Crown of Hate (Soulless Empire)

Chapter 21

21

ALYA

A second passes and more gunshots ring out, nearly drowned by the screams echoing in the hall. The air is thick with fumes and the acrid smell of gunpowder burns my nose. But it’s the man standing in front of me that leaves me breathless.

The sheer lust and intensity of his gaze make it hard for me to breathe. I can’t believe he’s eye-fucking me when we’re both in such danger.

“I remember, malyshka ,” he drawls, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement. “But I’d rather we fuck than die.”

A shot whizzes past us, and I practically fling myself into Mikhail’s arms. He holds me tight, shielding me while he angles towards the threat. One quick pull of the trigger, then a thud and a chilling laugh.

“Mikhail,” a voice calls out mockingly. The gunfire stops, replaced by laughter and footsteps on marble. “It’s so unlike you to hide… so cowardly.”

I feel Mikhail’s muscles coil with barely restrained fury. His breathing is labored, as if he’s holding himself back from rushing out of our hiding spot and beating the shit out of Arsen.

“How about we play a little game, you and me?” Arsen goes in on that annoying, playful tone that is anything but playful. “I’ll count to five, and if you don’t come out, I’ll have a little fun with your wife.”

My husband’s jaw tick. Then he corks his gun and unleashes a hail of bullets. Arsen’s men return fire, and the gunfight continues until Mikhail’s gun clicks empty.

Shit. We’re fucked.

Or maybe not. In a blur of movement, Mikhail hurls the gun and launches himself at Arsen’s men, dodging and dealing blows like a man possessed. I watch, mesmerized by the sight of him. Each swing, each dodge, is like watching art in motion—raw, violent art. Hell, who needs a gun when you’ve got fists like that?

One of Arsen’s men manages to slip past Mikhail and starts prowling towards me. Panic shoots through my nerves, but I force myself to stand, backing up slowly, eyes locked on him, until I run into a table. Cutlery rattles and falls to the floor; plates clang at my feet.

He takes two more steps, and something snaps inside me. I kneel down and blindly fumble for one of the fallen plates.

My fingers wrap around it just in time to slam the hard porcelain over his head.

The plate shatters. Blood streams down from the man’s face. But to my dismay, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he cracks his neck like I just swatted him with a feather.

“Fuck…”

Ice coats my skin as his meaty hand reaches for my throat. Fear clogs my nostrils and simmers down in my stomach, making me sick. This is so much worse than I imagined.

We’re going to die here.

Mikhail is all bloody and bruised, but he’s still fighting like our lives depend on it—because they do.

Before Arsen’s goon can close around my throat, a loud bang echoes from the entrance, and the man crumples. I twist to look as a single tear slips down my cheek. Semyon, Alexei, and the rest of Mikhail’s men pour into the hall, guns blazing.

“We’re not going to die,” I mutter to myself, sagging to the floor. “Not today.”

Semyon and Alexei fight their way to Mikhail, flanking him on either side

“What took you guys so long?” Mikhail pants, looking like he’s about to collapse. He’s been holding his ground, outnumbered and alone, for what feels like forever. Only raw determination still keeps him on his feet.

“Sorry, chief. We had something to take care of,” Alexei answers as the others join the fight.

Minutes later, the hall is a bloodbath, littered with dead bodies. Arsen is whimpering on the floor, bleeding heavily. And Mikhail looks like he’ll die if he takes one more punch. Semyon and Alexei, on the other hand, look like they just had a fun brawl.

I rush to Mikhail, throwing myself into his arms, burying my face in the crook of his neck. My heart rate slows as relief washes over me. We made it. Mikhail is battered and bruised, but we’re both alive.

His warm hands cup my head, and he gently pushes me back. Despite his injuries, he’s examining my body for wounds. His dark eyes are clouded with worry as he asks, “Are you hurt anywhere?”

I shake my head, blinking back grateful tears. How can he worry about me when he’s the one in such bad shape? I don’t want to read too much into it, but I can’t shake the feeling that he cares about me a lot more than I’m ready to admit.

“You’re hurt,” I protest, taking his hand to inspect his wounds. “We need to clean these before they get infected.”

He nods. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

I almost snort. “As if I’m going to let you. I know how to treat wounds like this. I watched Mama patch up Papa plenty of times.”

“There’s a first aid kit in the back of the car,” Semyon chimes in suddenly. Then to Mikhail, “Go home, chief. We’ll clean up here.”

Mikhail frowns, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the semi-conscious Arsen. I brace myself for his refusal, fully expecting him to argue. But to my surprise, he lets out a deep sigh, looks at Arsen one more time—his glare full of rage and frustration—before finally turning away. “Call me if anything goes wrong, and make sure that bastard doesn’t die. He has a lot to fucking answer for first.”

Semyon answers with a nod.

I support Mikhail as we head to the parking lot where our limousine is parked. The bodyguard in the passenger seat must’ve seen us coming because he gets out from the car and opens the back door.

“Under there,” Mikhail grunts as we climb in. I follow his gaze, finding the first aid kit beneath one of the seats.

Mikhail visibly tenses when I take out the iodine.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, opening a pack of cotton wool. “Scared of a little pain?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then why the long face?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.” I wet the cotton wool and move closer. “You’ll have to take your shirt off.”

He leans back and smiles darkly, the rage momentarily draining from his eyes. “If you want my shirt off, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

I purse my lips. “You’re hurt, Mikhail. It’s not kinky. I have to fix you up.”

He doesn’t even bulge. Instead, his smile grows even more mischievous. “I’m in too much pain to do it myself, wife .”

I pretend to be annoyed, though his teasing offers me more relief than I’m willing to admit. If he’s playing around with me like this, he can’t be hurt that badly. “Fine.” I move closer, half-kneeling on the limousine floor so I can slowly start to undo his buttons.

Every time my fingers brush against his chest, waves of heat ripple through me. Those powerful blue eyes don’t budge. They stay fixed on me as I try to hide my growing arousal. God, why does he have to watch me like that?

My hands tremble as I undo the final buttons. But this adrenaline isn’t from fear, not anymore—still, that doesn’t mean it’s welcome.

This is no time to be so goddamn turned on. This is about survival. But with the way his black tattoos wind over his sculpted muscles, with the way those blue eyes stare right into my soul, I can’t think straight. I’m being wrapped in a warm, healing haze. All I can focus on is the heat pooling low in my core; the way Mikhail’s cock is already bulging in his pants; the way his breath deepens, matching mine.

How does he always do this to me, even now?

“You need to strip me more often,” he purrs. “Seeing you on your knees drives me crazy, malyshka.”

My stomach flutters and every hair on my scalp stands to attention. “Shhh, Mikhail. Your bodyguards are in the front seat.”

He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, soothing circles. “They can’t hear us.”

“And what if they can?” My tongue swipes over my lips as I try to hold on to the last string of self-control I have. But it’s a losing battle. I’m not sure how much longer I can resist him.

“Then you’ll just have to be quiet, won’t you?”

By the time his shirt comes off, I’m breathing in ragged gasps and my panties are already soaked through.

Still, with a deep gulp, I try to focus on tending to his wounds. Surprisingly, Mikhail allows me to, and, to my relief, it turns out he’s not as badly injured as I first thought. His perfect body has been littered in skin-deep cuts and fist-shaped bruises, but nothing major or life-threatening.

Just as I finish, he pulls me closer. I tumble against him, and the heat from his bare chest sears through me, simmering into my veins and melting me from the inside out.

Our faces are so close. One tiny movement and his lips would be on mine. My body hums with tension. I’m tingling all over, needy and desperate. “Mikhail, we can’t… The guards.”

I try to pull myself up, but he wraps his arm around my waist, keeping me pressed against him. His breath is hot on my ear as he whispers, “Don’t let them hear you.”

Warm goosebumps spread over my skin.

“As if I could?—"

Before I can finish, Mikhail’s hand glides up my stomach, fingers brushing the underside of my breast before cupping it fully. “I believe in you, malyshka . Not a peep. Can you do that for me? Can you keep quiet? Or do you want them to hear how I make you scream?”

He’s out of his mind.

… And maybe I am too. Because the thought of trying not to scream his name while he fucks me sounds like the best kind of torture.

So I reach down, wrap my hand around the bulge in his pants, and whisper back, “Depends on how hard you fuck me.”

His eyes darken and a dangerous smirk fills his handsome face. “I won’t be gentle.”

In one fluid motion, he flips us over, pinning me beneath him. His mouth crashes down on mine, all heat and hunger.

In the blink of an eye, we’re frantically clawing at each other’s clothes, desperate to touch every inch of skin.

I feel his hands rip my dress in half. He grunts when my tits come free, like he’s seeing them for the first time all over again.

“You are fucking perfection,” He cups one breast, twisting the nipple as he takes the other one in his mouth and starts teasing me with his tongue.

“Nothing about this is perfect,” I rasp, blindly fumbling with his belt. “But I’m starting to like shit messy.”

“Thatta girl.”

His belt comes undone and I whip it off. He immediately catches it in one hand, his face not leaving my tits as he slaps the leather around the back of my neck like a lasso. At first, the grip is loose, but when he eases back from my chest and gives the leash a tug, I can feel it tighten as I’m pulled towards his face.

“Maybe this will help keep you quiet,” he rumbles in a raspy whisper, tugging a little bit tighter, cutting off a little more air. “If it doesn’t work, then feel free to shout into my mouth.”

His lips take mine, tongue pushing down my tightening throat as he holds me firmly in place.

I try to keep my moans light, but I’m quickly losing control. Not that it matters. Mikhail swallows my whimpers, my wines. He takes everything that comes out of me and gulps it down.

“You are so goddamn delicious,” he sneers, as if it’s almost upsetting to him. “If only you knew how good you tasted to me.”

“Hopefully half as good as you taste to me,” I choke.

“No. You don’t know how I taste. Not yet. But let’s change that.”

With a sinful glint in his eyes, Mikhail takes one last devilish look at my lips. “Pants off. Now.”

“I’m not wearing?—”

“Mine!” he practically roars. It’s like he’s lost all self-control, and it almost makes me feel better for having lost mine a long time ago. At least I’m not alone in this madness.

“Yes, sir.” I gasp for air as he holds my leash tightly, even as I descend to pull off his pants. Another gasp is stolen from me when I see his cock spring out. It’s even more intimidating up close. About as thick as my wrist, swollen with desire, bulging with veins and dripping with pre-cum.

It doesn’t matter that I can hardly breathe already, I open wide—it’s all I need to do. Mikhail uses my leash to lead me the rest of the way.

The second his head slips through my outstretched lips, I gag, but my instinct to pull back is halted by my restraint. Mikhail keep my head still as he continues to fill my mouth. My tongue flattens to fit him. The urge to gag retreats. All that remains is a desperate desire to take him all.

But that quickly proves to be impossible.

“Such a good girl,” he groans as his cock hits the back of my throat. Drool drips down my chin. Tears well up in my eyes. My clit throbs with need.

Fuck my face , I want to scream. But Mikhail has kept his promise. I can’t say a fucking thing.

“Keep that mouth open nice and wide for me,” he says. Then, as if reading my mind, he starts to pump. Gently at first, but soon, his thrusts become more intense.

My voice is no longer a cause for concern, but the sound of me gagging could altern the entire neighborhood, let alone the guards in the front seat, just behind the limousine’s dark divider.

Mikhail doesn’t seem to care.

Hell, neither do I.

I can feel him growing in my mouth. Swelling. I can feel the heat in my face as I’m deprived of oxygen for what I really need.

Him .