CHAPTER 14 #2
Ruby escalates her act flawlessly. She collapses entirely, sliding completely down the wall and curling into a tight, pathetic ball on the carpet.
She buries her face in her hands, her body shaking with violently faked tremors.
The guards reach her. The lead one slows down, holstering his caution completely as he reaches out a gloved hand to grab her bare shoulder, his rifle dangling uselessly by its sling.
That hand is inches from her skin. The physical contact represents the moment of maximum danger—if he feels her muscles coiled and ready instead of soft and terrified, he'll react and pull his sidearm. Ruby’s fingers dig brutally into her own forearms, leaving bright red crescent marks just to maintain the shaking facade.
"Look at this one. Arthur's gonna love her," the first guard chuckles, his heavy shadow falling completely over Ruby.
"Get up, girl. You're coming with us," the second one commands. A radio crackles with static on his belt.
Don't touch her. Don't you fucking dare touch what's mine.
I release the pipe. I don't just fall; I launch my massive weight downward, aiming my entire body at the narrow space between the two men.
I fall in absolute, terrifying silence, a massive shadow detaching from the ceiling.
The air rushes past my ears, a silent roar as I descend.
I have to land perfectly to avoid shattering my own knees or crushing Ruby, while immediately transitioning into a complex double-kill maneuver.
My ruined suit coat flutters like dark wings as I drop, my face locked into a mask of cold, predatory focus.
The stomach-flipping sensation of zero gravity hits me for a fraction of a second before the sudden blur of the hallway colors rushes up to meet me.
Time completely slows down. I can see the rapid pulse of the heartbeat in the lead guard's neck.
I land hard with my knees bent deep, the immense impact absorbed by my thick thighs and the carpet.
In the exact same fluid motion, my massive tree-trunk arms wrap entirely around the lead guard's helmeted head.
I don't hesitate for a microsecond. I twist violently with the full, devastating force of my heavy torso.
A sickening, wet crack echoes like a gunshot through the silent hallway as the guard's cervical vertebrae shatter into dust. My bicep bulges intensely against his tactical helmet as I apply the fatal pressure.
The vibration of the thick bone breaking reverberates right through my forearms. I smell his stale, terrified breath escape in one final hiss.
He is dead before his kneecaps even hit the floor.
One.
The sound of the snapping neck is loud. The second guard is already reacting, his eyes blowing wide, his hands flying frantically to his slung weapon.
I don't wait for the first lifeless body to finish falling.
I lunge over it. My combat knife slides from its kydex sheath in a blinding silver blur.
I slam like a freight train into the second guard, pinning his heavy body brutally against the opposite wall.
My left hand clamps like a steel vice over the man's mouth, completely stifling his scream, while my right hand drives the knife aggressively upward, sliding under the tactical vest, under the ribs, and burying the eight-inch blade directly into his heart.
He fights back instantly, his gloved fingers clawing desperately at my eyes.
My heavy boots slip slightly on the slick carpet as I brace my legs to deliver the killing blow, holding his entire dead weight up against the drywall to keep the struggle completely silent while the life aggressively drains out of him.
"Shh. Just die," I grit out, twisting the blade. "Suka."
The warm, thick splash of his arterial blood sprays over my hand and wrist. I feel the frantic, muffled thumping of his dying heart stutter and stop right against the steel of my blade. Two. Too slow, blyad. I'm getting sloppy.
I rip the knife out and let the second man slide heavily down the wall, leaving a thick, dark streak of crimson on the pristine white paint.
I stand perfectly still in the center of the hallway, my massive chest heaving for oxygen.
My expensive white tailored shirt is now utterly ruined, splattered heavy with dark, hot crimson blood.
I turn my shaved head slowly toward Ruby.
She is still sitting on the floor, her hazel eyes blown wide and fixed intensely on the two crumpled bodies.
The silence in the corridor is deafening now.
The violence was so fast, so utterly brutal, it feels surreal.
I am staring at her, looking for any sign of revulsion, any flinch of disgust. I need to know if she's repulsed by the monster I am.
I flick the excess blood off my knife with a sharp, practiced wrist motion before sliding it smoothly back into the sheath.
The heavy, copper scent of fresh blood fills the air, mixing with the ringing in my ears from the massive adrenaline surge.
"It's over. Get up," I order, my voice rough. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"
She’s staring. Is it fear? No... she’s looking at the blood pooling on the carpet like it’s a fucking masterpiece in a museum.
Ruby stands up slowly, her gaze tracking upward from the dead men to lock onto my face.
She doesn't look away from my blood-stained jaw.
Instead, she slowly licks her dry lips, her chest rising and falling in a rapid, frantic rhythm that perfectly mirrors my own heavy breathing.
The sight of her—the clever, completely lethal bait—standing amidst my carnage, sends a massive jolt of raw, primitive, unhinged lust straight through my core.
The tactical situation demands we strip these bodies and move immediately, but the toxic chemical cocktail flooding my brain demands I claim the woman who just helped me slaughter two men.
It's a violent battle between the Bratva boss and the feral animal inside me, and the animal is winning.
Ruby reaches up with a slightly trembling hand to brush a stray strand of chopped brown hair out of her face, inadvertently leaving a stark, red streak of the guard's blood right across her pale forehead.
"You were... perfect," I rumble, my voice dropping an octave. "You look like a ghost standing in all this red."
The heat of her hyper-vigilant gaze burns me. The erratic thud of my heart hammers against my ribs. Blyad, she’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. And she’s covered in my work.
I stalk toward her, my heavy boots squelching slightly in the blood.
My movements are heavy, deliberate, entirely predatory.
I don't stop until I'm completely inside her personal space, trapping her against the wall.
The metallic smell of the fresh blood soaking my clothes surrounds her completely.
I reach out, my large, blood-slicked fingers gripping her chin firmly and tilting her face up to meet my ice-blue eyes.
I am asserting my dominance in the most visceral, unfiltered way possible.
I want her to see the monster. I want her to feel the blistering heat of the kill still radiating off my skin.
My thick thumb drags roughly across her soft lower lip, intentionally smearing the wet blood I just transferred from my hand onto her mouth.
The rough texture of my calloused skin scrapes against her.
The intoxicating, sick mix of blood and her unique scent hits the back of my throat.
I want to devour her. Right fucking here.
Let the security cameras see exactly what happens when you touch my things.
"Look at me," I command, my grip on her chin tightening. "Tell me you liked it. Tell me you liked watching them break."
I slam her back against the wall between two heavy wooden doorways.
The violent impact makes the framed corporate art hanging next to us rattle loudly against the drywall.
I pin her there entirely with the crushing weight of my body, my large hands releasing her chin to bracket her head against the wall.
The cold of the drywall behind her contrasts sharply with the furnace-like heat radiating off my heavily muscled chest. I lean my forehead hard against hers, our shared, ragged breaths mingling in the tight, suffocating space.
I listen to the sound of her heels clicking frantically against the baseboard as she tries to find purchase.
The vibration of my low voice rumbles directly into her chest. She’s not pulling away. She’s leaning in. Little survivor.
"You're not shaking anymore, Ruby," I taunt, my lips a fraction of an inch from hers. "Stay right there. Don't move a fucking inch."
I grind my narrow hips aggressively against hers.
The heavy, aching ridge of my rampant arousal presses brutally hard into the soft junction of her thighs right through the thin, ruined silk of her white slip.
I can feel the radiating heat of her body through the fabric, a beckoning, wet warmth that makes me growl low and animalistic deep in my throat.
I hitch her slip up slightly with my hip, seeking more direct, punishing friction against her bare legs.
The rough friction of my tailored suit trousers rubbing against her bare skin sets me on fire.
The heavy scent of my expensive cologne completely mixes with the pungent copper of the spilled blood.
I’m going to ruin this dress. I’m going to ruin everything she was before tonight.
"Feel that? That's what you do to me," I snarl, rolling my hips into her again, making her gasp. "So brave for a cafe girl."