"Take another step," I say, my voice shaking but loud enough, sharp enough, "and I swear to God I'll pull it."
Silence slams into the room.
Heavy.
Breathing.
Alive.
I swallow hard, my gaze locked on him, refusing to look away, refusing to break.
"If you come close," I whisper, my voice breaking just enough to make it real, "I will fucking shoot myself."
Something shifts in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not control.
Fear.
It hits me so suddenly I almost miss it, but it is there, sharp and real, cutting through everything else he has been hiding behind all night.
"Don't," he says, and this time it is not cold. It is rough. Urgent. "If you want to shoot someone, shoot me. But don't you dare put that against your head."
My lips twitch into something bitter. "You started this," I snap. "You built this entire mess. You don't get to act like you care how it ends."
His jaw tightens, something violent flickering beneath his skin. "Careful what you think you understand," he says quietly. "You're standing in the middle of something that will swallow you whole, and you still think you're the one in control."
I let out a sharp, humorless breath. "I know exactly what you are," I shoot back. "A monster who thinks he's untouchable. The man running Black Wraiths like it's his personal playground."
That does it.
His eyes darken completely.
"Then stop pretending you don't want to pull that trigger," he says, voice dropping into something colder than before. "If you want me dead, do it. Right now. But take it off your head."
My grip tightens, anger rising higher, hotter. "I thought the great leader of your little empire wouldn't care about death," I say, my voice laced with venom.
"I don't," he replies instantly. "Not mine."
A beat passes.
"Yours," he continues, quieter now, more dangerous, "is a different story."
Before I can react—
He moves.
Fast.
Too fast.
My pulse spikes, instinct kicking in hard, and the gun jerks away from my temple—
Toward him.
The trigger pulls.
The shot explodes through the room, loud and violent, the recoil snapping through my arm as the bullet slices past him, grazing his bicep.
Fabric tears.
Skin splits.
A thin line of blood appears instantly.
Everything stops.
For a second, neither of us moves.
Neither of us breathes.
My chest heaves, my vision slightly blurred, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in my ears.
He looks down at his arm.
Then back at me.
And slowly—
He smiles.
Dark.
Unhinged.
"Fucking hell," he murmurs, voice low, almost impressed. "You really are the one made to ruin me."
Before I can even process that—
He's on me.
His hand snaps around my wrist, twisting just enough to force my grip open without pain, the gun slipping from my fingers like it never belonged there.
It lands somewhere behind me with a dull sound I barely register because his other hand is already at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
My breath stutters.
His grip tightens.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
Possessive.
Dangerous.
"Next time you point a gun," he says quietly, his face inches from mine, his voice cutting through me like a blade, "make sure you actually mean it."
His thumb drags slowly over my pulse point, pressing just enough to remind me how easily he could have ended this differently.
"And never," he adds, his gaze locking onto mine with something dark and absolute, "ever aim it at yourself again."
"You're so fucking terrible, Zayan," I breathe out, my voice still unsteady but laced with heat now, anger twisting into something sharper.
A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips. "I know," he says quietly, his grip tightening just a fraction. "But don't you ever try to cage me by hurting yourself. I won't forgive that."
My jaw clenches. "Where is he?"
His eyes narrow slightly. "Who?"
"The pop artist," I snap. "Don't play dumb with me."
Something dark crawls into his gaze, slow and deliberate. Then he shrugs lightly. "You're assuming too much."
A bitter laugh slips out of me. "If you want to challenge me, do it properly. Don't drag innocent people into your mess."
His laugh follows immediately.
Low.
Smooth.
Terrifyingly beautiful.
"What were you doing in Izar's penthouse?" he asks suddenly, the question slicing through the air without warning.
Possessive.
Sharp.
Wrong.
I blink at him, then tilt my head slightly, a mocking smile pulling at my lips. "Why? Are you jealous I saw your precious bodyguard naked?"
His eyes darken.
"Half naked," he corrects calmly.
I let out a soft laugh. "So you are jealous."
"Yes," he says without hesitation, his voice dropping lower. "I don't like you standing in front of another man like that. Not him. Not anyone."
Something in my chest tightens, but I don't let it show. "What if I kiss someone?"
His thumb stills against my pulse.
Then presses harder.
"If they touch you," he murmurs, his voice turning lethal, "they die."
A pause.
"If you kiss someone," he continues, his lips ghosting closer to mine, "they die slowly."
I scoff, but it comes out weaker than I intend. "What if it's your friends?"
"I don't care who it is," he says, his gaze locking onto mine with something obsessive, something unhinged. "I care about what's mine."
My breath catches despite myself. "You're insane."
"I can be worse."
A challenge burns in my chest, reckless and sharp. I lean in just enough, my voice dropping. "Then show me."
His eyes flicker.
Dark.
Hungry.
And before I can even breathe—
His hand tightens on my waist and his lips crash against mine.