The siren

Anya Romanovski

The first explosion rattled my bones, and my eyes widened. My heart thundered violently against my chest. What was happening? Who the fuck dared to attack the high-end private event? My eyes immediate found Kyle’s who had his muscular arm wrapped around me. Almost pressing me to his chest. Close. We were so close I could almost hear his heartbeat against my ear.

Despite the chaos, I refused to give into fear. Not in front of him.

Kyle Molotov was breathing heavily against me, his firm body pressed against mine, shielding me from whatever was happening behind us. I could feel his heart pounding, matching the erratic rhythm of my own. His scent—gunpowder, leather, something purely male and his—overwhelmed my senses. For a second, I hated how safe I felt. Hated how I found myself leaning into his warmth, even though I knew he despised me.

And damn, I despised him too.

The second explosion brought me back to my senses.

People were screaming, glass shattering, but Kyle’s harsh grip on my waist grounded me. I glanced up at him, my breath coming in quick gasps. His jaw was clenched, eyes hard, scanning the room for threats. He was always so infuriatingly in control.

But not this time.

I yanked my hand out of his, ignoring his furious look as he barked in Russian. The delicate fabric of my dress had already torn in places from the rough handling, and I was done with it. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the sides of the dress and tore it up to my waist, freeing my legs for movement.

Kyle’s eyes flashed with something—surprise, anger, maybe even something else. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled taking step in my direction, but I ignored him.

Romanovski’s never back off.

Turning around I scanned the area. “I’m not waiting around to be shot like a porcelain doll, Molotov,” I hissed. Twelve men. Armed. “Relax.”

Before he could respond, I moved. My feet carried me across the chaos with more grace than I’d imagined possible in heels. One of the masked gunmen was closing in, his back turned to me. Without hesitation, I slammed my heel into the back of his knee, sending him crashing down. He grunted, trying to rise, but I spun, my leg catching him square in the chest and sending him sprawling.

Atta boy.

Another thing. I hated to be treated as a breakable doll. I learned combat from Dad, and I could really throw a kick or two in situations called for.

The world moved in slow motion as I grabbed his gun from his hand and turned just in time to see another man charging at me. Without thinking, I fired. The bullet hit its mark square between his brows, and his body crumpled to the floor.

For a second, silence rang in my ears. I turned, chest heaving, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Kyle was still staring at me with unreadable expressions. I didn’t know if he wanted to kill me for disobeying him or strangle me to death. But there was something in his eyes that wasn’t there before—I couldn’t understand.

“You should’ve stayed where I told you,” he barked already storming towards me. He was furious, his hands clenched into fists as he circled me and fired at the man hiding behind the pillar, like he was holding himself back from grabbing me.

“Relax, Molotov,” I shot back as I tossed the gun to my other hand and rolled my shoulders. “I don’t need your protection.”

He moved so fast I barely had time to react. In a blink, he had me pinned against the nearest pillar, his breath hot against my face. My heart raced as I felt the cool marble against my back and his body pressing me down. His dark eyes bored into mine, blazing with frustration.

My breath hitched.

“Goddammit, Anya,” he growled, his voice a low rumble. “You think this is some kind of game? You could’ve been killed.”

I couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up inside me, even as my chest heaved from the rush of battle. “Please, like you care.”

He leaned in closer, so close that his breath ghosted over my lips. “That’s not the point.”

My pulse quickened, not from fear, but from something far more dangerous. I hated the way he could do that—make me feel like I was teetering on the edge of control with just a look, a touch. I met his gaze, refusing to back down. “No, Molotov. That’s exactly the point. I don’t need you to save me. I never have.”

He let out a frustrated growl, but before he could respond, another man rushed at us from behind. Kyle spun, shoving me behind him just as a bullet grazed his arm. He grunted but didn’t falter, quickly taking out the man with a shot to the chest.

I didn’t wait for him to order me around again. My body moved on autopilot, fueled by the adrenaline. Another masked man was coming at us from the side, and without thinking, I lunged forward, dodging his fist before slamming my elbow into his throat. He stumbled back, gasping for air, and I finished him with a well-placed kick to the stomach.

I wonder where my family was. Did Papa even know we were ambushed?

The man fell and his neck twisted. I noticed a faint scar on his neck, or was it a tattoo? A scorpion.

Leonardo’s men.

Kyle was by my side in an instant before I could process further. His gun was already raised. We moved as one, clearing the room of threats, bodies dropping around us like flies. The air suddenly was thick with the scent of gunpowder and blood, but all I could focus on was the way Kyle’s body moved—efficient, deadly, in perfect sync with mine.

We were fighting together, a well-oiled machine.

But as the dust settled and the last man fell, we were left standing face to face, guns still raised. My chest was heaving, my dress hanging in tatters around me, but I didn’t lower my weapon. Neither did he.

For a moment, we just stood there, breathing heavily, the world around us falling away.

“You should’ve stayed where I—” he started again, but I cut him off.

“And let you play the hero? Not a chance,” I shot back still pointing my gun at him. He looked so lethal standing there. With his gun pointed at me. Like I was the enemy and not the ones lying around in their blood. But I didn’t care. I never have. Kyle Molotov could die for all I care. And with that, the little crush I had over him would eventually die.

I wouldn’t be so bothered with his godly insane handsome face and not the piercing dark eyes.

I’d have peace.

The nerve of this man. My grip tightened on the trigger as I took in the sight of him. A walking goddamn weapon—deadly and beautiful all at once. With his chiseled jaw clenched, unruly dark hair tousled from the fight, and that infernal smirk that seemed permanently etched on his lips, Kyle Molotov was a nightmare come to life. One that I wanted to strangle.

“Arrogant bastard,” I spat under my breath, watching as he finally lowered his gun, his gaze shifting to the approaching guards. They hesitated at the sight of us, clearly unsure who the threat was.

I had half a mind to turn and shoot the bastard myself. He wasn’t supposed to be here. I didn’t need his help. I didn’t need him, period.

And yet…

I stiffened when something soft and heavy settled over my shoulders. What the—? My eyes flicked down. His blazer. He’d thrown his damn blazer on me.

Rage twisted my insides as I looked up at him, expecting to see that infuriating grim lips set in a straight line. He didn’t even glance in my direction. His entire attention was fixed on the guards and dark fire simmered in his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed, but he ignored me.

It wasn’t just the act that pissed me off. It was the gall—like I needed him to protect me. Like I wasn’t perfectly capable of handling myself.

“I don’t need your fucking charity,” I ground out, shrugging off the blazer, but his hand shot out, fingers curling around my arm with enough force to make my breath hitch.

“Keep it on,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, every syllable dripping with authority and menace. “And shut up unless you want to flash your ass to every godamn man present here, princess.”

That did it. I yanked my arm free, seething. “You think you can boss me around like one of your damn dogs?”

His gaze snapped to mine then, and for a second—just a heartbeat—something flickered there. Something raw and fierce that made my stomach tighten.

“Yeah,” he said softly, the word like a caress and a threat all at once. “I do.”

I hated him. Hated him so much it hurt.

And, god help me, I hated how the hatred only made him more devilishly handsome—like a dark angel sent straight from hell to ruin me.