Accidentally Yours (Merffy Kizzmet) novel Chapter 137

Chapter 137

Lola

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(65

Pain dragged her back. Not gently. Not like waking. More like being shoved through glass.

Her ears rang so loud she couldn’t hear her own breath. The sound wasn’t even sound–it was pressure, a siren trapped inside her skull. Her ribs ground with every inhale, sharp lightning cracking down her side. The taste of copper coated her tongue, thick enough to gag.

She blinked. Once. Twice. The world swam in and out of focus. Dark shapes hunched around her, all jagged edges and shadows. Car doors slammed. Voices barked. The stink of smoke and gasoline clung to her clothes, mixed with the acrid bite of burned skin. Hers.

Where the fuck am I?

Memory staggered back in pieces. The shop. The table. The blast–white light swallowing everything, like the world had been erased in an instant. Then nothing.

She shifted and agony ripped through her chest, stars bursting behind her eyes. A whimper escaped before she could swallow it down. One of the shadows turned. A hand grabbed her arm, rough, gloved.

“Она жива (she’s alive),” a voice barked. Russian.

Alive.

Fuck.

At this point I’d really rather not.

Hands hauled her up, feet dragging useless against concrete. Every step rattled her bones, every jolt a fresh stab of fire. She tried to kick, to bite, to claw–but her body refused her. Her limbs hung heavy, rubber and slow, her strength drowned under pain and blood loss. Shrapnel burned in her side, warm streams soaking through her shirt and dripping down her hip.

Not dead. Not yet. That’s something.

A car door yanked open. She was shoved inside, metal biting her shoulder, her head cracking against the frame. The world spun again, tipping sideways. She squeezed her eyes shut, rode the nausea, tried not to choke on her own blood.

Names floated up through the haze. She’d heard them before. Enzo muttering them over late–night scotch, voice low and lethal. Threats, warnings. Russian crew moving in too close. Dimitri Volkov’s name had been on his lips like a curse.

And now his men had her.

The ride was short, or maybe she blacked out–time stretched wrong, broken. Her body floated, weightless one moment, unbearably heavy the next. Every bump in the road shoved glass deeper into her skin.

When the car lurched to a stop, pain yanked her awake again. She was yanked half–conscious out into night air that stank of sweat, smoke, and the rank oil–slick sme of Vegas back alleys.

Her boots scuffed pavement, knees buckling. Someone cursed in Russian. Fingers dug into her arms, dragging her toward a door glowing red with neon. A club.

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11:00 Wed, Oct 8 M…

Chapter 137

Her stomach turned. Not like this. Like hell was she going to let these miscreants take her to what she knew was at the top of this club.

65

She tried to wrench free, ribs screaming, but another hand clamped her jaw tight. “Tuxo (quiet),” the man hissed, breath sour against her

cheek.

Her vision blurred, doubled, then split again. Shapes stuttered like bad film. And then–flashes. Movement across the alley. Shadows breaking from deeper shadows. Too many footsteps. Not the same crew.

Gunfire exploded.

The man holding her swore, shoving her back against the car. She sagged there, dazed, her pulse rattling like a trapped bird.

Fuck everything hurts.

Now.

Her brain screamed it even while her body failed her. Move. Now.

11:00 Wed, Oct 8 M…

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