Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
His accent is heavier. He’s angry.
“You touched what is mine,” Viktor hisses, each word dripping with venom.
The man whimpers, his eyes darting around, seeking escape where there is none. I watch as Viktor straightens, and in one swift motion, he pulls a knife from his boot. The glint of the blade is sinister, the intent behind it even more so. My stomach churns as I watch, my feet rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to stop the scene unfolding before me.
Viktor places the cold metal against the man’s cheek, the threat clear. “This is the last face you’ll see before you learn the price of your actions,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
Relief swells in my chest. Will he end this violence? I want to walk away, move on with whatever happens next.
Tears prick my eyes, my conflict palpable. I know this man deserves punishment, but the brutality—the power and cruelty that Viktor personifies—is almost overwhelming.
He is my protector, yet in this moment, he embodies every dark nightmare I’ve ever had.
Viktor turns to look at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment. There is a question there, a silent asking for my approval, my sanction to continue. My heart aches, torn between my desire for safety and my fear of the man before me.
With a heavy heart, I nod slightly, my silence giving him the go-ahead he waits for. Viktor’s expression hardens, and he turns back to his captive, the knife now poised with deadly precision.
The scream that tears from the man’s throat is cut short as Viktor works, his actions efficient and ruthless. I turn my head away, unable to watch, my ears ringing with the man's cries.
Just because he deserved what he got doesn’t mean he wasn’t a human who will never breathe again, who will never walk this earth and have a chance to repent.
The body falls to the ground. Blood splashes on concrete. I don’t need to look into the face of the man he killed, but I do have to look into the face of the man I’m about to marry.
He turns to me, his face spattered in another man’s blood. I realize he’s done this before because he’s good at what he does. His skill comes from practiced experience.
“That’s nine down,” he says in a low growl as he reaches for my chin, his hand rough and warm against my skin. “One to go.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Viktor
We drive back home in silence for the first half of the trip. The weight of what just happened lingers in the air. Lydia's usually vibrant eyes are clouded with a mix of confusion and something I can't quite place. Maybe acceptance? I don't know. But I know I need to make this right for her.
“Do you have a doctor you could see?” she asks, her voice breaking the heavy silence.
“I don’t need a doctor.”
She reaches for my right hand and lays it gently in her lap. It’s bloodied and bruised from delivering a beating that had to happen. She doesn’t flinch or pull away, and that steadiness in her touch unexpectedly grounds me.
Today, Lydia watched me beat a man before I sliced his throat right in front of her. It was brutal. It was vicious.
It was necessary.
I saw the shock in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. Why isn’t she more disturbed? Why isn’t she running from me?
I glance at her, blowing out a breath. “Alright, then. I’ll clean you up myself. Tell me you have a first aid kit.”
“Yeah, baby,” I respond, the term slipping out naturally.
She shivers and moves a little closer to me, that small gesture sending a wave of warmth through my chest. Solidarity I didn’t expect and never hoped for.
“What happens now?” she asks, turning to me, uncertainty evident in her eyes.
“I will take you home. We get cleaned up, we get some dinner, and we go to sleep.” I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “And tomorrow, we plan our wedding.” I let go of her hand and scrub it across my brow, feeling the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. “After a night like this, I need to let it bleed off.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice soft but probing.
My eyes are focused on the road. “When I fight, when I let that part of me take over, it’s not easy to just turn it off. It’s like… it’s like an engine that’s been running at full throttle and suddenly slams to a stop. The energy, the power—it doesn’t just disappear. It has to wear off, or it consumes me.”
She swallows hard, trying to grasp the weight of my words. Her acceptance of this part of me brings a strange sense of relief.
“Makes sense. So what do you need to do?” she asks, her voice steady.
“I need to come down slowly. We need to come down slowly. That means I don’t want to talk much or do anything outside of routine. It’s how I cope, how I keep it all from spilling over.”