IN LINE BETWEEN
I took the wrong street. A massive wall blocked my path, towering me over.
Behind me, I could hear the armed men closing in. I turned around and my hands moved with instinct, pulling out my gun, ready to attack at any range, at any moment.
Six vs one, what a hell of the odds, they were fully armed
Then the growl of an engine cut through the tension. My eyes flicked to the street. Another black SUV rolled smoothly into view, its glossy surface reflecting the harsh sun.
The door swung open, I froze.
"For Fuck's sake," I muttered again
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out.
his posture was confident, every movement was controlled, deliberate-like a predator surveying his territory, His face was sharply defined and for the god damn mercy I know that face very well.
His eyes were icy blue, cold and piercing, sharp enough to unsettle anyone who met his gaze.
There was a calm calculation in line between glint of menace that warned of violence at any moment
His dark hair was neatly slicked back, but a few strands had fallen loose, brushing against his forehead.
He wore a tailored suit that hugged his form perfectly, each crease and fold meticulously. A subtle gleam of gold from a watch and ring hinted at wealth and influence, but it was his aura-the mix of authority and fucking danger, that made him unmistakably a man to be reckoned with.
Khalib Dasirov,
A Russian figure whose presence alone could silence a room.
