Mafia King's Contract Breeder
Chapter 30 Touch Her And Die

Chapter 30: 30 Touch Her And Die

Lara POV

I only made it three steps off the stage before I was surrounded.

The air thickened with the scent of expensive cologne, alcohol, and raw male hunger. Bodies pressed in close, cutting off my escape.

"What a performance," one of them drawled, his eyes raking over my body like I was already naked.

"You have such a sweet singing voice," another man added, stepping closer with a predatory grin. "I’d love to hear how it sounds when you’re moaning my name."

"Oh—" I stumbled back, heart leaping into my throat.

They were crowding me fast, a wall of suits and leering faces. My back hit the wall before I could retreat any further.

"How much do you charge?" A third man shoved between the others, bolder than the rest, thin and reedy, blond hair slicked back into a hard shell.

He pulled out a thick wad of cash and stuffed it aggressively into the neckline of my dress — then he closed his hands around my breasts and squeezed. "I can pay double."

"Get off me—" I pushed at his chest, panic rising sharp and hot.

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he stepped forward, trapping me fully against the wall. His breath reeked of whiskey and cigars, bloodshot eyes gleaming with excitement. The heat of his body pressed too close, suffocating.

"Come on, whore," he slurred, one meaty hand gripping my chin. "Don’t play coy with me."

Anger spiked through me. I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where to shove it, but before I could—

A brilliant flash of silver streaked across the room.

Thud.

The reedy blond man’s expression twisted.

One moment he was grinning down at me, the next moment, he let out a blood-curdling scream.

"AHHHH—!"

I followed his horrified gaze.

A knife.

A blade was embedded in the man’s hand, nailing it to the wall. Blood welled around the wound, dripping down the dark wood paneling.

"Fuck!"

"What the fuck?!"

The other men recoiled instantly, stumbling over each other as drunken lust gave way to cold, sobering fear. The circle around me broke apart like magic.

Across the room, Emmanuel Sagres was on his feet, head bowed, a gleaming blade spinning between his fingertips in flashes of silver.

"Who gave you permission to touch her?" he growled.

The possessive rage in his tone sent a violent shiver racing down my spine.

He started walking toward me, blade still in hand, the crowd parting before him like the sea.

In one swift, merciless movement, he pulled the blade out of the man’s hand.

The man screamed again, a raw, agonized sound that echoed through the club. He clutched his bleeding hand to his chest, staggering backward.

Emmanuel pulled out a handkerchief and began to wipe the blood off his blade, as though the man’s blood had dirtied his weapon.

"Fuck! I’ll kill you for this!" The blond roared.

Before I could even draw breath, Emmanuel pulled me into his arms with terrifying strength. One powerful arm wrapped around my waist, crushing me against the searing heat of his body.

The other hand rose, pressing the newly cleaned blade to the man’s throat.

It silenced his curses instantly.

The man’s eyes bugged out as he stared at Emmanuel in terror and disbelief.

"Who are you?" he snapped. "Do you know who my father is?!"

"This club has rules," Emmanuel said coldly. He lifted my right wrist, deliberately displaying the pristine white cuff. "You have no right to touch her."

"Are you crazy?" the man spluttered, voice cracking. "She’s just a whore!"

Emmanuel’s expression hardened. The blade flashed again in a vicious arc.

This time, it took the man’s eyes.

Blood spilled down his face in crimson rivulets. His screams turned guttural and animalistic, high-pitched and broken.

My heart nearly stopped. Nausea surged up my throat. I flinched violently and turned my face away, but Emmanuel’s grip around my waist only tightened.

He pulled me harder against him, tucking my head firmly against his broad shoulder, as though shielding me from the gruesome sight.

The scent of his cologne—cedar and citrus—mixed with the metallic tang of blood in the air.

I closed my eyes.

"If you cannot make your eyes useful," Emmanuel said in a mild, conversational tone, "there is no need for you to have them at all."

"ARGHHH! My eyes!!"

"Take him out."

His voice carried absolute authority. Guards in dark suits materialized instantly, grabbing the screaming, blinded man and dragging him away.

His howls faded as they hauled him toward the back of the club, leaving a smeared trail of blood on the polished floor.

The entire room had gone deathly silent. No music. No moans. Every eye in the club was fixed on us—on him.

Emmanuel didn’t spare the chaos another glance. He turned away, keeping me locked against his side, and guided me through the parting crowd.

"That’s enough," he said quietly. I was not sure if he was talking to me or himself.

I barely registered the walk out of Elysium. The cool night air hit me like a slap as we reached the waiting limousine. Emmanuel bundled me inside first, then slid in after me. The door shut with a heavy click, sealing us in soft leather and silence.

I was shivering uncontrollably.

Without a word, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around my shoulders. The fabric was still warm from his body, carrying his scent. It engulfed me, heavy and comforting in a way I desperately didn’t want to acknowledge.

I pulled the jacket tighter around myself, staring at the floor of the limo as the car glided smoothly away from the club. My mind kept replaying the flash of the blade, the blood, the screams. The casual brutality.

And yet... I couldn’t ignore the way Emmanuel had pulled me against him. Protective. Possessive. Like I truly belonged to him.

The worst part was how safe I felt in that moment, wrapped in his jacket and his fury, while the memory of his violence still made my stomach churn.

—

Emmanuel sat against the window, wiping his bloodstained fingers on a handkerchief, carefully and meticulously.

His expression was dark and brooding, jaw clenched, gaze distant. The night clearly hadn’t gone according to whatever calculated plan he had in mind.

My heart was still racing, my body buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Slowly, my voice returned. My brain came back online.

"Were you...jealous?" I asked slowly, lifting my eyes again.

For so long, he had been icy and immovable. I thought I was the only one caught in the storm of his possession, where any wrong move could mean falling and breaking every bone in my body.

But that, back there...was not the reaction of someone dealing with a replaceable toy.

Emmanuel’s jaw tightened.

"I was enforcing the rules of my club," he said. "He should not have touched you. He knew the consequences."

"Do you always enforce your rules like that?"

Emmanuel’s throat moved slightly. He looked out of the window, a tendon flexing in the side of his neck.

My eyes widened even more.

So it was true. The cold, unfeeling monster got jealous over me.

A wild, triumphant little smirk tugged at the corner of my lips before I could stop it. I tried to bite it back, but the satisfaction bloomed hot and dangerous in my chest. For the first time since I’d been dragged into his world, I felt like I had a sliver of power.