CHAPTER 298: APOCALYPSE ROMANCE 8

Sasha shrugged, a motion that tried to look indifferent and landed somewhere dangerously close to flirtatious.

The men moved—but not far. They retreated to the shadowed threshold and planted themselves there like sentries, eyes tracking every small motion. They stayed far enough to be invisible and close enough to choke off escape.

Alvaro stepped closer, closing the distance until the scent of smoke and something sweet wrapped around Sasha like an intoxicant.

"So," he said, low, amused and dangerous all at once. "Unless you’ve got a teleportation spell up your sleeve or possess the power to tunnel through steel with your charm, I suggest you show me that proof before I decide to make an example of you."

Sasha let out a small, incredulous laugh—half defiance, half nerves. "An example?" she said. "You wound me. I was going for ’collaborator.’"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Same difference in my line of work."

"Don’t blink," Sasha warned, voice flat as a blade. "In case you miss something."

She stepped forward into the rows of crates. The light was harsh, the metal smell thick. She reached out and touched the nearest stack of ammunition as if she were checking the label on a wine bottle.

The cartridge winked out of existence—no bang, no smoke—just a soft, impossible silence, like someone had pinched a string and the sound dropped away.

Alvaro went still. His eyes widened until the whites rimmed with astonishment. For a long second he could only stare, rooted to the concrete floor. What—what had happened?

Sasha didn’t wait for him to collect himself. She moved to the piled guns, ran a finger along a barrel, and watched them evaporate the same way—neat, clinical, out of this world!

Crate after crate emptied as if someone were unwrapping reality. The basement, once full of dangerous promise, slid into sudden hollow quiet.

She glanced back at him while he stood frozen, a statue with a very handsome face. She let a small, wicked smile curl. "So . . . do you believe me now?"

Instead of answering, Alvaro crossed the distance between them in two long steps and grabbed her hand.

He didn’t pull gently. He hauled her up against a steel crate, pressed close enough that the seam of his jacket brushed her cheek.

For a manic instant his grin split his face wide—eyes sharp, lips daring, a predator thrilled at a new kind of prey.

"What are you?" he demanded, voice low and raw with something that might have been fear, but more likely was exhilaration.

His excitement stirred, and there was no other amusement like this woman before her.

Sasha felt his pulse under his palm—fast and wired. He smelled of smoke and something sweet, and thrill rolled off him like a live wire.

She’d expected skepticism; she hadn’t expected the amused hunger in him, the way danger seemed to be a drug he’d been denied for too long.

Well . . . it was to be expected since he was the young master of a powerful underground organization.

She drew a breath. "I’m human," she said, and her voice steadied. "I regressed one month. I died, then woke up here—same city, same mess. And this ring"—she tapped the band on her finger—"came with me. It’s were I store those guns before. It’s a dimensional ring.

"I remember the one month before I die. Less than a month from now . . . the apocalypse starts. Monsters, cities cracking. I regress back, don’t ask me how, I don’t know too."

Alvaro’s face shifted as he sorted the impossible into columns—interest, disbelief, calculation. He felt it too; he couldn’t explain why he believed, only that the hairs on his arms and the tightening in his gut said she wasn’t lying.

"Your story is like those fantasy novels," he said, the edge of a smile returning. "Are you our savior now?"

She snorted. "I’m no savior. I’m just going to save myself. And if you want to live, you’d be on board with me. And try not to steal my ring. The magic only works on me. No one can use this but me. To others it’s just a piece of garbage."

He let out a short laugh that was almost a bark. "I wouldn’t dream of it." His thumb brushed the metal of the ring—not touching, just close enough to test her.

"And move away. You’re far too close."

Alvaro stepped back; the air between them arranged itself into something civilized again. He straightened his jacket, composure snapping back on like armor.

For all the danger and tension, he looked absurdly normal—ruthless, polite, annoyingly collected.

Sasha liked him like that — dangerous, collected, the kind of man who could think straight while the city burned.

With whatever was coming, she needed someone who didn’t wobble under pressure. She also needed someone who knew his way around a gun. She was competent at best; Alvaro looked like a man who’d been born inside a firing range.

"So . . . you believe me now?" she asked, eyes still on the neat crates, thumb worrying the band of the ring.

Alvaro was quiet long enough that the silence felt like an answer.

When he finally spoke, it was slow, "I’m intrigued. It’s hard to swallow — time travel, apocalypse, rings that swallow arsenals — but I’ll trust you. For now."

She exhaled in a sound that was halfway relief, halfway sarcasm. "Really? Ten seconds of faith. That’s generous."

He smiled, patient and dangerous. "How about staying here with me until the apocalypse starts?"

Sasha’s laugh was a quick, disbelieving bark. "You don’t believe me — you want to trap me and see if I’m truly telling the truth."

He shrugged like a man who enjoyed watching the world rearrange itself. "See is believing, right? You already proved your party trick. Staying here gives me a front-row seat. And gives you protection — which, if you’re honest, is why you wanted my cooperation in the first place. Loan sharks don’t like reruns."

Of course he already knew where the money came from. It didn’t matter, all of it wasn’t important anymore when the apocalypse came.