《Sinfully His: Craving The Devil's Son》全部章節：第 91 章 - 第 100 章

POV: ClaraA blinding, searing sheet of pure light burned itself into my retinas, and a sound so loud it felt like a physical blow slammed into the side of my head. My ears weren't just ringing; they were screaming with a high-pitched, deafening whistle that drowned out everything else. I couldn't see my hands. I couldn't feel the floor. For a terrifying second, I thought I was dead.Then the smoky, metallic taste of gunpowder hit the back of my throat, and the world came rushing back in blurred, vibrating shapes.Nikolai was on the floor beside me. His massive frame was dead weight, his face twisted in a silent grimace of pure agony as he clutched his shattered leg. He was trying to say something, his lips moving frantically, but no sound was reaching my ears through the static. He was trying to push me away, pointing toward the back door, but I wasn't going anywhere without him. Not today. Not ever.Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. I didn't think. I just acted. I gra

POV: ClaraThe drainage pipe was a narrow, icy tunnel of corrugated metal that smelled like rust, stagnant water, and dead leaves. It was barely wide enough for me to scramble through on my hands and knees, let alone drag a grown man whose body was burning up with a violent fever. The metal scraped against my skin, tearing through the knees of my pants and slicing into my palms, but the freezing slush at the bottom of the pipe kept me too numb to care about the pain. It was the most humiliating, degrading thing I had ever experienced in my entire life. I was flat on my belly, swallowing mouthfuls of filthy, freezing water, with the heavy weight of the satchel hitting against my collarbone with every forward crawl."Keep going, Clara," Nikolai whispered from behind me, his voice nothing more than a wet, painful scrape against the metal walls. "Don't stop. Just keep moving.""I’m not stopping," I panted, my breath coming out in thick white clouds that blocked my view. "Just hold onto

POV: ClaraThe neon sign outside the motel window kept buzzing, a steady, irritating hum that made my head throb in time with the blinking red lights. I sat on the edge of the sticky mattress, the rough sheets scratching against my bare legs as I stared at the tiny, ancient television set mounted on the wall. The screen was fuzzy, lines of static running vertically across the picture, but the faces showing up on the morning broadcast were perfectly clear.It was us. Or at least, the people we used to be twenty-four hours ago.The local news anchor had a serious, rehearsed expression on her face, her lips moving quickly as a banner flashed across the bottom of the screen. I didn't need my ears to understand what she was saying, but I turned the volume knob up anyway, just a notch, to hear the exact words they were using to hunt us down."The search intensifies this morning for Clara and Nikolai Draven," the woman said, her voice coming through the tinny speaker. "Authorities have upd

POV: ClaraThe air in the Rusty Anchor tasted like stale beer, cheap tobacco, and decades of accumulated regrets. I stood behind the sticky wooden counter, a damp, grey rag clutched in my hand as I wiped down the same spot for the third time in ten minutes. The heavy scent of bleach didn't even put a dent in the smell of the place. It was a massive downgrade from the clean, brightly lit coffee shop where I used to work, a lifetime ago. Back then, my biggest worry was whether a customer wanted oat milk or skim milk. Now, my biggest worry was whether the man sitting across from me was going to pull a knife if I cut him off.I was working under the name of Sarah, a fake identity that felt like a cheap coat that didn't fit right. But the landlord of this dive bar didn't care about paper trails or tax forms. He just saw a girl with dark hair and tired eyes who was desperate enough to take five dollars an hour under the table. I needed the cash. I needed every single dollar to buy the b

POV: ClaraThe plastic grocery bag in my arms felt heavy, the sharp corners of the cheap antibiotic boxes digging through the thin white bags into my ribs. I had spent the last two hours dodging the local lookouts on the corner, my new dark hair tucked flat under a gray beanie, my eyes locked on the cracked pavement. Every shadow had looked like a cop; every car engine that revved too loud had made my chest tighten until I couldn't breathe. But I had the pills. I had the bandages. I had survived another day in the gutter, and all I wanted was to crawl back into that tiny, suffocating room and let Nikolai hold me until the shaking stopped.I took the stairs two at a time, the familiar smell of stale grease and damp plaster filling my nose as I reached the fourth floor. I turned the corner, my fingers already dipping into my pocket to fish out the rusty key.I froze.The door to room 4B wasn't completely shut. It was cracked open by an inch, a thin sliver of yellow light cutting acro