Page 32 of The Underboss's Secret Twins

My pulse jackhammers in my throat as I step back, my mind racing through every possible scenario, none of them good. I force myself to breathe, to think.You knew this was coming.My apartment was already trashed, a warning left by way of destruction. This? This is the next step.

I move quickly, silently, my feet barely making a sound against the floor. The knife block sits on the counter, the sleek handles glinting under the dim kitchen light. I grab one—a long, sharp chef’s knife—my grip tightening around the handle. It’s not a gun, but it’s better than nothing.

Creeping toward the door, I press my back against the wall beside it, positioning myself just out of direct sight. My fingers flex around the knife’s handle, slick with sweat.

I swallow hard.Don’t panic.

Leaning slightly, I peer through the peephole.

Nothing.

The hallway outside is empty, nothing but dim light and shadow stretching across the worn-down carpet. My stomach knots. Whoever knocked is either standing just out of sight or…

My fingers tighten around the knife.

"Who’s there?" I call, my voice low, steady.

Silence.

The air in the apartment feels thick, like the walls are closing in, like something unseen is coiling around me, waiting. The hair on the back of my neck rises.

I take a slow, careful step back.

Then—

The door crashes open.

The force of it slams into me, the impact knocking me to the floor as splinters explode through the air. My ears ring from the violent crack of wood against the wall. Before I can move, before I can evenbreathe, two large men surge inside.

They move like shadows, all dark clothing and brutal efficiency.

A choked gasp escapes me as I scramble back on my hands, the knife still clutched in my grip. My mind barely has time to catch up before one of them lunges.

He’s fast.Muchtoo fast.

A rough hand clamps around my wrist, twisting sharply. Pain shoots up my arm as the knife is wrenched from my grasp, clattering uselessly onto the floor. I thrash, kicking out, my knee connecting with something solid. A grunt. A moment’s hesitation. But not enough.

The second man moves in, his grip like iron as he hauls me to my feet.

I scream, twisting, fighting with everything in me, but he’s stronger. So much stronger. He yanks my arms behind my back, pinning them, and panic slams into me like a freight train.

"Let go of me!" I snarl, struggling violently.

The first man recovers quickly. He steps forward, eyes glinting under the dim light—cold, ruthless.

Then he slaps a gag over my mouth.

A muffled cry rips from my throat as the fabric presses against my lips, cutting off my screams. My breath comes fast and ragged, my pulse hammering as I wrench my head to the side, trying to shake it off. But the first man holds it firm, tying it tight.

"No more noise," he murmurs, his voice eerily calm. "We don’t want any interruptions, do we?"

Terror explodes in my chest, raw and consuming.

My muffled screams are useless, swallowed by the thick gag cutting into the corners of my mouth. I twist, thrash, my body surging with pure adrenaline as I try to break free. But the men are relentless, their grip unyielding like steel.

The first man grabs my wrists and yanks them behind my back. A rough rope coils around them, the fibers biting into my skin as he tightens the knot with a swift jerk. I arch, straining, trying to slip free, but the restraints hold firm.

No. No, no, no.