The annihilator

Kyle Molotov

People think they knew someone by watching them smile for the cameras or strut around like they were invincible.

Anya Romanovski was the epitome of that—calculated, vain, and soaked in her father’s money and that tiny ass dress exposing half of her pale, round buttocks. Trust me when I say half of men here were already eye-raping her.

I glared at the motherfucker who just tripped over his own foot watching her with that greasy smile.

But what they didn’t see was how damn easy it was to break through that shiny veneer. I’ve had watched her for long enough to see the cracks underneath all that gloss. She was fragile, whether she wanted to admit it or not. And it annoyed the hell out of me.

As I stood near the entrance of this glittering circus her father called a gala, but I kept my distance, arms crossed, scanning the room for potential threats —or, more accurately, the nearest exit.

Between the over-perfumed socialites and the overly enthusiastic waiters ready to lick asses, I wasn’t sure what would kill me first, the conversation or the canapés.

One more fake smile from an underwhelming millionaire in a sparkly suit, and I might start faking a medical emergency. Hell, at this point, I’d welcome it.

The fucking siren was saying something to her sister. The sharp laughs pierced my ears as I rolled my eyes and looked around. I already had my men patrolling this area.

Not that the Romanovskis had any shortage of enemies. When you were this deep in power and blood money, you didn’t need to go looking for danger—it finds you.

And I was here. Keeping an eye on this walking-talking glamorous little woman.

I hated her. I hated every single thing about her. The way she toyed with people, flaunting her money like it was a badge of honor. The way she though she was untouchable, all while using her status to push others around. It would be satisfying to watch her fall flat on her face, but that wasn’t in the job description. Her father didn’t pay me enough.

My job was to make sure she stayed breathing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her smiling at some man her sister introduced. My eyes narrowed.

Massimo Bianchi.

Another spoiled son of a rich father. The kind who probably never had to lift a finger unless it was to sign a check. But there was something about him that always ticked me off.

And her fiancé.

Perfect. Because that wasn’t going to get on my nerves at all. Nothing quite like watching the world’s most arrogant Ken doll play Prince Charming.

He’s far more insufferable than Judas Romanovski. Made me wonder, where that bastard was?

I was about to turn around to look for my potential boss, when I heard someone calling me. My jaw tightened. No. Not again. The soft, fake, sultry voice called me again when I didn’t look back.

“Kyle…” With a tick in my jaw, I turned around with most controlled expression I came to master. “Care to fetch some drinks for us?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not your-“

“Belvedere. With one lime,” And mint. “And mint.” And before I could say something, she turned away with a dismissive flick of her wrist, barely even glancing my way.

My jaw ticked again. Control, Kyle. Control.

Men never hit women. And she was not worth my blood pressure.

Her bearable twin glanced my way with a apologetic smile. I smiled back before turning around to get some drinks for her.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe they were related, let alone twins. Tina, with her kind eyes and gentle demeanor, always wearing those modest dresses, never trying to stand out. She was a far cry from her sister. If anyone in this family deserved a little bit of respect, it was her. And definitely their mother.

But Anya? The less I had to deal with her, the better.

I made my way to the bar, trying to ignore the annoying chatter around me. “Belvedere with lime and mint,” my voice clipped. The bartender nodded, already busy with another order, but I had time. At least this gave me a moment to breathe before walking back into the Anya Show.

When the drinks were finally ready, I grabbed them and returned to the spot where Anya was waiting, arms crossed, looking as if she’d been enduring some great trial in the two minutes I was gone. Massimo, of course, was gone along with Tina.

I handed her the drink. “Your Belvedere,” my eyes narrowed slightly. “With lime… and fucking mint.”

She gave a slow, satisfied smile, like I’d just passed some ridiculous test.

“Thanks, Molotov. You’re such a good boy,”

I bit back a response. She wasn’t worth it.

“Anything else?” I asked flatly.

She stalked toward me now, looking every bit the venomous queen she pretended to be. I stayed rooted to the spot, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of knowing she affected me, even in the smallest way. Not that she ever could.

“Keep glaring like that, Molotov,” she said with a grin, her voice low enough that only I could hear as she sipped on her drink. My throat felt dry suddenly. The red lips coiled around the glass. “You might actually scare someone.” She wasbaiting me, as usual, and I didn’t take it.

“Just doing my job,” I said flatly and turned around to scan the room again or probably not trying to be distracted by her face. “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

She huffed a laugh, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “Please, as if you have a choice.” Her lips curled into a smirk, the same one that made me want to punch something—preferably a wall. Or her smug face.

I gritted my teeth but said nothing. I knew how this worked. I’d been around her long enough to know that she fed off reactions, off drama. And I was not giving her the satisfaction. She could flaunt all she wanted, but at the end of the day, I was not here for her approval. I was here because I was paid to be.

But as she opened her venomous lips to talk, I noticed something else. A small detail. The room shifted. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I felt it—something was off. My instincts were screaming, and I had learned to trust them.

My hands quickly moved behind my back to grab the gun as I glanced around the room again, this time more carefully, searching for the source of my unease. And then I saw him—someone in the corner, lurking. His movements were too subtle, too calculated. They didn’t fit with the rest of the crowd. My jaw clenched.

There was no time to think, only act.

In one swift motion, I grabbed Anya by the arm. She jerked, startled, but I didn’t let go. “We need to move,” I whispered harshly. She opened her mouth to protest, but something in my expression shut her up.

The first shot rang out.

Chaos erupted in an instant. The sound of gunfire sliced through the air, shattering the calm, and people scattered like cockroaches under a light. Screams filled the room as guests dive for cover, and I pulled Anya behind one of the massive pillars just as another shot exploded nearby.

“Stay down!” I hissed, pressing her back against the marble. Her eyes were wide, a mixture of anger and fear flashing through them. But for once, she didn’t argue.

She knew what this meant.

I scanned the room, adrenaline pumping through my veins, searching for the attackers. I caught sight of a few—masked, armed, and moving through the crowd like they had done this a hundred times before.

A bullet whizzed past us, and I instinctively pressed closer to Anya, shielding her with my body. She gasped looking up at me and for a brief moment, everything else faded—the gunfire, the chaos, the danger. It was just the two of us, locked in place.

Her breath hitched and her body trembled against mine. I hated that I noticed it. Hated that for a second, I felt something other than contempt for her. But I pushed it down.

This wasn’t the time.

I met her gaze, and for the first time in… forever, there was something raw in her eyes. I could feel her pulse racing, her chest rising and falling against mine. Our faces were so close that I could feel the heat of her breath. I shouldn’t notice any of this. I shouldn’t care.

But then another shot goes off, and I snapped back to reality.

“We need to get out of here,” I muttered, grabbing her hand.

And then—

Another explosion.