Blood and Business
The air inside the garage reeked of gasoline and blood—one scent fresh, the other old and soaked into the concrete. Three men stood inside, oblivious to the two shadows watching them from the dark.
“That’s him,” Kraven murmured beside you, his voice low and guttural. His eyes gleamed like a predator’s, fixed on his target. “Lev Petrov. He’s the one who gave the order.”
You tilted your head, studying the man. He wasn’t much to look at—broad shoulders, a thick beard, the kind of confidence that only came from being feared.
“Not very impressive,” you whispered.
Kraven let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, the sound more beast than man. “That’s what makes them dangerous—the ones who think they’re untouchable.” His hand flexed against his thigh, itching to strike.
You smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Then let’s remind him why he should be afraid.”
Kraven didn’t need further encouragement.
Like a wolf unleashed, he moved with an unnatural speed, vaulting over the crates and crashing into the first man with bone-snapping force. A sickening crunch filled the air as Kraven’s hands clamped around the guy’s throat, lifting him clean off the ground before slamming him back down. Blood bubbled from the man’s mouth as he choked, writhing.
Kraven didn’t let up. He twisted, yanking the man’s arm backward until the joint popped free from its socket, followed by a scream so raw it made the others freeze in place.
You were already on the second man.
He fumbled for his gun, but you were faster, driving your knee into his gut with enough force to make him retch. The moment he doubled over, you gripped his hair and yanked his head back, watching the panic flicker in his eyes before slamming his face into the nearest metal surface.
A sharp laugh bubbled up in your throat as he groaned, dazed. “Oh, you’re a fragile little thing,” you purred, tilting your head as you grabbed a wrench from the table.
The man’s eyes widened, but before he could beg, you swung.
Bone crunched.
His scream was high-pitched, pitiful. Blood splattered across your cheek, warm and satisfying. You licked your lips, watching him crumple to the ground.
That just left Petrov.
Kraven turned to him slowly, his lips curled back in something between a grin and a snarl.
“Run,” he growled.
Petrov did.
Like a fool.
Kraven was on him before he reached the door, tackling him hard enough to send them both crashing into the workbench. Tools clattered to the floor. Petrov twisted, wild with desperation, and in one quick motion, he drove a knife into Kraven’s side.
Kraven let out a sharp, pained grunt but didn’t flinch. Didn’t even stumble.
Instead, he grinned.
His fingers wrapped around Petrov’s wrist, squeezing until the man let out a strangled cry and dropped the blade.
Kraven didn’t just disarm him—he owned him.
With a brutal snarl, he slammed Petrov’s head against the bench once, twice, until blood streaked down his face. Petrov groaned, barely conscious, but Kraven wasn’t done. He grabbed the fallen knife, twirling it between his fingers like it was second nature.
“Any last words?” Kraven asked, voice husky, breathless.
Petrov whimpered.
Kraven sighed. “Disappointing.”
Then he drove the knife up under Petrov’s ribs, slow enough to feel.
You watched the life drain from Petrov’s eyes, and the satisfaction curled in your chest like something wicked and warm.
Kraven let the body drop, exhaling sharply. He pressed a hand to his side, blood still seeping between his fingers.
You were at his side in an instant, catching his arm before he could stumble.
“Son of a bitch,” you muttered, dragging him toward the door.
He chuckled, though it was tight with pain. “You enjoyed that.”
You grinned, wiping a streak of blood from your cheek. “More than I should’ve.”
The hotel room was quiet, the air still heavy with adrenaline.
Kraven collapsed into the chair by the window, his shirt peeled open to reveal the deep gash across his ribs. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep, and he was bleeding more than he should be.
You knelt in front of him, pressing a cloth against the wound. He hissed, muscles tensing beneath your touch.
“Poor thing,” you murmured, not hiding the amusement in your voice.
Kraven’s lips twitched, his gaze heavy-lidded. “You really enjoyed yourself back there.”
You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “So did you.”
The tension between you shifted, thickened. His pupils were blown, his chest still rising and falling with the ghost of the fight.
You traced a finger along the edge of the wound, slow, deliberate.
Kraven exhaled sharply.
His hand shot up, gripping your wrist—not hard, just firm. The heat of his palm seared against your skin, grounding you in the space between pleasure and pain.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Keep touching me like that, and I’ll think you’re getting ideas.”
You leaned in, lips hovering just shy of his ear. “Maybe I am.”
His breath hitched.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you humming with something raw and primal.
Then you pulled back, smirking.
“Get some sleep, Hunter,” you said, standing. “I’ll make sure you don’t bleed out.”
Kraven watched you, his smirk slow and knowing. “You sure you don’t want to make sure I’m comfortable too?”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t miss the way your pulse thrummed just a little harder.
This was going to be a long night.