A Heart for a Bullet
Prologue
____~ “Love was the weapon. Revenge is the game.”
You lunge for the cabin door the moment Cecily steps off the plane.
Cecily
I just forgot something
She says over her shoulder, casual, too casual.
Something feels off. You rise to follow her, but the moment you stand, the world tilts. A wave of dizziness crashes over you like a tide—your limbs go loose, your vision blurs, and your knees give way.
The plane veers violently to the left. Alarms shriek. You’re thrown against the cabin wall as the jet dips—hard. The last thing you see through the window is Cecily standing perfectly still on the tarmac, not moving, not even looking back.
A flash of searing pain. Darkness.
You wake up to silence. Your head throbs, and the air smells like rust and sea-salt. Wherever you are now, it's not the plane.
You stumble to your feet and find yourself in what looks like a sprawling estate—an island mansion surrounded by nothing but jungle and distant waves. The walls are too clean. The light, too bright. You move like you're underwater, every step thick and dreamlike.
Downstairs, you find a set of grand double doors. You hesitate. Then you open them.
Creighton King stands in the center of the room, alive, untouched, and far too calm.
Annika Volkov
“You” , you whisper.
Creighton king
He smiles—but there's no warmth in it.
Creighton king
“Did you think it was over, little purple?”
Your heart slams against your ribs.
And then—everything goes black
Author
This is just the prologue.
Please continue to read the story.
The charector of the story are CREIGHTON KING AND ANNIKA VOLKOV , From "God of pain" I took the charectors but the story is different obviously.
The one who pulled the trigger
But this time, it’s different. Warmer. Softer. There's the faint rustle of fabric. The hush of distant waves. And the pulse of your own heartbeat, too loud in your ears.
Annika Volkov
Blinks, slowly.
You’re in a room. Lavish but cold—polished stone floors, a bed too big to feel comforting, glass walls showing endless ocean. A tray sits untouched on the nightstand. Food. Someone expected you to wake up.
You swing your legs over the edge of the bed. No dizziness this time. Whatever was in your system—it’s wearing off.
Annika Volkov
Barefoot, you cross the hall and make your way back down the stairs. The double doors still stand open. You step through.
He’s dressed like he owns the place. Crisp linen shirt, sleeves rolled, skin tanned and unbothered. There’s not a trace of the gunshot you gave him.
Annika Volkov
You swallow. hard
Annika Volkov
You're alive.
Creighton King sits in an armchair, legs stretched out, posture relaxed—but his eyes, when they find yours, are anything but.
Annika Volkov
“I watched you bleed out. You should be dead.”
Creighton king
“Oh, good morning, Annika,” he says, voice like silk laced with venom. “You look surprised to see me.”
Creighton king
“You said it yourself,” he says, as if continuing a conversation you never had.
Creighton king
“‘It’s over, Creighton.’ But you were wrong.”
He leans back in his chair, eyes scanning you like he’s reading a favorite book he’s missed for years.
Creighton king
“You thought you could just fly back to New York, huh? No consequences? No reckoning?”
His muscular arms fold across his chest as he walks slowly toward you, the sound of his footsteps sharp on the marble floor.
Creighton king
“You look surprised,” he murmurs, stopping just a breath away.
Creighton king
“Did you really think that shot would be enough to take me out?”
He asks, and his hand comes up, brushing a bruise on your cheek with startling gentleness.
The contact sends a shiver down your spine.
Creighton king
His eyes flash. “I’ve missed that shiver...” he murmurs, leaning in so close his breath fans your neck.
Creighton king
“But don’t think I’m happy about what happened.”
You look him straight in the eye.
Your voice is quiet, but firm.
Creighton king
His smirk falters slightly.
You step forward this time, closing the distance.
Annika Volkov
“I shot you,”
Annika Volkov
“And I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
The room holds its breath.
Creighton stares at you, all pretense falling away for a split second. You see something flicker in his gaze—surprise, maybe. Or something harder to name.
Ashes in his smile
Creighton stares at you for a long moment, your words hanging in the air between you.
You don’t flinch. You don’t look away.
Creighton king
“Wise,” he murmurs.
Before you can respond, his hand shoots out, grabbing your arm—not roughly, but with enough force to make your pulse leap. He yanks you closer, your bodies nearly touching.
Creighton king
“But I do expect payback…”
He says, his voice low and dangerous.
Creighton king
“And I plan on collecting it. Starting now.”
He pushes you back—gently, but deliberately—until your shoulders press against the cold wall. His frame boxes you in, one hand still on your arm, the other braced beside your head. You’re trapped between stone and heat.
Creighton king
“You owe me, Annika,” he breathes,
Creighton king
His face inches from yours. “And I always collect my debts.”
Your heart is pounding. You don’t know if it’s fear or adrenaline or something you’d rather not name. His eyes are locked on yours, daring you to speak, to move, to challenge him.
But you stay still. For now.
You stay pinned between the wall and his body, breathing fast, your hands clenched into fists.
Annika Volkov
“What do you want, Creighton?” you snap, your voice shaking—not from fear, but fury.
He leans in, one hand sliding down your side with a deliberate slowness, stopping at the curve of your thigh. His voice is rough in your ear.
Creighton king
“I want you to remember who you belong to,” he growls.
His mouth crashes against your neck—no tenderness, just claim. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
Creighton king
“I want you to scream my name like you used to,” he hisses.
Creighton king
“And I want you to pay for shooting me… with your body.”
Annika Volkov
“This is madness,” you gasp, pushing hard against his chest.
Annika Volkov
“Let me go!”
But he falters. Just a beat. Just enough.
You shove him harder this time, and he steps back, barely, surprise flickering across his face.
Annika Volkov
“You think you can control me?” you spit.
Annika Volkov
“You don’t get to break me just because I broke you first.”
His jaw tightens. You see the war behind his eyes—rage, desire, betrayal—and something else. Maybe even regret.
Creighton king
“Madness?” he echoes, his voice like gravel and silk.
Creighton king
“Sweetheart, you shot me. Left me bleeding out in a room that used to smell like you.”
He slams a hand beside your head. You jump.
Creighton king
“Tell me—what should I call that?”
He presses in harder, chest to chest, unyielding. You push, but it’s like trying to move stone.
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