Page 36 of My Bratva Stalker

Marie knows. She fucking knows.

And she ran.

I lose it.

My fist slams into the wall.

Pain shoots through my knuckles, but I don’t stop.

I grab the nearest monitor, rip it from the desk, and smash it against the floor.

The keyboard—gone, snapped in half.

Papers—torn, shredded, thrown across the room.

My vision goes red.

My breath—ragged.

My pulse—a drum.

I whip out my phone and dial.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Viktor?”

I don’t waste a second.

“Is she with you?”

A pause.

Then, slow, measured—too fucking careful—

“Why would she be?”

I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the phone.

“Because she left. And if she’s with you, old man, I suggest you tell me now.”

Gaye’s voice doesn’t shake. It doesn’t waver.

“I don’t know where she is. But I do know one thing.”

I exhale through my nose, waiting.

Then he says it.

“If she doesn’t want to be found, you should let her go.”

I snarl, ending the call.

I don’t have time for this shit.

Because he’s wrong. She doesn’t get to leave. Doesn’t get to run.

She fucking belongs to me.

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