Dirty Damage: Chapter 27

“Get down.”

My heart is hammering in my chest, but the rest of me is frozen. I’ve never heard Oleg’s voice this cold, this deadly.

The command reverberates through the limo, bouncing off bulletproof glass and hitting me square in the chest.

Through the tinted windows, dark figures materialize on motorcycles like demons emerging from the shadows. Their faces are hidden behind black helmets and masks, but their intent is clear in the way they flank our vehicle.

Predators circling prey.

“Wh-what’s going on?” My voice trembles, betraying the fear I’m trying desperately to contain.

Oleg doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenches, muscle ticking beneath scarred skin as he reaches under his seat. The motion is fluid, practiced. He’s done this before.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” Steel threads through his words. “For now, get down.”

I should move. Should drop to the floor like he ordered.

But I’m transfixed by the transformation happening beside me.

Gone is the man who held my hand at tonight’s party, who whispered filthy promises in my ear during the first course.

In his place sits the Beast of Palm Beach.

I get why they call him that now.

The gun he pulls out is matte black and terrifyingly businesslike. No flashy chrome or ivory handle like in the movies.

This is a weapon meant for one purpose only: killing.

“Th-that’s a g-gun…”

I told myself—no, I promised myself that I would never again be involved with any man who’s involved in shit like this.

I learned my lesson with Drew.

Memories of my ex flash through my mind—the still-warm weapons he’d casually toss onto our kitchen counter, the mysterious meetings, the constant edge of danger that eventually drove me away.

I swore I was finished with this kind of life.

Yet here I am, watching another dangerous man prepare for violence.

When I don’t move fast enough, Oleg’s hand clamps around my arm. He pushes me down just as the first shot cracks through the night air.

The sound is deafening, nothing like the muted pops you hear on TV.

This is primal, visceral.

It’s what death sounds like.

“Oh my God!” I press my hands over my ears, trying to block out the chaos erupting around us.

The limo accelerates sharply, sending me to the floor. I crawl to the center of the car as the mini fridge bursts open. Sparkling water and imported sodas spill across the leather, bottles flying around as Uri takes another hard turn.

I risk a glance up at Oleg. His expression steals my breath.

Where there should be fear or anger, there’s only lethal focus. He cocks the gun with practiced ease, the click of metal on metal sending shivers down my spine.

More shots ring out, and I can’t hold back my squeal as we swerve again. The bulletproof glass must be doing its job because we’re still alive, but that doesn’t stop my heart from trying to punch through my ribcage.

“Whatever happens,” Oleg snarls through my panic, “don’t get up.”

Then he does the unthinkable: He reaches for the window control.

I want to scream at him to stop. To get down here with me.

I can’t watch you die.

But the glass is already sliding down, cold night air whipping into the cabin, stealing my voice and my courage.

Bullets pepper the limo’s exterior like deadly hail. The sound is oddly muffled, as if we’re underwater. Armored panels, I realize distantly.

The whole car is a fortress on wheels.

Oleg leans out the window, muscled torso twisting as he takes aim. In the orange glow of streetlights, he looks carved from marble—a vengeful god dealing death from above.

The gun barks in his hand once, twice, three times.

Unable to stop myself, I sit up a little taller. I don’t know if I want to roll out of the car or drag Oleg back into the safety of the limo with me.

Before I can decide, a masked rider surges forward.

Through the lowered window, I catch sight of his leather jacket, the emblem emblazoned across his shoulders. Something about it tugs at a memory, but before I can place it, the sound of a gunshot rips my thought to shreds.

Oleg’s bullet finds its mark.

The rider’s head snaps back. His bike careens sideways, taking down two more attackers in a tangle of metal and limbs.

Uri lets out an appreciative whistle as we swerve right. I’m knocked back to the floor, my shoulder connecting with something sharp. Pain blooms bright and sharp, but I don’t really feel it.

My head is quicksand.

Time is fluid.

I lose track of how long we drive, how many shots are fired. The world narrows to the thunder of my pulse and the acrid scent of gunpowder.

Then warmth encircles my wrist. “Up, princess. We’ve lost them.”

Oleg pulls me onto the seat beside him, his arm sliding around my shoulders. The gesture is protective, possessive.

As if he didn’t just kill a man in front of me.

“You okay?”

I twist to face him, searching for any trace of the Beast. But his features have softened again. He’s the Oleg I know.

The Oleg I thought I knew.

“Is that a trick question?” I croak.

“Kind of. The limo is bulletproof. And I happen to be an excellent shot.”

I flinch, remembering the rider’s head snapping back. The violence had been too quick to process in the moment, but now, the images flood my mind with horrible clarity.

Too crisp.

Too fast.

Too fucking red.

“Who were they?”

“People who want something from me.”

“By running you off the road and trying to kill you?” Hysteria edges into my voice. “Seems like a stupid way to get what they want.”

“Her first Bratva run-in and she’s making jokes already.” His hand drifts up my neck, thumb brushing my thundering pulse. “I knew you were something special.”

“Don’t be too impressed. Pretty sure it’s the shock talking.” My fingers press against my sternum, trying to cage my rioting heart. “Really, Oleg. Who were those men?”

That emblem flashes through my mind again. It’s like a word on the tip of my tongue, right there, begging me to remember.

But Oleg’s proximity is making it hard to think. He’s radiating heat like a furnace, his arm still tight around my shoulders.

The scent of gunpowder clings to his skin. It mixes with his cologne in a way that should repulse me but instead sends heat curling low in my belly.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I sure as hell am gonna find out.”

His touch is innocent enough, but my body responds like he’s caressing bare skin. Maybe it’s the leftover adrenaline, or maybe it’s the way he handled himself tonight—the way he protected me.

Either way, I’m hyper-aware of every point of contact between us.

His eyes darken as he reads the shift in my breathing. “You’re trembling.”

“Side effect of almost dying.”

But we both know that’s not why I’m shaking now.

“No one’s dying tonight, princess.”

Even after everything I just saw, I trust him. I know he’s telling me the truth.

I lick my lips. “I believe you.”

A streak of something fierce and possessive flashes across his face. Then his mouth is on mine, and thought becomes impossible.

The kiss is brutal, demanding. It’s everything I should run from and everything I need right now.

I arch into him, fingers curling in his shirt. A small, rational part of my brain tries to remind me that I just watched this man kill someone.

But that voice grows fainter with each sweep of his tongue, each bruising press of his hands.

By the time we reach the house, we’re both breathing hard for entirely different reasons than before. The fear has transmuted into something else. Words can’t capture it—I can only whimper when he pulls away to unlock the door.

“Inside,” he growls. “Now.”

We make it one step through the door before his hands are on me again. The foyer spins as he presses me against the wall. His mouth finds a spot behind my ear that makes my knees buckle.

“You were so good tonight,” he murmurs against my skin. “So brave for me.”

The praise shouldn’t affect me this way, but it sends electricity dancing down my spine. I grind into him, desperate for more contact. His answering groan vibrates through my chest.

“Oleg…”

He claims my mouth again. This one is deeper, hungrier than the ones that came before. His hands slide down my sides, leaving paths of fire in their wake.

When they reach my thighs, he lifts me effortlessly and I lock my ankles behind his back.

By the time he lays me on his king-sized bed, our clothes are gone. He’s all chiseled muscle in the moonlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning his scarred skin to glistening silver.

He falls over me, arms caged around my head, his breath hot on my neck.

“I’ll keep you safe, princess,” he whispers as he enters me.

All my life, men have been dangerous. They’ve been threats against me, my mother, my sister.

Men are the monsters.

But Oleg is different.

Even after everything I saw tonight, my body welcomes him like it was made for this—for him. Each thrust draws cries from my throat and forces me to face what I can no longer deny:

I have feelings for this man.

I want to panic, but his hands are everywhere—claiming, marking, worshipping. The pleasure builds until I’m trembling on the edge, desperate and needy.

“That’s it.” His voice is strained with the effort of control. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”

I shatter around him with a cry that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. He follows moments later, my name a feral rasp against my skin.

The comedown is slow, languid. Oleg’s weight anchors me to reality as our breathing steadies. He rolls to his side, pulling me with him so we’re facing each other in the moonlit darkness. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my hip until he sinks into heavy sleep.

But I’m wide awake, my mind racing faster than those motorcycles that chased us earlier. The peace I felt in his arms starts to crack as the real world steals back in.

Carefully, I extract myself from his embrace. The sheet whispers against my skin as I wrap it around me and pad to the window.

Palm Beach glitters below.

So beautiful.

So deceptive.

Now that the adrenaline and endorphins have faded, I remember that emblem. The stylized M wrapped in thorns—I’ve seen it before. On papers scattered across Drew’s desk. On the phones of men who used to visit our apartment late at night. Inked into their skin.

I glance back at Oleg. Even in sleep, he radiates power. The scarred side of his face catches the moonlight, and something in my chest tightens.

He’s lethal, dangerous, everything I swore I’d stay away from after Drew.

But he’s also… different.

As insane as it sounds, I trust the way my body responds to him. Trust the feeling of safety I get in his arms, even after watching him kill a man tonight.

I might even trust him.

But I’ve been down this road before—caught between deadly men and their deadly games. Last time, I ran.

But last time was different.

Last time, my heart wasn’t involved.