Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

The car drove into the depths of the night in Houston, the desolate and empty streets stretching into the endless darkness. Through the car window glass, Vivian struggled to look up at the lights, their shadows flickering uncertainly as the engine suddenly revved, filling the cabin with a tense atmosphere.

With a click-clack, bullets were chambered, and the piercing sound of gunfire exploded next to Vivian’s ears. Her eyes widened in shock, and before she could scream, Alajos pushed her head down beneath the seat.

“It’s the Bratva.” Inside the life-and-death speed of the night, Mare’s sharp gaze halted on a familiar face revealed through the windshield of the car behind them. The light was dim and the shadows were indistinct, yet this did not prevent Mare, like a sharpshooter, from blowing the head off the driver who was relentlessly tailing them.

Sharp screeching brakes followed, and the high-speed car lost control due to the sudden halt, skidding a distance before crashing into the roadside barrier and flipping over. Alajos aimed at the leaking fuel tank, and with a booming explosion, flames shot into the sky, illuminating that stretch of the highway and exposing the Bratva members who were lying in ambush.

The gunfire continued without pause. Vivian felt a violent impact and her body was thrown forward due to inertia. Alajos grabbed her collar and pressed her down beneath him.

Vivian was too frightened to make a sound, her face smeared with tears and mucus, a pitiful yet comical sight.

Alajos dragged Vivian out of the car by the collar, and an abandoned house by the roadside became their only shelter.

“Take this.” Alajos handed a gun to Vivian.

Terrified, she almost threw the gun away.

Alajos tightened his grip on her hand. “There’s a traitor in the organization. He betrayed me, betrayed your brother. Don’t you want to know who hurt Vilem?”

“I…” Vivian was consumed by fear, her mind blank, tears clinging to her eyelashes. She wanted to say that Houston’s traitors had nothing to do with her, that their betrayal of him had nothing to do with her, but that was Vilem, the man who had been shot twice and just barely saved, lying in a hospital bed!

Vivian swallowed hard, gripping the gun tightly, “I’m scared.”

Her entire body was shaking, her speech not fluent, “I don’t know how to use a gun.”

This was all too crazy. Vivian was lost in wild thoughts amidst her extreme fear.

Her father never allowed her to appear at any public events other than family gatherings or school. She was well-protected under her father’s wings, and the worst terror she had ever seen was when the Bratva armed forces broke into the Walker family’s estate during a banquet, a situation that was quickly suppressed by the head of the Walker family and her father.

Even on her first day in Houston, when she had encountered an attack, she was afraid but had quickly escaped danger. She had never faced death so closely before-the bodyguard protecting them was shot through the heart, his blood spraying onto Vivian’s white sleeve.

Even through several layers of fabric, Vivian could still feel the warm splatter of blood.

“Load the gun, aim, and shoot.” Alajos wiped the tears from Vivian’s face. “There are only three bullets in the gun; you don’t have to kill anyone, just protect yourself.”

“Mare!” Alajos shouted Mare’s name, “Keep her safe.”

With those words, Alajos and the remaining bodyguards charged out.

Vivian didn’t know how many enemies there were, but judging from Alajos’s serious expression and Mare’s tense shoulders, there were probably far more than she imagined.

Mare found a relatively safe room-a mezzanine between the first and second floors, used as a storage room. The clutter not yet cleared away served as a good cover. He stuffed Vivian inside, and she grabbed his hand, “Is Alajos really okay?”

“Reinforcements have been called. Our people will arrive soon.” Mare urged Vivian to hide, “Please trust our Capo, Miss Vivian.”

The gun in her hand was cold and deadly. Vivian couldn’t steady her hands, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it might leap out of her throat the next second.

Mare hid behind the storage room door, his night vision excellent, easily distinguishing between friend and foe in the fight downstairs. He saw Alajos blow an enemy’s head off with a shot, and a cold gun emerging from the darkness took down the bodyguard in front of Alajos.

Both sides suffered casualties.

“Alajos!” A small exclamation came from the storage room. Mare looked over to see Vivian moving to a small window in the room, from where she could see Alajos’s arm bleeding-he was wounded!

The bullet grazed Alajos’s arm, and the searing pain of torn flesh took a second to reach his brain, but it did nothing to hinder his valor. He stood behind the broken wall, wielding dual guns, exchanging fire with the enemies lurking in the darkness.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

As bullets left the chambers, accompanied by loud bangs, sparks from the muzzle became targets in the dark. Enemy cries of being hit echoed one after another.

Alajos took cover, breathing heavily, his hands moving swiftly to reload, chamber, and fire. His men were dwindling.

The wind carried the smell of gunpowder and blood. Mare’s ears twitched, keenly picking up on movement behind the house-enemies were approaching!

Sure enough, the next second, gunfire erupted as Alajos’s men ambushed the enemy from behind the house. Then, the window near the back of the storage room shattered under brute force, glass shards flying everywhere. Vivian screamed, protecting her face as Mare fired his gun, followed by the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground.

“Let’s go.” Mare reached for Vivian.

Her legs had turned to jelly from fear; she was almost dragged out of the storage room by Mare.

As they left, the storage room was riddled with a barrage of gunfire, the rapid bursts straining Alajos’s nerves to their limit. He turned in shock, his scalp nearly exploding.

But the next second, he saw Mare pulling Vivian into the safety of the second-floor corridor. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, he heard the sound of a blade cutting through the air behind him. He spun around, gun in hand, blocking the blow. The collision of weapons made a grating sound. Alajos pulled the trigger, the empty click startling the assailant long enough for him to aim downward and fire a fatal shot into the attacker’s heart.

The Bratva’s ambush was more ferocious than anticipated, with a reckless air about them-the wedding was tomorrow, and after it, Houston would gain more support from Los Angeles. Their numbers, weapons, and equipment would all be enhanced. The Bratva had sensed the threat.

If they couldn’t stop tomorrow’s wedding, they were determined to kill Alajos tonight-that was the resolution set in every Bratva member’s heart.

But Alajos’s bravery far exceeded their expectations. His blazing guns could easily penetrate their bullets, his agile movements allowed him to dodge their attacks effortlessly, and his strong hands could snap their necks with ease.

As the enemies fell one by one, the gunfire slowly ceased. The bullets on both sides were almost exhausted. Alajos punched an enemy in the temple, swept his leg back, gripping another enemy’s neck, and with a crisp snap, broke it.