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Everything around me was rolling, until I landed upside down. My breathing was heavy, and it hurt to inhale. My eyes snapped shut as I tried the counting technique to calm my heart rate.
The rolling of my car could’ve been deadly to me, yet I’d managed to survive.
The first thing I saw was blood oozing from my arm, and I prayed to God that my face was intact. After all, I had a party to attend soon, and I couldn’t go looking like a failed plastic surgery patient.
Then I heard a car door open and close with a loud thud. I couldn’t see outside very well, and all I managed to do was unbuckle my seat belt and grab my gun. Yet, it turned out that I’d been shaken up more than I thought—my hands trembled. The gun fell and I cussed—there was no way I could reach it given how I was lying. I managed to hide the small blade inside my sleeve, in case an opportunity rose for me to use it.
The next moment, they opened my door, then two arms grabbed me and yanked me outside. I tried kicking them as soon as I was out of the vehicle, though I was unsuccessful.
The man threw me on my side, and I felt nausea rise. I blinked, trying to ease the pain, and glanced up to find five unknown men watching me.
They all looked pretty much the same—around the same height and weight, dressed in black sweatpants and shirts, with tinted sunglasses. None looked to be younger than forty, and I tried to crawl backwards as they approached.
“Who sent you?” I seethed, my voice filled with venom and pure hatred.
I wasn’t afraid, especially not of death. If it was meant to be, it would be, no matter how hard I tried to deny it. I was only curious to find out if my suspicions had been correct.
One of them stepped forward, whilst the other four pointed their guns at me, a wicked smile on his face.
“We were told you were an intelligent young lady—you can probably figure it out on your own,” the leader of their little group announced.
He came forward and crouched down so he was level with me. Slowly, he removed his sunglasses and tossed them aside. Nothing but malice lurked in the dark eyes that were fixed on my face.
“It would make all of this a lot easier if you just told me who hired you,” I responded, slowly taking in a breath or two.
“Sorry, princess, that’s not the way I work.”
And that was when all of my suspicions were proven correct.
I never broke eye contact as he inched his head closer to mine. “And it’s time for you to die—any last words?”
“Yes.” I grinned. “Get fucked.”
I managed to wiggle the blade out of my sleeve, and it perfectly fell into my palm. A look of confusion crossed his face, but I worked quickly, bringing the blade up and slashing it across his throat.
His eyes widened as soon as the blood started gushing out. It splattered all over my face, neck, and hair. Some even managed to get inside my mouth, and I gagged.
The others scrambled their asses towards us. When their leader fell on top of me, they picked him up and begged for him to speak, though it was too late. He was already dead.
“You fucking bitch.”
The impact of a palm connecting to my cheek forced my head to the side. Slowly, I laughed and shook my head. “You shouldn’t have done that, because now, all of you are doomed.”
I might’ve gone easier on them and simply murdered them, but Davorin?
No.
I saw him approaching at a rapid speed, nothing but bloodlust and the need for a massacre radiating from him. It was one of the most attractive forms of him I’d seen so far. He had a gun in his left hand, and as the men began to turn to follow my gaze, he began to fire.
His mask was on and my heart fluttered. His muscles looked way too good in that shirt, and the gloves on his hands looked fuckable, as weird as that sounded. Davorin was the epitome of sex appeal, but when he was in murder mode? Oh, to be the object of his rage and to be fucked sideways whilst he was in such a manic state.
Not even a minute later, the men were all dead. Each one had a bullet right between their eyes, and I was surprised that he hadn’t tortured them further. Another wave of mistrust came from me, but I pushed it to the side for the moment.
“Fuck, little lion,” he cussed. “Are you okay?”
He began inspecting my arm; the knife was still clutched in my palm. Slowly, he took the blade and tossed it aside. His hands roamed my body for any sign of injury.
“I’m fine,” I announced.
