Luck is on My Side Kitten

Calla POV.

"Do you know who I am?"

His low, rumbling question hangs in the heated air of the car. The terrifying reality crashes down on me, freezing the blood in my veins. I stare into those pitch-black, dead eyes, and the fractured pieces of my memory snap into a horrifying picture.

Cassian Vargo.

The notoriously ruthless billionaire. Heir to the sprawling underworld empire. A man whose very name strikes paralyzing fear into the hearts of the most dangerous criminals. I am holding a monster at knifepoint. He is the devil incarnate, a predator known for leaving trails of bodies in his wake without a second thought. And I just threatened him in his own vehicle.

Instead of displaying even a fraction of the fear a normal hostage would possess, a profoundly amused smirk curls his lips. He looks at me like I am a puzzle he wants to break apart with his bare hands.

As the deep shock sets in, my grip on the handle of the pocket knife weakens. Just for a fraction of a second.

That is all the opening a predator needs.

With terrifying speed, his large hand shoots up and grabs mine. The calluses on his palm scrape against my skin. But rather than disarming me, he forces my own hand toward him. He pushes the metal edge deeper into his own neck. A thin line of bright red blood breaks the skin, staining his pristine white collar. He does not even blink.

"You are trembling," he murmurs with smooth, chilling confidence. "Not a good look for someone wielding a weapon."

Panic flares bright and hot within my chest. I am trapped in a moving metal box with a lunatic who bleeds himself just to prove a point.

"Back off," I order, my voice shaking as I try to maintain my facade of control.

In response, his free hand shoots out like a striking snake. He swiftly and effortlessly grabs my waist. Before I can brace my feet against the floorboards, he lifts my entire body up from the seat and pulls me directly onto his lap. The sudden movement steals the breath straight from my lungs. The sheer, dizzying heat radiating from his large frame overwhelms my senses. The rich scent of dark leather and expensive cologne wraps around me, suffocating my resolve. His hard thighs burn beneath me, and his broad chest forms an impenetrable wall of muscle against my front.

"What is your name?" he asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble.

I stubbornly refuse to give him my name. I will not hand over the last piece of leverage I possess. I grip the handle tighter and press the blade against his throat once more.

"Look carefully," I hiss, leaning in close enough to feel his breath fan across my face. "Your life is still in my hands. I will not make your death easy."

His smirk only widens.

Suddenly, the driver makes a sharp swerve to navigate a tight, snow-covered corner. The heavy car tilts aggressively.

Before I can attempt to recover my balance, Cassian moves with lethal precision. He forcefully grabs both of my wrists. With one fluid, punishing motion, he twists my arms behind my back, pinning them securely together. Pain shoots up my shoulders. The pocket knife slips from my numb fingers and clatters uselessly onto the floorboards, out of reach.

"Careful, little one," he teases. He dominates the physical struggle without breaking a single drop of sweat. He holds both my wrists locked in one massive hand, rendering my desperate thrashing useless.

I struggle against his iron grip, but it is like fighting solid rock. His intense, dark gaze drops from my defiant eyes. He studies the bleeding gash on my forehead, tracking the crimson trail down my cheek. Then, his eyes fall to the severe injury on my leg, where fresh blood continues to soak into the torn denim.

To my bewilderment, his demeanor shifts in a way I cannot comprehend. The cruel, mocking amusement fades, replaced by a strange, quiet focus.

Reaching out with surprising care, he uses his free hand to touch my face. His rough thumb gently wipes the smeared blood away from my skin. The gesture is so soft, so contradictory to the violence radiating from him, that it sends a shockwave through my system.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I curse at him angrily, twisting my face away from his touch.

"Keeping you alive," he replies softly. His thumb brushes my jawline one last time. "For now."

My head spins. The blood loss and the suffocating heat of his body are catching up to me. "I don't owe you anything," I insist, my voice sounding weak and stubborn to my own ears.

Through the tinted windows, I see the luxurious car pulling into the grand driveway of a sprawling, heavily guarded gated estate. Tall iron fences, security cameras, and armed men blur past the glass. The overwhelming cocktail of sharp pain, crashing adrenaline, and bone-deep exhaustion finally overtakes my battered body. My eyelids flutter shut.

His faint smile is the last thing I see.

"We'll see about that, tesoro," he murmurs.

My entire world fades into an impenetrable blackness.

Cassian POV.

I sit back against the leather seat, staring down at the unconscious woman sprawled across my lap. Her breathing is shallow, her small chest rising and falling in a fragile rhythm against mine. I have never in my life met a creature so daring and reckless.

Every woman I have encountered falls into one of two predictable categories. They either throw themselves at my feet in desperation, eager to claim a piece of my wealth and status, or they cower away in sheer, trembling fear the moment they look into my eyes. They know the monster I am. They know the bodies buried beneath the foundation of my empire.

But this fierce, beautiful wildcat did neither. She had actually pressed a blade directly to my throat, threatening to carve me open in my own territory. She possessed a raw fire that felt like it could burn down the very walls I had built around myself. She looked the devil in the eye and demanded he bleed.

I trace the delicate lines of her pale face. Seeing the crimson blood seeping from the cut on her forehead and the dark stain marking the wound on her leg causes an unfamiliar, strange ache to twist deep within my chest. It is a sharp, tightening sensation. A flaw in my armor. It inexplicably prompts my fingers to reach out again. I gently wipe away a fresh drop of blood from her temple with a level of gentleness I did not even know I possessed.

Family traditions demanded I take a queen. My father has been pushing the agenda for months, treating marriage as a mere business transaction to secure our borders and cement our legacy. I have always viewed women as mere liabilities and distractions. They are weaknesses that enemies exploit to bring great men down. I keep them strictly at arm's length to maintain my empire, engaging in brief encounters without surrendering an ounce of trust.

But this woman resting against my chest?

She is an untamed, chaotic force of nature that I simply cannot ignore. She broke into my car, ruined my custom leather seats, and threatened my life without a second of hesitation.

The sharp buzz of my phone pulls me forcefully from my wandering thoughts. I shift her weight slightly, securing her against my body, and retrieve the device from my inside pocket.

"Head straight to my place," I order Vaughn immediately.

"Yes, Boss," Vaughn replies, his voice tight with lingering shock.

Glancing at the bright screen, I open an encrypted message from my father. The text is brief, demanding a progress update on the current hunt. I tap the attached image file on the screen. The photo loads slowly.

I stare at the face looking back at me from the digital file. Long dark hair. Defiant, striking eyes. The precise facial structure of the high-value target I was sent out into the cold night to retrieve.

My gaze slowly drops back down to the battered, unconscious woman in my arms. I compare the pristine photo to the bruised, bleeding girl slumped against my expensive suit.

A dark, manic laugh escapes my lips. The deep sound echoes through the silent, tense interior of the car, causing Vaughn's shoulders to stiffen in the front seat. He knows better than to ask questions when I laugh like this.

The universe's sick sense of irony is on full display.

The notorious runaway bride. The Russian mafia princess my father ordered me to hunt down. Kaelen Vance's daughter. She had been running from my men all night, desperate to escape her arranged fate, only to leap into a random vehicle for salvation.

She had quite literally dropped straight into my lap.

Fate is a twisted bastard, and I am here for it.

She fought like a cornered animal to avoid being dragged into my world, yet here she is, bleeding in my arms, having unknowingly taken the very man she was running from as her hostage. The irony is rich, intoxicating. The hunt is over, but the real game has just begun.

"This will be fun," I murmur into the quiet car, my voice dropping to a lethal, promising register. I trace the line of her jaw one last time before looking up at the rearview mirror.

"Call Rocco," I command Vaughn, my tone leaving no room for delay. "Tell him to pull every piece of data they have and get her complete file immediately."