Page 223 of Dance of Defiance

Holy fuck.

My gaze shifts, and I stare as Roman crosses the room in a blur. The South African guy who appeared to be in charge is standing over the man who was telling Pavel to back off, leveling his gun at him.

Roman crashes into the South African, sending his shot wild as they both go slamming into the wall.

Another bottle of alcohol explodes like a grenade as the flames reach it, sending liquid fire spraying across the room.

But I’m not watching that.

I’m watching the man I love turn into ademon.

I’ve always loved that Roman’s this big tough guy who becomes a whimpering, subby mess in my hands. Now, I’m watching the opposite happen.

Pure fury twists his shockingly gorgeous face, transforming him into a monster from some dark fantasy. He whirls, slamming his forearm into the other guy’s face, crushing his nose and sending blood everywhere.

Goddammit, I think I’m hard.

I roar a warning when I see the other guy reach for a huge knife on his belt. But before he can get to it, Roman twists the gun out of his other hand. He jams it up into the guy’s chin, slamming his head against the wall before suddenly?—

Holy SHIT.

The man’s skull turns to red mist.

Roman barely even blinks. He turns, blood drenching his face and shirt like every psycho killer jerk-off fantasy I’ve ever had. His eyes blaze as he raises the gun and fires. The last of the South African guys grunts and doubles over, trying to bring his gun back up, but just as a second bottle of alcohol explodes, Roman gets to him.

He grabs the guy by the throat, slams him across one of the café tables, and puts a bullet through his head.

The entire bar goes up with awhooshingroar, erupting into a fireball that sends Roman flying.

“ROMAN!!”

I snarl and kick at the ropes, heedless of the way they cut into my skin. I manage to get an ankle free, but suddenly, he’s there.

“Hang on!!” Roman screams. He’s got a knife in his hand, and he drops to his knees, cutting the ropes around my ankle and my wrists, setting me free.

I don’t give a fuck that the world is literally on fire. I don’t care that all I can smell is smoke and ash and blood and death.

I grab his face, and I fucking kiss him like the world is ending, and I want to taste his fucking moans as I die.

He breaks the kisswaytoo fast. I glare at him, then I frown at the way his face is paling and his eyes widening as he stares at my chest.

I look down, and the floor drops out beneath me.

Shit, that’s not good.

Blood is blooming across my shirt over my chest. A lot of blood.

That’s…really not good.

Roman doesn’t say anything, just scoops me into his arms.

“Stay with me!” he screams.

I wrap my arms around his neck, wincing when I start to feel the pain in my chest. Roman sprints across the room and crashes through the door into a dank stairwell. He rushes up the steps, holding me tight. When we reach a darkened nightclub Roman charges across floor, and suddenly, we're crashing out the front door into the gloom of the street.

Both of us are coughing up smoke as he bolts across the street to an old parking lot and sets me down. My head swims as Roman rips open my shirt.

“Fuck you, stay the fuck with me!” he bellows. He tears off his own shirt and presses it to the sticky, painful wound in my chest.