Page 102 of Celestial Combat

Something terrifying that made my pulse spike for all the wrong reasons.

The scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air, thick and acrid, mixing with the salty breeze rolling off the East River. The metallic tang of blood followed close behind. Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of the city carried on as if nothing had happened, the glowing skyline of Manhattan untouched by the violence that had just unfolded.

I exhaled slowly, pushing the SUV door open and stepping out.

Zane turned his head immediately, his sharp gaze locking onto me, his posture still taut with tension. The streetlights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the chiseled angles of his jaw.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, the weight of everything hanging between us.

My pulse thrummed in my ears.

I should have been focused on the bodies at our feet, on the fact that we had just been ambushed in the middle of a smuggling operation. But instead, all I could focus on was the way Zane looked right now – dangerous, controlled…Tempting.

It sent a slow, simmering heat curling through my stomach, and in-between my thighs.

I swallowed hard, then turned my head, forcing myself to focus.

The bodies. The attackers. That was what mattered right now.

Without a word, Zane and I moved at the same time, stepping toward the nearest corpse. His body was sprawledacross the pavement, a dark pool spreading beneath him, glistening in the faint light. He was dressed in all black – tactical gear, bulletproof vest, gloves. Professional.

I crouched beside him and reached for the edge of his ski-mask. My fingers hesitated just for a second before pulling it off.

White male. Thirties. Scar running from his temple to his cheekbone.

Not one of ours.

I glanced at Zane, but he was already moving, grabbing the collar of the man’s shirt and yanking it down, exposing his shoulder. A dark inked symbol sat there, stark against his pale skin.

A star.

Zane’s jaw tightened.

The realization hit like a freight train.

The Su Dynasty ran weapons. The Cartels ran drugs. The Triads dealt counterfeit. The Albanians moved stolen goods. The Italians had their fingers in everything. But the Bratva?

The Russians didn’t belong in this part of the city. They had their own turf, across the river. Their own dealings, and their own bloodstained empire to protect.

Zane’s voice finally broke the silence, low and even. “They weren’t here by accident.”

This wasn’t another rat or revenge attack from the Yakuza.

It was a war with the Bratva.

Chapter 27

Present

Midtown, New York City

SWEAT, BLOOD, AND OLD CONCRETE hit me the second I stepped through the door, into Python’s Fight Club.

Tonight was louder than usual. Packed. Word had spread.

My final fight of the year. That would decide if I was named reigning champion.

I stood by the side of the cage. My hands already wrapped, gloves hanging at my sides.