Milo
Someone is dying today.
I press the call button.
“Yes?” comes an irritated answer.
“I need you to track a number,” I say. “I want exact coordinates.”
“Give me a second.”
I hear tapping, followed by a brief pause, then my phone vibrates as a text comes through.
I end the call without another word.
A notification follows almost immediately.
Arlo:
A thank you would have been acceptable, but manners are not a trait you possess.
I ignore him and open the location he has sent.
Perfect.
The helicopter doesn’t even properly settle before I am climbing inside, giving the pilot the coordinates and ordering him to move.
I take the first aid kit and clean the blood from my tights as best I can, sealing the worst of the wounds with medical glue for now. I will need stitches later, but at least I am not bleeding to death in the meantime.
Then I change into a pair of clean jeans.
I gave instructions to my men, and they did not disappoint. Whoever was responsible deserves a raise, the jeans fit perfectly.
We land exactly where another helicopter waits, already parked.
And it takes me a second to recognise that this is the one she took here.
I step onto the helipad and take in the small car park.
Two men stand off to the side, talking. I walk straight towards them.
“Keys,” I say, holding out my hand.
The first one blinks. “I… I don’t have a car.”
I turn to the second.
“Keys.”
He doesn’t argue, as he places them in my palm.
I press the button and a car chirps somewhere among the few parked here.
I am in the driver’s seat seconds later, my satnav already set.
I blow past every speed limit sign.
The location resolves into a row of abandoned warehouses, and my brows draw together.
What the hell is she doing here?
This is not a place for a date, not that I truly believed she had gone on one at four in the fucking morning, but after seeing that photograph I am no longer inclined towards reason.
The thought of her with another man, of his hand on her, very nearly dismantles what little remains of my sanity, which in fact is not much.
She is not meant to allow anyone else to touch her, and she will learn that.
I park farther down when I spot men in suits near the entrance.
As I exit the car, I make my way around the back instead.
There is a door standing ajar, and I slip inside without drawing attention. I move quietly, keeping to the shadows, until voices drift towards me.
My eyes find her instantly, as if drawn to her.
My girl, looking exactly like the avenging angel I know she is.
A fucking goddess.
A man is strapped to a chair in front of her, shifting uselessly as if he might still escape, though we both know he can’t.
She stands before him, holding every shred of power in the room.
My cock hardens painfully as I watch her, the final confirmation of what I have always known.
She was born to rule.
I stay where I am and watch.
I watch her drag it out, toy with him, make him beg, and finally end him.
What is left of the man is barely recognisable, several body parts gone, and I narrow my eyes because something about this feels disturbingly familiar.
“I’ll take care of it, boss,” someone says, pulling me from my thoughts.
She turns towards the man beside her, soon to be dead, because don’t think I fail to recognise that hand… it’s imprinted in my mind.
“Let’s go,” she says to him.
They move towards the exit, and I follow.
Once outside, I step closer to them.
“So that’s the man I’m killing today,” I say, pointing at the bastard.
Mayhem breaks loose as a gun is snapped up at my head and Octavia spins in the same instant, a blade already in her hand.
Then she recognises me and exhales, visibly annoyed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Markev?”
“You didn’t seriously think you could post a picture of another man touching what’s mine and I would simply ignore it,” I say calmly.
She sighs. “Markev.”
I pull my gun and point it at the man, still holding Octavia’s gaze.
“You signed his death the moment you let him touch you.”
“Markev,” she snaps, icily now.
I barely hear her. I am far too busy deciding precisely how to kill him, and I already have at least ninety three ways in mind.
“Do not,” she grits out, “kill him.”
I look at her closely.
“Baby,” I murmur. “He touched you.”
“I hate you already,” she says flatly. “But if you do this—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence, and she doesn’t need to. I know my woman well, and I know how close they are.
I grit my teeth, trusting that close means friends, because if he has ever touched what is mine, I will…
Fuck it all to hell.
I see it in her eyes that if I kill him now, whatever slim chance I have with her will turn to ash.
I breathe out, irritated beyond reason, deciding I can follow him another day and make it look like an accident, though Octavia is too perceptive not to put it together.
Then I look at his hand.
The hand that touched her.
And I fire.
The shot cracks through the air, and he does little more than hiss in pain, impressive.
Octavia whirls on me. “What the hell—”
“I didn’t kill him,” I shrug, genuinely confused by the problem.
“You shot his hand.”
“That I did,” I say, unable to hide how proud I am. “That hand touched you.”
The man keeps his gun trained on me with his uninjured hand, the rest of the men doing the same, but none of them fire.
They have no orders to, I have not threatened her life, which means the boss has not given the word and the rest of them are nothing but peasants waiting for permission.
I fucking love that.
“You’re insane,” she snaps.
“Maybe,” I say. “But I taught him a lesson. And everyone here.”
I turn slowly, letting my gaze sweep the men around us.
“Spread the word,” I roar. “Octavia Bellanti is mine, and whoever dares lay a finger on her will find this looks like child’s play compared to what I will do to them.”
The bleeding man snorts, but his eyes lock onto mine, feral and furious.
I smirk.
Octavia scoffs. “That was not even the hand he touched me with, you psychotic beast…”
That has my full attention.
I barely register the “What the actual fuck, Octavia?” before the next shot cracks through the air, and his gun clatters to the ground.
He grits his teeth and hisses through the pain.
“Motherfucker,” he breathes.
Octavia’s blade snaps up, aimed straight at my throat. “Markev, you are fucking asking for it.”
As she says it, the pain in my thigh makes itself known, pulsing where she drove her blades into me earlier.
I look back at the men.
“Spread the word,” I repeat. “No one touches what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours, you lunatic,” she snaps.
I grin. “You can deny it all you want. It doesn’t change the truth.” I motion towards my car, already stepping aside. “We’re done here.”
Her eyes turn lethal. “I am not going anywhere with you.”
“You are.”
“I’m not leaving Adriano,” she cuts in, glancing back at the man. “He needs a doctor.”
I step forward, blocking her line of sight to him, because why is she even looking at him? It is already hard enough not to kill this Adreno without her making it worse.
“I don’t give a shit what he needs,” I say evenly. “And that is none of your responsibility. He is a big boy. He can take care of himself.”
Her jaw tightens.
“Let’s go,” I say again. “Don’t make me shoot him in the head this time.”
She steps aside so she can see the man and murmurs something low to him that I don’t catch. My fingers twitch.
Then she steps closer to me.
I finally breath.
“I’ll see you at the academy,” she says coldly. “Unfortunately.”
She strides towards her waiting car.
I don’t let her leave alone.
The door barely closes before I am inside, sliding onto the seat beside her. She shoots me an unimpressed look, then turns to the driver.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Just drive.”
The car pulls away.
She doesn’t look at me once. Her eyes stay fixed outside, somewhere far away from me.
I barely stop myself from taking her chin and forcing her to look in my direction. She should be watching me, thinking about me, breathing me in instead of whatever sky soaked thoughts she is hiding behind those eyes.
But I don’t.
She needs the distance. I feel it in my bones, even if I don’t understand it.
And look at me, showing restraint.
She has definitely ruined me.
Twisted something fundamental inside my head, rewired instincts I never questioned before. I don’t analyse it, and I don’t resist it.
I let it fucking consume me.