Page 14 of Bratva King

The man swung around. Alexei crashed into him shoulder first. The force sent both of them sprawling onto the asphalt. The weapon skidded somewhere into the darkness.

The attacker recovered surprisingly quickly. He drove Alexei backward. Alexei caught himself against the pavement just before another blow landed. The man's size became immediately obvious.

He outweighed Alexei considerably, and he had all that raw strength. Alexei relied on speed instead. The attacker lunged again, but Alexei twisted aside. The movement gave him just enough room to reach beneath the waistband of his jogging pants.

He wrapped his fingers around the familiar handle. The compact knife never left him, not in business, home, or even while he went out running. He drew it in one smooth motion. The attacker froze for the briefest instant, but it was long enough.

Alexei surged forward. The struggle became desperate and messy. Neither man spoke, and only strained breathing and the scrape of shoes against asphalt filled the street.

Somewhere behind him, he heard Sergei shouting into his radio. He was calling for additional security and probably medical assistance. The attacker tried to break away, but Alexei refused to let him.

A final collision sent them both crashing against the hood of a parked car. The impact echoed in Alexei’s ears. When the struggle finally ended, silence rushed back with startling force. Alexei remained bent over, chest heaving.

His heartbeat thundered inside his ears. Sergei reached him seconds later.

"It's over,” Sergei said.

Alexei barely heard him. He searched his surroundings frantically for her. Where was she? Finally, he spotted her, and she was still lying exactly where she'd fallen. She hadn't moved from her spot, he realized.

Fear punched the air from his lungs. Alexei shoved past Sergei.

"Call an ambulance!" Alexei ordered.

"It's already on the way!"

He dropped beside her. Closer now, he could see how pale she'd become beneath the streetlights. A strand of dark hair had escaped her ponytail, partially hiding her face. He brushed it away almost without thinking.

The simple gesture stopped him cold. He'd never touched her before. Her skin felt cool, and she looked much younger than he thought somehow, certainly less intimidating.

Without those sharp, calculating eyes fixed on him, she almost appeared peaceful. Too peaceful. His stomach twisted.

"Stay with me,” he murmured, but there was no response.

He carefully supported her head. Her breathing remained shallow but steady. Relief swept through him so intensely his shoulders sagged.

"You're all right," he said quietly, unsure whether he was reassuring her or himself.

For the second time in less than seventy-two hours, the mysterious assassin had saved his life, except this time, she paid the price. Blue emergency lights began reflecting off nearby buildings in the distance.

More members of Volkov security poured into the street. Voices overlapped, orders were shouted, and someone began securing the area. Alexei heard none of it. His entire world had narrowed to the unconscious woman in his arms.

Nothing made sense anymore. She'd accepted a contract to kill him, then deliberately spared him. Now she'd thrown herself into the path of another assassin to save him again. People didn't risk their lives for strangers, not in his world and not without a reason.

As he looked down at her pale face, one certainty settled firmly in his mind. He wasn't letting her disappear this time. When she opened those dark eyes again, she was going to answer every question that had been tormenting him. However, until then, he wasn't leaving her side.

Chapter Five

Natalia drifted through darkness that refused to settle into sleep. Every breath scraped against her ribs as though someone had filled her lungs with broken glass.

Her shoulder throbbed in dull waves, the ache pulsing in time with her heartbeat. Somewhere nearby, leather creaked. Footsteps crossed polished wood, and glass clinked against glass. She then heard the unknown voices.

Natalia froze, and her instincts exploded awake. She mustn’t move, or breathe differently. Don't let them know.

Years of conditioning overrode the panic clawing at her chest before it could take hold. Her pulse wanted to race, but she forced it slower. Every assassin learned the trick eventually. To breathe evenly, keep your muscles loose, and let whoever stood over you believe you remained unconscious.

She needed information first. Once she had that, she could plan her escape. Her survival was her priority. Natalia stayed perfectly still beneath what felt like expensive linen sheets. She inhaled deeply, sensing clean soap, wood smoke, leather and coffee.

She wasn’t in a hospital then. Besides, the bed she lay on felt too comfy, the sheets silky against her body. A house, but whose? Who had taken her here?