Dark Obsession: An Age Gap, Bratva Romance (Chicago Bratva Series)

I speed down the road, engine roaring beneath me as I close the distance, spotting a handful of cartel guards stationed by the exit.

Without hesitation, I raise my gun, squeezing off shots as the bike tears forward. My vision blurs from the pain radiating from my shoulder, but I push through it.

Each guard goes down, one after the other, clearing my path to Molina’s car, speeding recklessly down the road.

Up ahead, Molina leans out of the driver’s side, gun in hand. He starts firing back, shots scattering through the air. The first shot goes wide; the next one just misses me, whistling past my head. Even at this distance, I know one lucky hit from him is all he needs.

But I can’t let him get that shot.

I return fire and he ducks back into the car. The chase hurtles on, weaving out of the industrial warehouse district and down into the dense, wooded outskirts beyond. Gravel and dirt spray as we hit the unpaved road, the bike jolting hard with each pothole.

I keep one eye on him, the other on the road, gripping the handlebars so tight I can barely feel my fingertips. My body screams for me to stop, every injury throbbing as I push forward, but there’s no room for weakness now.

We’re alone—no other cars, no other fighters. Just him and me in the middle of nowhere.

The dirt road narrows and Molina swerves, crashing through low-hanging branches and scraping against trunks, twigs snapping under the car’s wheels. With a sickening crunch, he slams straight into a thick tree, the car jerking to a halt as smoke billows from under the hood.

I push the bike hard, weaving through the trees, and skid to a stop near him just as he stumbles out of the car, already pulling a nasty-looking machine gun from the backseat.

I kick the bike down just as Molina opens fire.

The air fills with the sound of gunfire, and I throw myself off the bike, rolling hard against the dirt and rocks, pain exploding in every nerve. One shot goes wide, another grazes my arm. I feel like I’ve got one foot in the grave already, the other barely hanging on, but I grit my teeth and power forward.

I’m not done yet. Not until this bastard is dead.

I drag myself up, clutching my pistol with my uninjured side, watching as Molina heads for a clearing. His movements are sloppy, desperate. I follow, forcing each step to count as I come to a stop in a large clearing that stretches down to a lake, its dark waters rippling with the cold wind.

Molina stops and spins to face me, breathing hard.

“You’re going to pay for what you did,” he snarls, aiming the machine gun right at me. “You took my daughters, everything that mattered.”

“I never meant for them to die,” I say. “But you, you meant to kill my family. All of them. And you threatened the woman I love.”

His face twists with rage, his finger moving to the trigger. But before he can fire, I squeeze off a shot, hitting his weapon dead-on. The machine gun goes flying from his hands, landing several feet away.

Molina stands there, stunned, glancing between his now-empty hands and me. I can see it in his eyes—the understanding that it’s over, that this is the end.

I raise my gun again, leveling it at him, cold and steady.

His chest rises and falls, each breath a visible struggle. He lowers his trembling hands slowly to his sides. He knows there’s nowhere left to run.

My finger tightens on the trigger, no hesitation.

Molina drops first to his knees, then to the ground, nothing left but a lifeless heap. I stand there, gun still raised, waiting for any sign of life, but he doesn’t move. Just a bloody, broken man on the ground.

It’s done.

The pain hits me in all-consuming waves. It’s like Alexei said, once the adrenaline wore off, the pain I’d been ignoring would hit me all at once. I walk over, keeping my eyes on Molina’s body, making damn sure he’s down for good. His face is turned toward the dirt, his body cold and still as stone.

He’s gone.

I turn to the lake, stumbling toward it. I drop down into a squat at the water’s edge, my body screaming with every small motion. My arm is useless, bullet-riddled and barely holding together. I’m bleeding from God knows how many places, ribs shattered, head pounding with what’s got to be a concussion, hell, maybe worse. Every beat of my heart feels like another countdown. I’m lucky even to be breathing.

As I stare out over the water, I think maybe this is it. Not the worst place to go out. I got my revenge, saved the Bratva, and kept Elena safe.

I won.

And I get one hell of a view to finish on.

The ache in my chest spreads, not from any wound but from the thought of her. I can picture her face—her stubborn, gorgeous face that I’d do all this for again a hundred times over. But even that’s slipping away, blurring as blackness creeps in.

“Just… a few… more minutes,” I mutter, feeling my head start to slump forward.

The world tips and darkens around me, and then, slowly, everything goes black.

I wake up, and for a second, I don’t know if I’m dead or alive.

I can’t feel much beyond a distant, dull ache, like my body’s given up registering the finer details of pain.

Everything around me feels hazy, like the edge of a dream.

“Look at this guy, sleeping on the job.” That voice. Familiar. I force my eyes open, slowly and reluctantly and see Alexei and Yuri standing over me, their faces coming into focus, looking just about as smug as I would expect.

‘He’s not dead after all,’ Yuri says, a hint of relief breaking through his usual stoic front.

A groan slips out of me, rough and low. ‘If I’m dead and your ugly mugs are the first thing I see in heaven, I’m turning around and walking straight to hell.’

They both laugh, and damn if it doesn’t feel good to hear it.

‘Speaking of ugly mugs,’ Alexei smirks, ‘you should see yourself. Looks like a truck ran you over… twice.’

Yuri chimes in, ‘We need to get you some proper treatment. Doc’s not too far off.’

They each grab an arm, hoisting me up. The world tilts, pain crashing through me in waves so intense it’s unbearable. Darkness closes in once more, and I’m out cold.

Next thing I know, I’m in a car. My head’s lolling against the window. Alexei is driving and Yuri is in the passenger seat. The hum of the engine barely registers over the muffled sounds of their chatter.

“Elena,” I manage to croak. My voice sounds rough, foreign, even to me. “Is she safe?”

Alexei glances back briefly, his eyes flicking over me, a mixture of relief and exasperation. “Safe as can be,” he says. “And the cartel’s done for. Everything at the warehouse is taken care of.”

A small, strained smile pulls at my lips, a sense of satisfaction warming me up from the inside. Job’s done, and she’s safe. That’s all that matters. The world fades again, and I let it.

When I wake again, I’m in a warm bed, white sheets covering me, a doctor leaning over, checking my vitals. Yuri and Alexei are still hovering nearby.

“Luckiest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen,” the doctor mutters, shaking his head. “You’ve got a long list of injuries. If these two hadn’t found you when they did, you’d have bled out for sure.”

Alexei leans over, grinning. “Hear that? You’re gonna have a few more scars to add to the collection.”