"That's a bit excessive, don't you think?" I shot an unappreciative look at the giant Slav tucking his gun away, disturbingly unfazed by the lifeless body mere feet away from the doors of the elevator.
Blood spurted from the bullet wound in the back of his head, the thick liquid gathering in a pool around him on the cold concrete.
Mikhail turned to me as I raised myself from the dining table, by which the kind doctor had examined me and concluded my aggravated bruises were just that, bruises, not fractures.
Now he was dead, having been oblivious to the professional murderer aiming his gun until it cocked. By then it was too late.
How sad.
Mikhail wouldn't risk my location reaching even his own father's ears.
Wrapped in white satin and Mikhail the ferocious, I had woken up in his bed, surprisingly well rested, secure and comfortable.
For that short moment I had been able to imagine myself not as Natalia Wellesley, but as a normal person, held firmly in those strong arms and shielded from everything immoral and cruel.
I had breathed him in, trailed the tips of my fingers along the warm concrete of his impressive build and admired the sight of him so relaxed as he slept, unaware of my curious and adoring gaze.
But the cruelness of our world had been quick to push past the momentary bliss and invade my consciousness, and I was once more reminded of my father, Vinnie, and the dangerous people after the reckless heirs of the two most powerful families.
"Take the ones you need," he motioned simply to the kitchen island, on which an array of guns and rifles were displayed.
I sighed out deeply, not as bothered by the lifeless doctor in our midst as I should have been.
"You should probably take care of him before Bean develops a taste for humans..." I reasoned, a smile tugging up the corners of my lips as his dog padded from the couches and toward the body, curiously sniffing about.
Mikhail noticed this and muttered underneath his breath, before gruffly ordering the dog to return to its seat on the couch. It did as told, and my smile widened.
I followed the giant man to the guns laid out on the counter, scanning over them quickly.
"Whose army are you expecting?" I wondered, glancing up at him standing stoically by me, fixed on a particular sniper rifle.
He grabbed it and eyed it over firmly, brows pulled down in concentration.
"It's better to be prepared than to be taken by surprise," he advised lowly, the dark focus he held on the metal garnering all of my attention, "you need to learn to plan, kukolka."
If he were to look at me like that, I would be left in a molten and pathetic pool on the floor.
Get a grip, Natalia, you're in the middle of a war.
"And what's your plan?" I furthered, leaning against my hand on the edge of the island with my absentminded gaze trailing along his stunting side profile.
"Don't let yourself be distracted," he grunted out, all too aware of where my treacherous mind was threatening to wander, "we'll kill whomever gets close."
The thought of each willing and capable family with their extensive armies attacking us left our options rather nonexistent. For it to be just us two against them all seemed utterly hopeless, without the support of either of our families.
Mikhail was dead-set on our abilities to fight them off and live, and for once I was the least stubborn person in the room.
"We could run away together," I suggested lightly, amusing myself with the absurd and romantic idea.
A dark and silencing glare was directed at me and I shrugged, unfazed. His disapproval couldn't trump my need to escape everything, just for a moment distance myself from our impending doom.
I had sided with the enemy and was left virtually alone. Even Mikhail the ferocious wouldn't be able to fend off each threat, as much as he had planned to do so for the sake of keeping the both of us alive.
I slipped underneath his stretched arm to situate myself between his front and the edge of the counter, dreamily gazing up at the dangerous man. I offered him a shy smile, heart thudding painfully in my chest.
"We have a better chance of surviving if we leave," I informed him quietly, melting under his fiercely dark eyes.
My hand gently placed itself on his hard chest, and the rifle was returned back on to the counter which I leaned back against.
My father would either hold off on any possible support, or arrive with our men to kill Mikhail and take me back to the estate. I hadn't heard a peep of Mogilevich, but assumed he held the same stance.
The unbinding of our informal peace treaty would leave the world in flames, and thousands would die fighting for a rivalrous war spanning generations.
"Neither of us is dying today," he gruffed out firmly, large hands placing themselves on the edge of the counter as he inched closer, towering over and trapping me delightfully.
My touch trailed up along the concrete of his pectorals until I was able to caress his distractingly tightened anvil of a jaw.
"I say we wait until the shooting starts before thinking about it too much," I all but purred, peering up at the delicious man through my lashes, "we're both professionals, we have weapons."
To work alongside Mikhail meant butting heads and bickering over opposing styles of getting things done. He was ruthlessly calculated, in control and obsessed with his little plans. I had and would forever abide by my instincts, opposed to planning anything too far ahead. Instead of now aiming to change his ways, I desperately craved to submerge myself in all that was him and forget each and every daunting concern.
I had come as far as to admit and accept my ever-growing feelings for an enemy and, even after finding out his family name, leave him alive. The wildest possibilities I dared hope for were close enough to reach, yet so easily destroyed by a simple bullet.
"Was that your plan," I furthered, seductively brushing the pad of my thumb over the light stubble on his jaw, "to just sit around and wait?"
His darkening eyes harshened and I smiled softly, feeling for the man who was all too focused on us somehow surviving this. All the while I grew more doubtful by the minute and frightened of how realistic losing him was becoming in my mind.
Mikhail's hard front pushed against mine, a heavy exhale escaping his invitingly parted lips. The edge of the counter dug in to my lower back painfully, but the feel of his rough hand moving over the curve of my hip to tug me to him blurred out every other sensation.
My heart raced and my ability to breathe grew significantly more laborious, the tips of my fingers itching to grab at him desperately.
With a low grunt he all but threw me up on to the side of the counter, fiercely darkened eyes staring me down and sinful hands hooking underneath the waistband of my leggings.
The guns clanked against one another on the hard surface, pushed away by my intruding frame. Heat washed over me, forced to bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the blissful moan threatening to escape at the ravenous sight of him.
"This plan, my sweet girl," the deep and gruff words rumbled from his chest and vibrated down my spine in a delightful shiver, "will allow me keep you."
Keep me?
That patriarchal worldview was precisely why I despised the disgusting men in our world. Men like his father.
But I fully consent to being kept by you, Mikhail Mogilevich.
I managed to lift myself up enough for him to smoothly slide the material of my leggings over my hips and to my thighs, my mind struggling to keep up with his aggressive movements and pace.
Without hesitation they were pulled down to my ankles, and the weight of them fell to the floor. His large hands grabbed on to my bare thighs and parted them with a guttural groan, all the while pushing the impressively hardening bulge in his pants against me, knocking out the air from my lungs.
"If you wish for yourself anything other than that," he grunted out, reaching to violently grab my chin and direct it toward his blazing gaze, "you'll continue challenging it."
"I wasn't-" my shaky voice morphed in to a pleasured gasp when his thumb pressed against my covered clit, my aching body wracking against his chest brushing against mine.
"This cunt, kukolka," he grumbled underneath his breath vehemently, and heat jolted down each corner of my trembling frame, "invades every aspect of my existence. As do you."
Without warning my panties were moved to the side and, his impossibly darkened and heated gaze silencing me, two strong fingers rammed in to my heat without warning, eliciting a pleasured cry in between gasps of air.
I was burning, each sensation heightened with the savage way he watched me, as if the thought of ravaging me had overcome him.
This is what I needed. He is what I need. He was my escape, and it seemed I had managed to draw his mind away from his incessant planning, which would only succeed in stressing the sinfully dangerous man out.
Mikhail grunted hotly, breaths slipping his parted lips and fanning over my sensitive skin. He cursed as if he had just buried himself inside me, weakening each muscle and bone in my body.
"I need you," I pleaded desperately, knowing his expert fingers wouldn't be enough to quench my thirst for him.
"Tonight," he promised gruffly, and I lost my sanity at the devilish grin then tugging up his lips, so close I could've kissed him if I had been able to draw in a proper breath, "I'll fuck you senseless."
My hair was fisted in to his large hand violently, and I quivered at the pleasurable pain of it. I mewled for more, aching heart racing and each nerve alight with arousal and need.
What if one of us isn't alive come tonight?
If I hadn't been able to kill Mikhail the ferocious, there wasn't a chance in Hell I would let anyone else either.
"I dream of this cunt around my cock," he grumbled, the unforgiving thrusts of his fingers added to by his thumb circling my clit torturously, "of your pretty lips around me. Of you begging for more."
"Such a strong woman so desperate for my cock," he taunted, but his tone lowering with heavy arousal wiped away all humiliation such a statement could have caused, "it astounds me."
Pathetically trembling in his rough hold, against his solid chest, every corner of my body pulsed for him. Hot white bliss hit me with the force of a lightning, and I grasped feebly at his expansive shoulders.
"Keep your eyes open."
With the push of his guttural order I came undone, fighting to keep focus on his hooded gaze and the sexy grin painting his lips, pleased at the state he so easily rendered me in.
Each wave of ecstasy melted me further and further against him. My legs wrapped around him, dragging him closer and labouring the unceasing plunge of his strong fingers inside me.
As the world shattered around me, so did one of the windows in the corner of the spacious living area behind the towering man.
My heart beat loudly in my ears, eyes widening with panic as I gaped at the serenity in Mikhail's expression. His touch slowed and his hold on my hair loosened, content on watching my increasingly accelerating breaths puff past my lips and raise my chest rapidly.
"Beautiful," he murmured lowly, as if a shot hadn't just been fired.
For a second I felt unable to move, the blissful release quickly clouded by piercing fright adrenaline flooding through my veins.
His large hand moved to ever so gently caress the side of my face, and my chest constricted on itself, heart racing uncontrollably.
Another shot fired, shattering another of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the other end of the room.
He kissed me.
--
Mikhail tossed over a loaded gun from the kitchen once mine ran out of ammunition.
I crouched behind the couch, peering past it to view for the second wave of men to storm up the stairs.
They would soon join their friends, haphazardly and lifelessly strewn along the cold concrete floor, surrounded by a pool of drying blood and the smell of sweet charcoal smoke mixed with death.
My heart raced, but I had managed to calm my breathing and focus on each bullet sinking between their eyes before they had a chance to spot and shoot me.
Everything fell silent and I peeked over at Mikhail, who raised himself by the kitchen island and calmly reloaded his rifle. I squeezed the warm silver gun in my hold, anxiously awaiting the sound of more hastened footsteps.
By some stroke of luck, maybe a miracle, the few shots fired at us had missed. We had been faster. I knew this wouldn't go on forever, and it only took one bullet to take down the both of us.
The rumble of heavy steps and booming yells filled my senses, and I assumed my unbeatable aim on the top of the staircase leading up to the main floor we were on.
The menacingly calm man would need to once more replace his front door.
First my father and our men had broken it down when they had finally arrived to save me from Julio's son, and now whichever pathetic army this was had done the same.
My stance faltered and attention moved to the giant of a man without fear nearing the staircase, ready to shoot.
Before I could lift myself up and join him, curse at him for not staying behind the kitchen counter, the first heads of the men popped up and in to my line of vision.
With widening eyes I could only watch as Mikhail shot down each one, who were replaced by more climbing over their limp bodies on the staircase. The carnage unfazed the dangerous man and if anything, he was furious such amateurish men had been sent to kill us.
Booming shot after booming shot, he gave them no time to fire and plunged the quick rounds in to their face, distorting them and leaving less and less aggravated yells of war to reach my ears.
My blood ran cold when a scrawny man stumbled up the stairs, eyes widened with fear at the sight of the giant Slav waiting for him, Mikhail's dark glower shaking the poor man to his core.
He pulled the trigger, but to my utter horror he had run out of bullets. I cursed underneath my breath and charged up from the floor toward the two.
The rifle in Mikhail's hands fell, and before the young man could shoot him with shaking hands raising his gun, the collar of his dress shirt was grabbed and he was all but lifted from the ground.
"Please, I-" he stuttered out, visibly shaking and struggling to breath in the hold he was effortlessly held up in.
My steps slowed, heart beating rapidly as I watched the gun from the intruder's hands be swatted away. It landed by my feet and I grabbed it.
"Who sent you?" Mikhail inquired gruffly, and the poor man desperately grabbed at the wrist by the collar of his shirt, his legs flailing around aimlessly.
"I'm only eighteen," he sobbed out a cry, "please."
The dangerous man's glare harshened and his fist on the wrinkled material tightened threateningly.
"Who sent you?" I repeated firmly, raising the helpless intruder's gun at its owner. His panicked eyes darted to me, tears slowly travelling down reddened cheeks.
He was just a boy, I realised. Frightened, forced to storm with the rest, and now wetting himself. Unlike Mogilevich and his men, I could never kill someone so young and pleading for his life.
"Doyle," he squeaked out, wheezing for breath and failing to remove the grip holding him in the air like a rag doll.
Mikhail grunted menacingly, only causing the young man to cry harder.
"Give him my regards," he instructed the quivering boy, who was then mercilessly dropped down the stairs.
I cringed at the painful cry and the loud thump of his body falling down to the lower level, knowing his existence from there on would be Hell.
The expansive back previously turned to me was replaced by Mikhail's dark gaze, and I lowered the guns in my hold.
Stood between piles of bodies, broken glass and bullets, he neared me. It was apocalyptic.
My heart thud violently in my chest, unable to hold the relieved smile breaking on to my lips.
It's only the first of many attacks, I had to remind myself.
I opened my mouth to suggest we leave, find another place to hide out and wait for the next wave, but a piercing shot silenced me.
Mikhail's steps halted and he cursed loudly. My smile dropped and panicked eyes focused in on where his left hand darted to grab on to his bulging bicep.
Without a second thought my feet had carried me to him, each sense numbing at the glimpse of blood on his hand which held the bullet wound.
"Are you okay?" I whispered out hastily, dread accompanying the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I had no experience aiding bullet wounds, and the amount of times I should have learnt but chose not to now frustrated me.
"A scratch," he gruffed, observing the amount of blood slowly seeping from the wound.
The bullet was still inside. We needed to get to a doctor, since with men still outside we wouldn't manage with his injured dominant arm, as expert of a shot as he was even with his left hand.
My family's doctors at the estate would never aid Mikhail Mogilevich, and the one who had checked me this morning remained dead by the elevator.
The elevator. My focus fixated on the closed metal doors, and I gathered myself with determination. I ordered the giant man to follow me, and thanked the Lord for the lack of objection to my extempore plan.
--
I watched in horror as the shirtless man on the passenger's seat poured vodka over the bloodied wound on his bicep, muttering inaudibly. I would have cried in agony.
"Focus," he shot me a firm look, brows pulled down to darken his features and make him look all the more dangerous, even wounded.
My head snapped back to the road, the wheel of one of his sports cars clutched tightly in my hold.
I had no idea where I was driving, or even how to drive properly with the few times I had tried to learn years ago. Still, I had insisted.
My estate and the hospital were out of the question, and the only thought in my mind now was how crazy Mikhail had been to sterilise the bullet wound on his arm with straight vodka, and that I needed to remain on the left side instead of zigzagging down the road.
"I don't have my license," I breathed out shakily, my admission earning a booming curse from the man beside me.
"How old are you?" his furious tone sent a shiver down my spine.
"Twenty-two."
I could feel his burning eyes piercing in to my skin, only making this harder for me. He grumbled a scold under his breath before taking a swig of the vodka.
"You forget I've been driven around all my life," I murmured absentmindedly, dodging a parked car I had been mistakenly heading for.
The men camped outside Mikhail's house hadn't bothered to drive after us, too focused on aiding the men I had hit whilst speeding up the ramp of the underground parking lot and out of the open gates of the estate.
"Slow down," he advised lowly, "breathe, kukolka."
My heart dropped with realisation. Mogilevich was the only person who would help us, or at least Mikhail. The bullet would need to be removed and the wound stitched to stop the bleeding. It wasn't a lot of blood, but enough for me to worry, all the while Mikhail remained infuriatingly nonchalant.
From the next turn I spun the car in the opposite direction, almost swerving off the road in the process. He grumbled out a Russian curse, shooting me a fierce and unappreciative glare.
"We're in no rush," he reminded me, and my heart pounded against my chest.
I was as concerned for Mikhail as Vinnie had been for me, needlessly and enough to distract from everything else. I frowned, slowing down to remain somewhere close to the speed limit.
"We're going to your father," I informed the man behind my racing mind and heart, mind jumbled at the option I was taking.
Mikhail remained silent, all too aware of the risk I was taking because of a simple bullet hole on his arm.
"If you let them shoot me, I'll be very angry," I added quietly, glancing over to find his dark eyes carefully studying me.
His ringtone interrupted the ensuing heavy silence, and the screen of his car lit up with an unknown number.
With a press of a button he answered it and Anastasia's hesitant voice confused me further.
What the Hell is she doing calling Mikhail?
"Hello?"
"Nastya," I cleared my throat, screeching to a halt once I realised I was about to crash in to a wheelie bin left by the road, "hi."
Heat crept up my neck at the scolding glare he placed me under, and I shamefully continued my attempt at driving.
"Natasha!" her voice brightened, and I could picture the beautiful smile enveloping her features, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I snapped, trying to focus on too many things at once to be polite, "how do you have this number?"
We weren't far from Mogilevich's estate, and I was content with the emptying streets and lack of cars following us. What awaited me upon arrival remained to be seen, but I fully trusted the heir of the Mogilevich empire to keep me unharmed as long as I stayed with him.
"You gave it to me when you wanted me to find out-" everything about Mikhail.
The memory returned as fast as she obliviously spewed out the words. I burned red, unable to avoid catching the pleased grin forming on to the devilish man's lips, easily piecing the pieces of the puzzle together.
"Yes, yes," I was quick to brush past the reminder, muttering, "I left my phone at home."
"I know," she calmed, "listen, Wellesley's really mad."
"And?"
"I want to help you."
Mikhail shifted in his seat, once more taking a swig of the vodka. I frowned when he poured more of it over the wound, his expression unfazed by what must have been an incredible amount of burning pain.
"Where are you?" she continued without a reply, and my lips pursed together.
She could tell my father and make killing Mikhail all the more possible.
She let Vinnie come between us.
She can't be trusted with this.
"Can you help me without knowing my location?" I dared wonder.
"I can track this number down, but if you don't feel comfortable.."
"I don't."
I reached the end of the street and turned on to the one leading to the extensive gates of Mogilevich's property. My heart thud loudly, sucking in a quick breath to prepare myself.
"That's alright," she assured me genuinely, "I'll fish out every piece of detail I can and message this number. Are you with Mikhail?"
"Thank you," I breathed out, the dozen men camped outside the entrance of the estate coming in to view, "I am."
"Good," she confirmed, before her tone softened, "Natasha, I don't know what happened, but Vinnie... he..."
My jaw tightened at the mention of the slimy snake, and from the corner of my eye watched Mikhail's amusement die down. The men standing guard noticed Mikhail's car and straightened their stances, weapons held low but ready.
"I fear he's gone rogue," Anastasia blurted out, and burning fury gathered in my chest, "nobody's seen him. Please, don't hurt him."
She knew nothing of his jealousy and how he had beat me in my state of defeat and vulnerability, of the lack of empathy in his disgusted eyes.
"I won't," I lied, but knew it wasn't too far from the truth. Mikhail would kill him if he dared get close to me.
Instead of smoothly driving through the slowly opening gates, the car jolted forward and screeched unpleasantly against the heavy metal frame. The man inside the vehicle and the ones outside glared furiously at me.
Mikhail ended the call without a word.
"I'm sorry," I muttered out shamefully, sinking down in the driver's seat as I began carefully ascending the small hill to the estate.