Page 57 of Bound in Possession

Just twenty feet away, one of Viktor’s shooters is creeping around the side of a burning tactical vehicle, stepping right up behind Dmitri, who is pinned down by heavy fire from the front, completely unaware that the gunman is raising a shotgun straight toward the back of his head.

There’s no time to think.

I slide up onto the seat, terrified because I don’t really know what I am doing, line up the sight through the cracked glass, and pull the trigger twice.

Bang! Bang!

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CAMILLA

The recoil kicks into my wrist as the heavy glass shatters outward. The two rounds hit the gunman squarely in the chest and neck. He drops like a stone before he can even pull his trigger, his shotgun clattering harmlessly against the asphalt. I can’t believe it! I did it!

Dmitri spins around, eyes wide as he realizes how close he just came to dying, and looks straight up at the shattered window of the SUV—and at me holding the smoking gun.

Across the dark road, Maksim hears the shots, his head snapping toward the SUV. When his eyes land on me sitting exposed in the broken window with a firearm in my hand, his face turns into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His rage is far worse than anything he directed at Viktor or Igor. I put myself in harm's way, breaking his explicit command to stay down, and he looks ready to tear the rest of the car apart himself.

Fueled by sheer, terrifying anger, Maksim doubles down on the assault. He moves with relentless, ruthless aggression, driving the remaining attackers back until those who aren't bleeding out on the highway are scrambling back into their trucks, speeding off into the darkness.

The heavy silence returns, broken only by the crackle of burning tires and the harsh breathing of surviving guards.

Maksim doesn't waste a single second checking on his men or assessing the tactical damage. He strides directly toward the SUV, his heavy boots crunching on broken glass. He reaches the driver's door, slams the unlock button, and rips the rear door open so violently the hinges groan.

Before I can say a word, his large hands lock onto my waist and yank me completely out of the car, pulling me into the cool night air.

"Are you completely out of your fucking mind?!" he roars, his voice echoing off the surrounding trees.

He doesn't give me time to answer. His hands are everywhere—rough, desperate, and trembling as he runs them over my shoulders, my arms, my chest, and my ribs, frantically checking every inch of my body for blood or bullet wounds. He turns me around, checking my back, his eyes wildly scanning the severe black dress to ensure not a single drop of my blood has been spilled.

"I told you to stay down!" he snaps, pulling me hard against his chest, his heart hammering wildly against my cheek as he holds me so tight I can barely breathe. "If a stray bullet had caught you through that window, Camilla, I would have burned this entire city to the ground!"

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice softening as the adrenaline finally begins to dip, leaving me exposed to the sheer terror in his voice. I rest my hands against his chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath his shirt. "I just wanted to help. I couldn't just sit there and watch."

Before he can launch into another furious lecture, heavy footsteps crunch on the glass beside us. Dmitri approaches, his face smudged with soot and his shoulder bleeding slightly, but his expression is filled with profound respect.

"Camilla," Dmitri says, pausing to look directly at me. He dips his head in a low, genuine bow. "Thank you. If you hadn't taken that shot, I wouldn't be standing here."

Maksim’s jaw tightens, the protective rage still rolling off him in waves. He doesn't want to hear about my bravery right now; he only wants me out of the line of fire. He snaps at his right-hand man, his voice cutting through the smoke.

"Get in the car, Dmitri. Get us moving. We’re heading home. Now."

Dmitri nods quickly, moving to coordinate the surviving vehicles. Maksim doesn't let go of my waist, ushering me back into the SUV. The doors lock once more, and the remains of our convoy speed away from the carnage, tearing through the night toward the safety of the estate.

We don't speak a word on the ride back. The silence isn't filled with anger this time, but a heavy, exhausting aftermath of survival.

Back at the mansion, the gates slam shut behind us. Maksim doesn't wait for the guards to open our doors; he pulls me out of the vehicle and guides me straight through the grand foyer, up the stairs, and into our private suite, bypassing everyone.

He leads me directly into the massive, marble-tiled bathroom. The air is cool, but he immediately turns on the taps to the deep, freestanding tub, letting hot water cascade down, filling the room with a thick, comforting steam.

I stand near the vanity, suddenly feeling the weight of the entire night crashing down on me. There is smoke in my hair, gunpowder residue on my hands, and blood splattered across his clothes.

Maksim walks over to me. The feral fury from the highway has completely melted away, replaced by a quiet, intense focus. His large hands reach for the zipper at the back of my dress, sliding it down with agonizing slowness. He helps me step out of the ruined fabric, his eyes tracing every inch of my skin to double-check, one last time, that I am truly unharmed.

He strips out of his own blood-stained shirt and tactical gear, leaving it in a heap on the floor.

"Come here," he murmurs, his voice low and incredibly gentle.

He steps into the steaming water first, then reaches out his hands to pull me in with him. As I slide into the warmth, the water rising around us, the tension in my muscles finally shatters. I lean back against his broad chest, and he wraps his arms around me from behind, burying his face in the crook of my neck.