ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 268: Dangerous

Chapter 268

KATYA POV

"The fuck is this?" One of the men said, eyes raking over Michael from head to toe. "You lost, man?"

Another stepped forward, bigger than the rest, shoulders rolling like he was warming up. "You her boyfriend or something?"

Michael didn’t turn. Didn’t even acknowledge them.

His attention stayed on me—steady, assessing, like he was checking for injuries he couldn’t see in the dark.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. I swallowed. My throat felt tight, my heart still racing. "I—yes. Chiara’s drunk."

That earned a snort from behind him. "Aw, look at that," the injured guy sneered, pressing his palm harder to his head. "She called backup."

Michael finally turned. Slowly. It felt like I was seeing someone else. Michael while demeanor seemed to had changed compare to six months ago. He now seemed tough.

"There are one of you," the man went on, emboldened by numbers. "And five of us. The fuck are you going to do?"

Michael’s mouth curved, not into a smile, not quite. More like acknowledgment mix in a silent threat.

The men exchanged looks. One of them scoffed. "You crazy?"

I felt Chiara’s fingers dig into my arm behind me. She leaned close, whispering, "Katya... I really don’t like this."

Neither did I.

Michael exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, as if weighing outcomes. Then he reached into his jacket. My breath caught as I watching him pull out gun.

A real freaking gun because as soon as he pulled it out he shot it to the air. The sound tore through the night.

A sharp, violent crack that split the air clean in half. I flinched hard, a scream trying to rip up my throat but I suppressed it as the gunshot echoed over the water, scattering birds somewhere in the dark and silencing everything else—music, laughter, the ocean itself.

My ears rang. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Smoke curled faintly from the barrel as Michael lowered the gun just enough to be seen clearly in his hand.

"Back. The fuck. Off," he said. This was the first time I ever heard him curse and it was absolutely terrifying.

He didn’t shout as he continued. "I’m not afraid to shoot again. And next time it won’t be the sky."

The men froze. I saw it on their faces—the instant where bravado collapsed under reality. This wasn’t a bluff. This wasn’t a bar fight or drunk posturing.

This was a man who knew exactly what he was holding. "Jesus—" one of them muttered.

"Fuck this," another snapped. "He’s insane."

The injured guy spat into the sand, eyes burning with humiliation and fury. "You’re dead if we see you again," he snarled towards me, though his feet were already moving backward.

Michael didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The gun was already a statement on its own.

One by one, they cursed and retreated, disappearing into the dark with far less noise than they’d arrived with, their anger swallowed by common sense.

Only when they were gone—really gone—did my body remember how to breathe. My hands were shaking. Michael turned back to me.

And that was when I fully saw the gun. Really saw it. Black. Solid. Real.

My gaze locked onto it, my pulse roaring in my ears louder than the shot had been. My mind stuttered, trying to reconcile the image with the gentle man I used to know.

The man who had to sit across from me with coffee, who teased me, who laughed easily. This version of Michael felt... harder.

He followed my stare, his expression shifting. Without a word, he slid the gun back into his jacket and stepped closer.

The movement made me flinch before I could stop myself. Just a small jerk backward—but he saw it.

I hated that he saw it. I forced myself to still, shoulders straightening, breath steadying with effort.

This is Michael, I told myself. He wouldn’t hurt you. The thought didn’t land as firmly as it should have.

He stopped a careful distance away, hands visible now, voice lower. "Katya... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you."

I nodded, even though my heart was still trying to climb out of my chest. "I know. I just—"

My eyes flicked once more to his jacket before I could help it. Behind me, Chiara let out a long, exaggerated breath.

"Okay," she said, breaking the tension like a hammer to glass. "I was terrified. Absolutely traumatized." She leaned around me, peering at Michael with blatant interest.

"But also?" she added, eyes wide and shining. "That was so hot." I stared at her. "Chiara."

"What?" she shrugged, unapologetic. "He scared off five guys with one shot and a voice like that. Let me live."

Michael blinked, clearly not expecting that. A brief, stunned silence followed. Then—against my will—something tight in my chest loosened.

The night rushed back in around us: the ocean’s steady hush, distant laughter, the normal world creeping in where fear had been.

But nothing felt normal anymore.

Michael was here. With a gun. And whatever I’d thought I’d left buried six months ago was very much alive.

I cleared my throat, forcing my shoulders to relax, forcing my voice to come out steady even though my insides were still vibrating.

"Michael... thank you," I said quietly. "For stepping in. For—saving us." The words felt insufficient. Too small for what had just happened.

But they were all I could manage. He held my gaze, something unreadable passing through his eyes before he nodded once. "Of course."

There it was. That familiar calm. Almost gentle. It made everything worse. I shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was, how the air between us felt heavier than it should have.

I gestured vaguely toward the car, toward Chiara. Toward escape. "We should—uh—we should be on our way now," I added quickly. "Right, Chiara?"

Chiara blinked at me, then at the car, then back at Michael. "Yeah," she said slowly. "Totally. On our way."

Relief loosened something in my chest. Then she frowned. "...Except," she continued, squinting like she was solving a complex equation, "I am absolutely not sober enough to drive."

I closed my eyes. "Chiara," I hissed under my breath. She leaned heavily against my shoulder stage-whispering, "Katya, I love you, but if I get behind a wheel right now we’re going to jail. Or heaven. Possibly both."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, my brain scrambling. Calling Nonna meant questions. Guards meant explanations. Staying here meant....

Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.

I felt Michael’s attention shift between us, assessing again—not danger this time, but logistics. "I can drive you," he said evenly.

My head snapped up.

"No"

"Yes,"

Chiara said at the exact same time. Bright. Immediate. Enthusiastic. "Please." I shot her a look of pure betrayal. "Chiara."

"What?" she said innocently. "He literally just saved our lives. And I’m drunk. And you hate awkward silence, which this is, by the way."

She gestured between me and Michael. "Painfully awkward."

"I can call someone," I said quickly, words tumbling over each other. "It’s fine, really. We’ll figure it out."

Michael didn’t push. He just watched me—too carefully, like he could see the real reason behind my refusal.

"I don’t mind," he said. "It’s late. You’re shaken. She shouldn’t be driving."

Reasonable. Calm. Logical. Annoyingly convincing. Chiara squeezed my arm. "Katya," she murmured, suddenly soft. "Please. Just tonight."

I hesitated. Everything in me wanted distance. Space. Time to breathe without Michael’s presence pulling memories to the surface I’d worked so hard to bury.

But Chiara was swaying slightly now, exhaustion and alcohol finally catching up to adrenaline.

And the beach suddenly felt too open. Too exposed. I exhaled, long and slow. "...Fine," I said finally. "Just to get us home."

Chiara grinned like she’d won a prize. "You’re the best."

Michael nodded once, relief flickering briefly across his face before it was gone again. "My car’s right there."

As we started toward it, my steps felt heavier than they should have. Because I knew—deep down—that getting into that car wasn’t just a ride home. It was me stepping back into something unfinished.

Something dangerous.