Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(135)

I’m all there is between my lover and death.

I hold my breath and fire.

BANG!

I step forward and as my feet touch the ground again…

BANG!

One more step forward and… BANG!

I keep pulling the trigger as the man topples over. He’s a bullet-riddled mess as he hits the ground. And I’m still pulling the trigger, even as my clip empties.

He’s dead.

Mikhail pounces up, puts his arms around me and pulls me behind cover of the car in case any more are out there.

“You did it,” he says to me in a husky breath, so full of pride. “You saved all our asses.”

“You owe me a cheesecake later,” I quip, looking between the two of them. “For now, I don’t really wanna hang around here.”

I’m out of breath, but Mikhail’s strong arms comfort me, soothe away the agitation in my shoulders. It was a rush to save them, to do what I had to, and my entire body feels like this intense tingly sensation. It doesn’t feel right.

It kinda feels like I’m horny, which definitely isn’t appropriate right now. Is that what they talk about when they say your adrenaline spikes during a fight?

“You have to go end Gregor, Mikhail,” Petyr says as he finishes binding up his wound, and Mikhail checks his own leg, finding little more than a superficial graze.

We hear a groan from nearby, and Mikhail and I are immediately on alert. But it quickly becomes clear that it’s the sound of a dying man.

Approaching the spot with care, Mikhail finds him, and I realize, judging by the spot he was in, it had to be the guy I shot at the very beginning. I did it.

He’s nursing a wound in his gut, his blood looking like black oil over his hands, not at all what I’d expect. I find myself grossly fascinated, which is a far cry from who I was—who I thought I was—just a couple weeks ago.

“Tell me what you know,” Mikhail says darkly. But the wounded man just pants. Mikhail bends down and stabs that knife of his into the man’s hand, making him cry out.

“H-he has a girl! Held captive! In case you get away!” He says, his agony palpable.

“What girl?” Mikhail asks as Petyr moves off to check around the area.

“Some bitch who works at the bar,” he says, and Mikhail makes him hurt again for that crass language.

“Nikki,” Mikhail says. “Her name is Nikki.”

“S-sorry! He says if you turn over the girl and this friend of yours out here dies, all is forgiven, and you get her—Nikki—back.”

“Final question. Where are Gregor and Nikki now?” Mikhail asks. “Answer well, and your suffering will end.”

“An expensive hotel… in the city. Says you’d never dare show there,” and Mikhail just ends the man’s life without a word more, sinking his knife into the man’s heart before my eyes.

“What—why?” I ask, shocked.

“He was a goner and he knew it. It is less painful this way, at least. And I know where Gregor is,” Mikhail says, wiping off his knife on the man’s clothes before standing up.

Petyr returns just in time, and the two men exchange knowing nods.

There are still intricacies I don’t understand. I might have killed someone in self-defense, but I’m not like these two. They were born into blood and violence and mayhem, and I was only recently adopted into it.

But I’m not afraid anymore. And if Nikki is a friend of Mikhail’s, and she’s been put at risk because of me, then there’s no way I’m going to back down. No innocent is going to die on my behalf.

“What do we do?”

“Gregor has to die,” Mikhail says, and Petyr nods to his words.

“The sooner the better. Otherwise we have a full blown civil war within the Bratva. And nobody will be getting out cleanly,” Petyr says, and Mikhail nods in agreement. “I will take your girl with me, keep her safe while you do the job,” he says, deciding things as clear as that. But there’s no way I’m going to be pushed aside again!

“No,” Mikhail says even before I can speak up. “Leave her to me,” he says, and the two men exchange a look before shaking hands. “Dos vedanya old friend, I will see this through.”

“And when it’s done, I’ll see to it you’re where you belong,” Petyr says before the two of them part, and it’s just us again.

I look up at Mikhail, relief and apprehension mixing in my gut. This is real. We’re making it real. Part of me knows that I have a choice, and that I could simply run away and let him handle it. Even if I left, I know Mikhail would never let Nikki or me get hurt.

But another part of me feels like I’m riding a water slide, unable to stop or slow down, and even though I’m frightened, there’s no turning back.