Another one comes from behind, and I whip the length of chain around his neck, yanking him forward until his body slams into mine. The cuffs slice into my skin, but I ignore the pain as I twist and snap his neck with the momentum, and for just a moment, a smile tearsacross my face. This right here is Kiara’s favorite brand of chaos.
The warehouse quickly fills with grunts, shouts, and the sound of heavy bodies hitting concrete, and with every sharp, twisted movement, more of the chains are loosened from around me.
The fan keeps spinning overhead like it’s enjoying the show, adding just a touch of flair to my takedown, and I’m almost annoyed that Kiara wasn’t here to witness it. Perhaps if she had, she’d finally be ready to admit that no one dominates the way I do, but then, she’d probably find a way to outdo me, and I’d be right back at square one.
Eight men walked into this warehouse thinking they were here to execute a liability.
Eight men were wrong.
The last one standing—the asshole who thought he was in charge of this little execution party—slowly looks around the warehouse, and the confidence drains out of his face.
Bodies are scattered across the concrete like discarded equipment, some twisted against steel beams, others crumpled beneath the shadows cast by the slow, grinding spin of the fan.
Blood spreads in dark smears across the floor where the fight moved from one end of the warehouse to the other, and as he glances back at me, I notice the very second when his breath turns sharp and uneven.
My complete, undivided attention settles on him, and the moment our eyes meet, he staggers backward toward the wide warehouse doors as if instinct is already screaming at him to run. His boots scrapeagainst the concrete, slipping slightly where blood has made the floor slick. The panic in his eyes grows with every step as he finally accepts what the rest of them figured out too late—there’s no winning here.
He’s the only one left, and he doesn’t stand a chance.
As he bolts for the door, his quick footsteps echo through the warehouse, frantically trying to put distance between us, but he doesn’t get far when I whip the hanging chain from my wrist toward him, and the heavy metal links catch around his throat, looping three times as a terrified roar tears out of him.
I yank hard, and his body jerks back, the force audibly ripping the air from his lungs as he’s pulled off-balance. His back slams against the bloodied concrete, and he claws at the chain that’s digging into his throat. His body flails helplessly across the floor as I haul him back toward me, pulling him in inch by inch until I hover over him.
He stares up at me, suddenly regretting his decision to fuck with the Iron Viper, but when you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.
A grin pulls at my lips, the mental image of this bastard putting his hands on Kiara living rent-free in my head, and before he even has the chance to scream, I reach down and grasp the chain right by his throat and swing him sideways. His head smashes into a metal support beam, and he crumbles like a fucking freshly baked cupcake.
His head caves in, brain matter left in clumps on the beam as the impact echoes through the warehouse with a hollow, metallic crack.
He’s dead on impact. His body collapses at my feet like a lifeless marionette with its strings cut.
Silence consumes the warehouse, heavy and sudden, like the entire building just exhaled after holding its breath through the violence. The echoes of the fight fade into the nothingness, leaving only the slow grind of the fan and the ragged sound of my heavy pants.
Bodies lie scattered across the concrete like broken mannequins, and for the first time since this started, nothing moves.
It’s over.
I stand in the center of the wreckage, chains hanging loose from my wrists as the sun finally breaks the horizon. Thin orange light spills through the shattered windows and stretches across the concrete floor. It paints the bodies in long shadows and glistens off the broken steel links dangling from my arms. The air is thick with the smell of blood, rust, and dust kicked up from the fight.
Then footsteps echo behind me.
I don’t turn right away. I just stand there for a second, letting out a slow breath. The sound alone is enough, and the weight crushing my chest for the last twenty minutes finally loosens, relief pounding through my veins so hard it almost brings me to my knees.
She’s alive.
“Bout time you showed up,” I say, wiping blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “Where the fuck have you been, Firecracker?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, so I turn, and the second my eyes land on her, the rest of the world falls away.
Kiara is standing in the doorway of the warehouse, breathing hard,clothes torn, with streaks of blood and grime smeared across her skin. Her hair is a mess, her shoulders tense, and she scans me the way a soldier checks a battlefield for survivors.
My chest tightens. She’s been through hell.
I close the distance between us in two strides, my hands already reaching for her before I can stop myself. I grab her shoulders first, turning her to check for wounds, my gaze running over every inch of her like I’m cataloging proof that she’s real and standing in front of me.
“You hurt?” I ask roughly.
Kiara swats at my hands. “Relax. I’m fine.”
