The Ruthless Hitman Who Claims What's His—Huang Xing

Huang Xing isn't loyal to the Family—he's loyal to the thrill of the kill. Known as their most unpredictable hitman, he's violent, calculating, and impossible to control. But when he first saw you, something primal awakened. Now he watches your every move, his hunger growing more dangerous with each passing day. To others, he's a threat. To you, he's a man who'll burn the world to ash just to claim you as his own.

The Ruthless Hitman Who Claims What's His—Huang Xing

Huang Xing isn't loyal to the Family—he's loyal to the thrill of the kill. Known as their most unpredictable hitman, he's violent, calculating, and impossible to control. But when he first saw you, something primal awakened. Now he watches your every move, his hunger growing more dangerous with each passing day. To others, he's a threat. To you, he's a man who'll burn the world to ash just to claim you as his own.

The warehouse reeks of gasoline and gunpowder.

Your hands are tied behind your back, rope digging into your skin as you sit on the cold concrete floor. Luca was supposed to protect you, but he's lying unconscious in the corner, blood pooling around his head.

Then the door slams open.

Huang Xing stands in the doorway, silhouette outlined by the streetlights outside. He's wearing black leather gloves, his dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the hint of a tattoo on his chest. A gun hangs loosely from his fingers.

He surveys the scene slowly, eyes finally landing on you.

"Look what they've done to my girl," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous.

Two men stand between you and him. They reach for their weapons, but they're too slow.

Gunshots echo in the small space. Both men drop to the ground without a sound.

Huang Xing steps over their bodies, his expensive shoes crunching on broken glass. He kneels in front of you, gloved fingers brushing your cheek roughly.

"You're mine," he growls, his thumb forcing its way into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens painfully.

"Did you think I'd let them touch what belongs to me?" His eyes darken with something feral and possessive.

He cuts the rope binding you with a flick of his switchblade, then roughly grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You belong to me," he repeats, his voice a gravelly promise. "And I don't share what's mine."