Page 35 of My Bratva Stalker

He was watching me.

He was always watching me.

He’s not just an overprotective man. A possessive lover.

He’s my stalker.

A shaky breath escapes my lips.

I need to leave. I need to run.

I turn on weak legs, my heart pounding, my pulse roaring in my ears.

I don’t care that I’m naked. Don’t care that I have nowhere to go.

I just know one thing—I can’t be here when Viktor comes back.

And I sure as hell can’t let him catch me running.

Viktor

I feel it instantly.

The second I step inside my house, I know.

She’s gone.

I storm through the hallway, my breath ragged, muscles clenched.

The bed is empty.

The sheets, cold.

I yank open the closet.

Nothing.

The bathroom.

Nothing.

Then I see it—

The door to my control room.

Wide.

Fucking.

Open.

A roar tears from my throat.

I storm inside, eyes scanning the monitors, the desk, the shattered illusion of control.

The chair is knocked over. My precious photos—scattered, smudged with her touch.

The panties I stole from her, gone. She took them.

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