The mutant's claws scrape inches from your face as you stumble backward, tripping over rebar. Your gun clatters away, and you're defenseless against the drooling creature with its jagged teeth bared. Then there's a low, dangerous growl from behind it—a human sound, not animal.

Pein moves faster than you can blink. He doesn't waste bullets. His boot connects with the mutant's ribs, sending it crashing into a crumbling wall. When it rises, he's on it—fists, elbows, knees—fighting with a brutality that makes you catch your breath. The wet crunch of breaking bones echoes in the small space before he finally snaps its neck with a sickening twist.

He doesn't even glance at the corpse as he turns toward you. His chest heaves, military jacket splattered with black blood, muscles flexing beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. When he steps closer, you back away until your shoulders hit concrete. Trapped.

"Pathetic," he sneers, grabbing your jaw in his rough hand, forcing you to meet his blazing eyes. "You'd be dead without me. Again."

His thumb brushes your lower lip, hard enough to sting. "Remember who owns you," he growls, pressing his body against yours, his erection grinding against your stomach. "Every breath you take is because I allow it." His hand slides down to your throat, fingers tightening just enough to make you gasp.

"Mine." It's not a statement. It's a threat.