Serpent King's Bride: A Dark Mafia Romance Trilogy

Out.

Ready.

A gunshot tore through the silence, shattering the lock and sending splinters flying like lethal rain. I didn’t flinch; I couldn’t afford to. This was no different than marksman training—aim for center mass, squeeze, don’t pull.

“Here we go,” I breathed out, shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet. My heart pounded against my ribcage, not with fear, but with the readiness of a predator waiting to strike. They thought they were hunting Justin, but they didn’t know I was here…and that was our ace in the hole. I was no easy prey, especially not in this den where I was the one who set the rules.

The door burst open with a violent crash, revealing the silhouette of the first man, a harbinger of the chaos that was about to unfold. Instinct took over; my finger tightened on the trigger as I locked eyes with him—a split second where he saw his end in my gaze.

“Sorry, not your day,” I muttered, the words lost in the echo of the gunshot.

His body jerked back, a perfect shot to the chest. He crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, becoming an obstacle for the others as they stumbled over him–and the splash of blood proved to me that they hadn’t come in bulletproof vests, which was good.

They were well-trained, I had to give them that, but panic was a great equalizer.

I didn’t stop to admire my handiwork. Another shot rang out, the recoil familiar and comforting against my palm. The second man howled, clutching his shoulder, his gun clattering to the floor.

“Two down,” I whispered, confirming the effectiveness of the countless hours spent at the firing range. No time for celebrations, though. This wasn’t some action movie; this was life and death—hopefully theirs.

I darted a glance backward, making sure Derek and Justin had taken their chance to escape. The patio door hung open, swaying gently in the morning breeze, a testament to their departure.

Good. They were clear.

But in the underworld, a moment’s distraction could cost you your life.

As I turned back, the third assailant lunged at me. His movements were desperate, frenzied, fueled by the raw survival instinct of a cornered animal. But I was ready.

At least that was what I thought.

The hardwood floor sent my breath rushing out as I hit the ground, the man’s weight momentarily pinning me. Instinct kicked in; the training that had been drilled into me since I was a kid surfaced with lethal precision. I twisted beneath him, a wild dance of survival. My fingers found the cold metal of his gun, and with a swift wrench, it was mine.

I had survived a fucking knife fight with the Serpent’s Fang.

I would survive this.

I rose to my feet just as the third man came at me again, all fury and frustration. His knife glinted wickedly in the morning light, its sharpness promising pain. He swung wildly, a man desperate to land a blow, but desperation was sloppy. I dodged, feeling the whisper of the blade as it passed.

The sting would have made me wince, but the adrenaline kept me on my feet.

I lunged forward, driving the stolen gun into his gut. The shot echoed in the confined space, a brutal punctuation to our deadly encounter.

He staggered back, disbelief etched on his face. But there was no time for his shock—or mine. Pain exploded in my side, hot and searing. I glanced down, saw the red blossoming across my shirt, and felt the wet warmth spreading.

Fuck. He’d gotten me.

But I was still on my feet and I was going to go down fighting.

I fired again, two more shots ringing out, one for each of the men who had tried to take me down. They crumpled to the floor, their threats extinguished.

“Sorry, boys,” I breathed out, standing over them. “You picked the wrong girl.”

With adrenaline surging through my veins, I ignored the pain stabbing my side and sprinted toward the front door. I burst out into the cool morning air, the chaos of the fight behind me now just a memory etched in blood and gunpowder. Ahead, freedom beckoned, along with the urgent need to survive.

“Fuck, that hurts,” I hissed, pressing a hand to the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. The world was a blur of motion and sound as I made my escape, each step fueled by a single, unyielding thought: Survive.

The roar of an engine cut through the morning stillness as Justin’s car skidded to a halt beside me, the back door flung open in a silent invitation. I didn’t hesitate, hurling myself into the backseat beside the now confined and yowling Bao. The leather seats were cool against my heated skin as I pressed my hand harder against the wound, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Drive!” I screamed at Justin, the urgency in my voice unmistakable.