clear now that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything bad ever happened to her.
Just the memory of her screaming my name for help when that son of a bitch dragged her by the hair made my blood boil. I’d been busy with five armed assailants at the time, but the second I heard her scream, something snapped inside me.
I released the beast locked away for a reason, and when it took the wheel, the result was catastrophic. With inhumane strength and a strange kind of speed, I knocked down my opponents, all five of them, within seconds.
As a trained killer, I was familiar with the body’s pressure points. I knew exactly where and how to strike for instant paralysis. However, those five armed men weren’t my target anymore—the asshole dragging my Eva by the hair was.
