Chapter 122 Hand of the Queen
❦ Rosalind ❦
I opened my eyes just in time to see a large form slam Orlov against the wall. My vision was blurry, my pulse wild and uneven.
The drawer behind me rattled as Orlov swung back, his fist catching his attacker in the jaw.
The sound made my stomach twist.
My hands were shaking as I tore through the drawers looking for bullets. Every pull came up empty. Just paper, pens, nothing that could save me.
A lamp shattered somewhere behind me. Glass sprayed across the floor, some shards nicking my arm. I quickly grabbed a large piece and I stumbled to my feet.
When I turned toward the living room, I froze.
It was Viktor.
His face was smeared with blood, a deep cut splitting his forehead, but Orlov looked worse. Much worse.
Viktor’s fists came down over and over on Orlov's face, wet, heavy sounds echoing through the house.
Orlov tried to kick and hit back, but Viktor didn’t budge.
Then I saw it.
A gun.
Just a few feet away from them, lying on the floor.
❦ ❄︎ ❦ ❄︎ ❦ ❄︎ ❦ ❄︎ ❦
❄︎ Viktor ❄︎
I had one thought in my head as I slammed my fist into Orlov’s face again and again.
He touched her. He touched her. He fucking touched her.
Bone met bone, and for a second I wanted to crush his entire skull just to erase the image of his hands on her.
But the bastard fought dirty and jabbed me right in the ribs, in the same place that still hadn’t healed from the accident.
Pain shot through me, and I saw him reaching for the gun lying on the floor.
Instinct kicked in. I kicked the weapon out of reach… only to see Rosa dive for it.
She crashed into me, knocking us both out of balance.
Then Orlov’s filthy hand shot out and tangled in her hair.
I saw red.
In one motion I was on my feet again, my boot slamming down on his elbow.
The crack that echoed through the room was sharp and satisfying.
He screamed, clutching his arm, while Rosa scrambled away and grabbed the gun with trembling hands.
Her face was streaked with tears, her breath coming in fast, sharp bursts.
Seeing her like that, terrified, shaking—sent a dark fog of rage tearing through my chest.
I turned back to Orlov fucking Conti. His mouth was a swollen mess, bleeding all over the floor.
I grabbed his other arm and twisted until the shoulder popped out of its socket. He gasped and kicked weakly.
“Consider this an apology,” I said through my teeth. “For not doing it sooner.”
I stomped on his knee until the joint gave way.
He howled, clutching at his ruined limbs.
“You won’t be touching her again.”
Orlov coughed blood and spat, his voice thick with hatred. “I’m fucking sorry, alright? You can have the bitch.”
I pressed my boot to his other knee. “I know.”
He started begging then… crying, sputtering, pleading. I didn’t stop.
The next crunch was a perfect echo of the first.
He screamed until his voice broke, and then the bastard started laughing through the blood.
“You’ll fucking pay for this,” he rasped. “My father will kill you both. You’d ruin a good partnership over a used-up whore like her?”
Rosa stepped forward, the gun trembling in her hands. Her eyes were blazing.
He looked up at her, sneering through bloody teeth.
“Go on then,” he said. “Do it. You don’t have the balls.”
Rosa’s chest heaved. Her eyes flashed. Then she spat in his face.
“What you think of me,” she said quietly, “isn’t my fucking business. But you’ll die knowing I see you for what you are, a stupid, ignorant little boy who never outgrew his father’s disappointment.”
I looked at her. My Rosa. The rage. The conviction. The beauty.
And I knew, without a single doubt, that she would pull the trigger.
I moved toward her slowly, wiping the blood from my hands onto my pants.
Her chest rose and fell with every shaky breath.
A dark strand of her hair stuck to her cheek, and I brushed it back behind her ear.
Behind us, Orlov groaned, half-conscious, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves.
Rosa’s eyes flicked to him, and I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. My thumb traced the wet trail of her tears. With my other hand, I reached for the gun.
But she didn’t let go.
“I want to do it,” she said, voice trembling. “I can.”
“I know,” I told her quietly. “But let me. Please. Let me be the one. Let me be your weapon, your avenger.”
I cupped her face. “You shouldn’t have to dirty those pretty hands.”
That’s when I saw her finger. The prosthetic must’ve fallen off in the fight. It was just a raw stub now, trembling as she finally loosened her grip.
I didn’t need to be told who took it from her.
Rosa let the gun go.
I took her hand and lifted it to my lips, kissing the injured finger gently, tasting salt and blood.
Then I turned.
Orlov was still on the ground, looking up at me with one swollen eye. He met my gaze and spat, blood dripping down his chin.
“Fuck you,” he rasped.
I lined the shot.
And pulled the trigger.
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