Chapter 7
1272 Words
Elara gritted her teeth as Nicholas all but shoved her into the black SUV.
She had barely caught her breath from the chaos back at the estate, and now she was being dragged off again—no explanations, no choices.
The engine roared to life, the scent of leather and Nicholas’s signature cologne surrounding her.
She shot him a glare as he settled into the driver’s seat, his grip on the wheel tight.
“You’re not even going to tell me where we’re going?” she snapped.
Nicholas’s jaw ticked.
“Somewhere safe.”
Safe.
The word felt like a cruel joke.
Because if there was one thing she knew for sure—nothing about Nicholas Wolfe was safe.
She crossed her arms, her pulse still erratic from the attack. “This isn’t normal, Nicholas.”
His knuckles whitened against the wheel.
“I never claimed to be normal.”
Her stomach twisted.
She turned to him, frustration bubbling over.
“I don’t belong in this world,” she whispered.
Nicholas’s grip tightened.
He didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak.
But the tension in the car shifted.
He was holding something back.
And it infuriated her.
“Damn it, Nicholas!” She reached out, grabbing his arm. “Say something!”
The SUV skidded to a sharp stop.
Elara’s breath caught.
Nicholas turned to her slowly, dangerously.
And the look in his eyes?
It stole the air from her lungs.
“You don’t belong in this world?” His voice was dark, razor-sharp.
He reached out, fingers tangling in her hair, yanking her closer.
“You think I don’t know that?” His breath brushed against her lips, hot and furious.
Elara’s pulse spiked.
“Then let me go,” she whispered.
Nicholas exhaled harshly.
His grip didn’t loosen.
Instead, he dragged his lips along her jaw, slow. Deliberate.
“You think I can?” His voice was rough, his breath unsteady.
Her skin burned.
She hated how her body responded to him.
Hated that she didn’t pull away.
“Because I can’t, Elara,” Nicholas murmured against her ear. “I won’t.”
Her breath hitched.
He bit down—just hard enough to make her shudder.
Her fingers curled into his shirt, nails digging into his chest.
And Nicholas?
He felt it.
His body went still for a fraction of a second—then he yanked her onto his lap.
Elara gasped, straddling him, her heart slamming against her ribs.
“You don’t belong in this world?” Nicholas whispered, his voice pure sin.
His hands gripped her thighs, spreading her over him.
His hardness pressed against her—relentless, possessive.
“You belong right here.”
Her breath caught.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Elara swallowed. “Nicholas—”
He rolled his hips—just once—just enough to make her shatter.
Her body arched, her nails raking down his chest.
His eyes darkened, fingers digging into her waist.
“Say. It.”
She bit her lip, her entire body trembling.
And the worst part?
She wasn’t sure if she was trembling from fear.
Or from how badly she wanted him.
Meanwhile…
Victor Montenegro leaned against his desk, watching the footage of Nicholas and Elara inside the SUV.
The tension. The desire. The obsession.
A slow smirk curled his lips.
“Wolfe’s weakness is showing,” he mused.
Sandro Velasquez chuckled beside him.
“Oh, he’s completely lost in her,” Sandro said, amused. “Which makes it the perfect time to strike.”
Victor swirled his drink, his smirk deepening.
“Then let’s take his pretty little obsession…” He set his glass down, eyes gleaming.
“And rip her away from him.”
Elara’s breath hitched as Nicholas’s grip on her waist tightened.
Her body was trapped against his, her pulse hammering as his dark, hungry gaze locked onto hers.
“You belong right here,” he had said.
His voice still echoed in her ears, rough and possessive, as if he were branding her.
She should have pushed him away.
She should have fought.
But instead—
She felt herself leaning in.
Then—
BANG!
The SUV’s windows exploded.
A split second later, Nicholas tackled her down.
Glass rained over them as gunfire tore through the vehicle, bullets embedding into the seats and dashboard.
Elara’s scream was muffled by the crushing weight of Nicholas’s body covering hers.
Her ears rang. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She tried to move, but Nicholas’s grip was iron-hard.
“Stay down,” he snarled.
The heat from his body shielded her, but she could feel his tension—his rage.
Gunfire continued to tear through the SUV.
“f**k,” Nicholas cursed. He reached for his gun, his body shifting just enough to keep her hidden.
Elara’s pulse spiked.
They were trapped.
Whoever was attacking them—they weren’t stopping.
A second later, Nicholas grabbed her wrist, hauling her out of the SUV.
“Run!” he ordered.
Her feet stumbled against the pavement, her breath ragged.
Nicholas’s grip was unforgiving as he pulled her toward the alley behind the warehouse.
Bullets whizzed past them, but Nicholas never faltered.
Then—
A black van screeched around the corner.
Doors flew open.
And before Elara could react—
Armed men stormed out.
A hand snatched her wrist.
“Elara!” Nicholas roared.
She fought. She kicked. But the man was too strong.
She barely caught a glimpse of Nicholas pulling his gun, his face twisted in pure murderous fury—
Then—
Something slammed into the back of her head.
Pain exploded.
The world tilted.
And then—
Darkness.
Nicholas saw red.
The moment Elara’s body collapsed, something inside him snapped.
“NO!”
He fired his gun, hitting one of the men in the chest.
The others scrambled, dragging Elara’s unconscious body into the van.
Nicholas charged.
He didn’t feel the bullets grazing his arm, didn’t register the pain.
All he saw was her.
His Elara—being ripped away from him.
The van doors slammed shut.
Tires screeched.
Nicholas lunged, his fingers almost reaching the handle—
But the van sped off.
His heart pounded.
His breath came out ragged.
Then—silence.
Just the distant echoes of gunfire.
The sharp scent of blood.
And the cold realization that—
They took her.
Nicholas stood frozen, his fingers curled into fists.
A slow, deadly rage curled through his veins.
Then—
He reached for his phone.
The second the call connected, his voice was lethal.
“They took Elara.”
There was silence on the other end.
Then—
“Who dies first?” his second-in-command asked.
Nicholas’s lips curled into a dangerous smirk.
“All of them.”
Meanwhile…
Victor Montenegro exhaled a satisfied breath as he stepped into the darkened warehouse.
At the center of the room, Elara lay unconscious, her wrists bound, a bruise forming on her temple.
Sandro Velasquez stood nearby, arms crossed.
“She’s not dead,” he noted.
Victor smirked. “Of course not.”
He crouched beside Elara, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
“She’s the key,” he murmured. “The only thing Nicholas Wolfe will burn the world for.”
Sandro chuckled. “Then I suppose we should make sure he knows exactly where to find her.”
Victor’s smirk widened.
“Oh, he’ll come.”
His fingers traced a slow line down Elara’s cheek.
“The question is…” He leaned closer, voice dripping with amusement.
“…how much of her will be left by the time he gets here?”
- Writer
