Marked By The Ruthless President

CHAPTER 10 — BLOOD AT THE GATE

(Gina’s POV)

The second Reaper stormed out of the room, the world beneath me seemed to explode.

Heavy boots pounded through the hallway.

Men shouting. Doors slamming. The metallic sound of weapons being loaded.

Then gunfire cracked through the night.

I flinched so hard my shoulder hit the headboard.

For one frozen second, I just stared at the closed bedroom door, my pulse slamming against my ribs.

This was real.

Not leather cuts and whiskey. Not jealousy and club politics. Not dangerous looks across a crowded clubhouse.

War.

My hands shook as I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the door, locking it exactly the way he ordered.

The click echoed in the dark room.

Then I backed away.

Another burst of gunfire erupted downstairs.

Closer this time.

My breath came faster.

The red emergency lights flashing through the hallway window painted the black walls in pulsing crimson, making Reaper’s room look even more dangerous.

Like the room itself had been built for nights like this.

I hated how helpless I felt.

Outside, voices roared over each other.

“South gate!”

“Prospects to the wall!”

“Jackals are breaching the lot!”

Every shouted order made my stomach twist tighter.

I paced the room, every nerve on fire.

I should have stayed home.

I should have never gotten tangled in this world.

But the truth hit hard and ugly

The moment I walked into Venom Lounge and let Reaper look at me the way he did, I had already stepped into his world.

Now I was trapped in the center of it.

A sharp pounding hit the bedroom door.

I froze.

Three hard knocks.

Not Reaper’s voice.

My heart nearly stopped.

Then came a male laugh from outside.

Cold. Mocking.

“Prez keeping pretty things upstairs now?”

Ice shot through me.

Jackals.

I stumbled backward from the door.

Another hit rattled the frame, harder this time.

The steel lock held.

Barely.

My eyes darted around the room wildly.

Weapon.

I needed something.

My gaze landed on the cabinet Reaper specifically told me not to touch.

For half a second, I hesitated.

Then another violent slam shook the door.

Screw the rules.

I ran to the cabinet and yanked it open.

Inside were guns, knives, spare magazines, and black cases stacked with terrifying precision.

My hands trembled as I grabbed the smallest handgun I could find.

I had never held one before.

It felt too heavy. Too final.

Another bang.

The bedroom handle jerked violently.

Panic climbed my throat.

I raised the gun with both hands, pointing it at the door exactly the way I’d seen in movies, praying I wouldn’t need it.

Then everything went silent.

The kind of silence that was somehow worse.

A second later, a body slammed against the outside wall.

A man screamed.

Then Reaper’s voice thundered through the hallway like death itself.

“Touch that door again and I’ll cut your hands off.”

The pure violence in his tone sent a chill straight down my spine.

The silence outside shattered into chaos again.

A fistfight. More shouting. A gunshot so close it made my ears ring.

Then footsteps approached the door.

Slow. Heavy. Certain.

My grip tightened on the gun.

“Gina.”

His voice.

Deep. Controlled. Unmistakable.

I rushed forward and unlocked the door.

The moment it opened, Reaper stepped inside, broad shoulders filling the doorway, chest rising hard beneath his black shirt.

There was blood on his knuckles.

A split in his eyebrow. A fresh tear in his sleeve. Murder still burning in his eyes.

For one terrifying second, he looked less like a man and more like the road name his club whispered with fear.

Reaper.

His gaze dropped to the gun in my shaking hands.

Then lifted to my face.

“You opened the cabinet.”

I swallowed hard.

“Someone was outside.”

His jaw tightened.

Then his eyes moved to the door, where a dent near the lock told the rest of the story.

The room went still.

For one long moment, he said nothing.

Then he stepped closer.

Too close.

The smell of smoke, leather, and adrenaline clung to him.

His tattooed hand closed around the gun first, carefully lowering it from my trembling grip.

Only after he set it aside did his eyes settle fully on me.

“Did they touch you?”

The question came low. Deadly calm.

I shook my head quickly.

“No.”

Something in his shoulders loosened.

Just a fraction.

The first crack in his control I had ever seen.

“They tried the door,” I whispered.

His expression went glacial.

“I know.”

Of course he knew.

The blood on his fists said exactly what happened to the man who tried.

I looked at the split over his brow.

“You’re bleeding.”

His mouth barely moved.

“Not mine.”

The answer should have horrified me.

Instead, it made something strange settle inside me.

Safety.

Because he came back.

Because he told them no one touched that door.

Because for all his coldness, he came upstairs first.

The gunfire outside finally faded.

Then Chains’ voice shouted from the hallway.

“Gate’s secure, Prez!”

Reaper didn’t answer right away.

His eyes stayed locked on mine.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Hotter. Too charged.

Then his hand lifted.

Rough fingertips brushed lightly beneath my jaw, forcing me to hold his gaze.

The touch wasn’t soft.

It was checking. Claiming. Reassuring in the only language a man like him knew.

“You listen when I give an order,” he said quietly.

I nodded before I could stop myself.

His thumb brushed once against my chin.

“Good.”

Then he stepped back, the distance instantly colder.

But the imprint of his touch remained.

And somehow that single touch felt more dangerous than sharing the bed ever had.

Chains pushed the door open, face grim.

“Prez… we caught one alive.”

Reaper turned slowly.

Then Chains added the words that made my blood run cold.

“He says they weren’t after club territory. They came for Gina.”

Silence crushed the room.

Because that meant this was no random warning.

This was personal.