Monstrous Urges: A Dark Mafia Enemies To Lovers Romance

All I can see is darkness. All I can feel is pain. All I can breathe is ash and smoke.

The ringing in my ears is so loud it’s like my head is inside a train whistle.

My fingers scrape against rubble and ash. My jaw works, trying to clear my ears as a dim light flickers on and off behind my eyes.

…Drazen…

Yes.

I’m here.

I can hear you.

Maybe.

I’m not sure.

I groan, pain exploding through my chest, my side, my leg, my everything as I try and move. I blink and see only stars and supernovas, nausea and a lack of sense of gravity churning my stomach and spinning my head in a vortex.

Drazen.

Get up.

Get. The fuck. UP.

More pain rips through me as I roll onto my back. I blink again, the light flashing in my eyes flickering in and out before the light catches and takes hold. Shapes roam through the blurriness. Something moves closer to me, making my face scrunch up as I try to focus.

Orange.

Pale peach.

Two dots of blue…

“Drazen!”

With a choking rasp and a wrenching pain that almost kills me, I lurch up to a sitting position, inhaling smoke and grit. Instantly, I fall backward again. But this time, when I blink, the blurriness fades.

The world stops rocking back and forth.

And suddenly, I can see.

“Drazen!”

My heart lurches as Taylor comes into focus, leaning over me, screaming my name through the deafening ringing in my ears.

And yet… Something’s wrong. My thoughts are jumbled, my memory crooked. It’s Taylor leaning over me, pressing something soft against the wetness on the side of my head. But it’s also…

Not.

Her hair is shorter. She’s changed her clothes. She’s found a medic’s bag, which she’s slung over one shoulder.

When did she get that tattoo on her arm…

“Drazen!”

She’s still screaming my name as she rips my shirt open, scattering the buttons. I want to tell her that I’d like to be able to fucking speak before we get to that. I also want to ask her about the tattoo and her hair.

“I need you to get the fuck up, Drazen!”

I blink again, my jaw opening and closing, making something pop in my ears. The ringing fades a little.

Suddenly, I can hear.

“GET UP!” she screams at me. Her eyes drop to my chest, a worried look on her face as she grabs something out of her bag: gauze, and a needle and thread.

What the fuck…

With a groan, I force my eyes to focus and lift my ringing head, looking down to see where her hands are moving.

Fuck.

My eyes land on the jagged piece of metal sticking out from between my ribs. That would explain the agony and hellish pain.

“What are you…”

“Shut up,” she snaps coldly, frowning and pushing gauze against my body. “Just don’t talk.” Her eyes snap to mine.

Taylor’s eyes. Taylor’s face. Taylor’s voice.

And yet not Taylor.

“Who…?”

She jams a piece of splintered wood between my teeth.

“Bite down,” she rasps out hurriedly. “Or you’ll bite your tongue off. Do it now.”

Yeah, I’ve been to war. I know what comes next.

I bite the fuck down.

The pain is delirium, agony incarnate when she grips the piece of metal and yanks it out of my body. Her hand grabs mine, pinning my palm over the gauze staunching the blood.

“Hold that.”

She grabs her needle and thread. A fresh wave of pain washes over me as she pulls my hand away and pushes the needle through my flesh, lacing the gash closed. She works quickly, perhaps a little clumsily. But when I glance down again, she’s biting off the string and taping heavy gauze to my side.

She looks up, her Taylor eyes that aren’t Taylor locking with mine.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood, and I think your leg might be broken. But you’re still stronger than me, and I need that strength right now. Understand?”

I frown. “Who the fuck⁠—”

“Do you love her?!” she blurts, her eyes wildly searching mine.

She’s not wrong about the blood loss. My head is swimming, and there’s three of her coming in and out of focus. But I could be dead and still answer that question.

“Do you love Taylor?!”

“Yes,” I choke.

“Good,” she replies. “Because she needs our help. Get the fuck up.”

Yeah, that does it. With a stab of pain, I take her outstretched arm and wrench myself to my feet.

Holy fuck.

I’m standing on the very edge of Hell. The bridge is blown to shit, with a massive chunk in the middle gone. Fiery piles of wreckage and what might be spilled oil give the whole scene a blood-chilling look as the flames and the smoke cast flickering, nightmarish shadows over everything.

“This way.”

She grabs my arm, yanking me almost off my feet as I stumble after her. We scramble over rubble and wreckage, smoke and ash and fire choking my throat and burning my eyes. Suddenly, even before the woman says anything, I see her.

Taylor.

“Wait—”

I ignore her warning, lurching forward down a crooked slab of concrete. At the last second, I realize it drops off at the end. I leap, hissing in pain as I jump across the gaping divide and go crashing against the opposite side.

FUCK that hurts.

I claw at the ground, my feet kicking thin air. My teeth grit, and with a cry of agony, I wrench myself back up over the edge.

My stitches have ripped out. Blood is pouring down my side. But I don’t care. I go staggering toward Taylor, slumped on the ground.

Her eyes closed.

Her body covered in ash.

A huge slab of concrete on her leg.

An explosion and a crumbling sound rip my attention behind me. The other Taylor screams, lurching backward as part of the concrete slab slides off the bridge and into the water below.

“I can’t jump that!” she screams at me. “But she’s bleeding out!!”

“So throw me the bag!” I roar. “THROW ME THE FUCKING BAG!”

She yanks the med bag off her shoulder and hurls it over the abyss toward me. I catch it, whirling to kneel next to Taylor.

My Taylor.

“Stay with me, my love,” I hiss, my hand shoving rocks and ash off her body until suddenly my fingers touch warm, sticky wetness. My teeth grit as I brush more ash off her, scrambling to find where she’s bleeding from as I yank the med bag open.

Oh fuck.

I’ve found the wound. It’s under the massive piece of stone pinning her leg.

Beneath me, the wreckage of the bridge rumbles and shakes.

We’re running out of time.

My fingers grip the edge of the stone. I suck in black air, my teeth grinding as I crouch down, tightening my screaming stomach muscles.

Then, I lift.

I lift with everything I have, everything I’ve ever been. I lift with all the agony of war and the raw pain of my family’s screams.

Joints pop. Blood flows down my fingers. My vision goes black as my shoulder dislocates from the socket.

I don’t. Stop. Straining. Using every single drop of strength I have left.

She will not fucking die here.

Not again.

The bridge shakes. Someone is screaming. Slowly, the massive piece of concrete shifts with a rasping, grating sound before it finally tips away from her.

Taylor stirs, dusty breath choking from her cracked lips.

“She’s free!” I roar over my shoulder as I crouch next to her, pressing gauze to the huge gash on her leg.

“Get her off the bridge!!” Taylor-not-Taylor screams back. “I have a boat! I’ll meet you on the Elba side.”

I just nod, my mind too focused on Taylor, my hands too busy applying pressure to the wound.

The bridge rumbles and wobbles again violently as I wrap gauze around her leg.

The bleeding won’t stop. It’s getting worse.

“Stay with me,” I hiss as I yank my shirt off and start to wrap it around her thigh. “FUCKING STAY WITH ME, TAYLOR!”

The bridge starts to sag and groan.

We have to go.

Now.

I leave everything else behind as I grab her, lift her in my arms, and stand. Pain explodes though my side and leg. But I don’t care. I lift her in my arms and start to run as the ground caves in around us.

She’s terrifyingly weak and limp in my arms, barely clinging to me as I lurch over a pile of rubble and skid down a rocky concrete slope dotted with roaring fire.

I see the edge before we hit it—the ragged cliff where this ruined section of the bridge ends. Beyond it lie stable ground and the road.

I don’t stop. I don’t slow. I use everything I have left in my system as I hit the edge, lurch, and leap forward into thin air.