Page 17 of Bratva Hunter

“Not sure where she went.” She turns her focus to the computer and the fake I.D. I handed her.

I take out my phone to text Fingers and see if he’s accessed the hotel computer system.

“Here’s your identification, Mr. Reynolds. We need a credit card on file.”

Handing her a card to match my fake I.D., I lean against the counter and glance around. Worn carpet, old drapes, and cracked tile let me know this used to be a nice hotel. It’s the type of hotel that national chains absorb to get a foothold in a particular area.

She smiles as she hands me my card and the keycard to my room. “Breakfast starts at six and ends at nine in the morning, just across the lobby.”

I nod and lug my bags to the elevator, ready to put the day behind me.

The next morning, I stretch as I get out of bed to head to the shower. I wasn’t lying. I needed sleep. Downstairs in the lobby, people bounce around the food area putting various items on plates. Chattering children and their parents trying to corral them like feral cats annoy me. I just want to get some food, find out if anyone has seen Rosa, and get the hell back on the road.

The couple next to me with two of the more obnoxious children chat about the shooting. I sit down with my plate of food, listening.

“Have you seen the woman they were talking about?”

The woman answers. “No. The lady at the desk said she left. Who could blame her? Could you imagine having some random person with a gun in your hotel room?”

The man nods. “I chatted with the dark-haired security guy who shot the guy. He said he had a knife and a gun.” Shuddering, he continues repeating what he was told. “He thinks he was after the girl. The video system was down in the hotel, so they didn’t see the guy in advance. Someone reported the man.”

She scoffs. “I saw the girl. She was sweet. Jasmine ran into her in the hallway, and she was so kind to her: reassuring her it was okay.”

The man leans back in his chair while he tilts his head. “Bad things happen to good people all the time, baby. I’m sure she’s moved on to better times.”

It takes me just a few minutes to finish my breakfast. Throwing away my plate, I saunter by the room marked security and dial Fingers.

“Hello?”

“Did you hack the system?” I scan the area for anyone to hear.

“Yeah. Nothing. The cameras were down for about fifteen minutes. I can’t tell why. I suspect someone blocked them.”

“Thanks.” I hang up my phone and head back to my room to pack. If the cameras were blocked, then whoever was after the girl knew what he was doing and/or he had help.

It’s late afternoon as I pull into my father’s estate and crack my neck. It’s been a long week. The little waif has disappeared. Fingers can’t find a digital trace, and I can’t find her trail. Stepping into my father’s foyer, I nod at the soldier standing to the left of his office door. Another new face I don’t recognize. He moves to stop me until he catches my stare. I learned how to put underlings in their place with a look by the master. Speaking of the devil, he walks through the door as I’m reaching for the knob.

“Roric?” He looks around me. “You’re back?”

“Yeah. Can’t find her.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “The hunter can’t find his prey. That’s unusual for you.”

“Don’t I know it.” We step back into his study and each grab a seat. “Fucking pisses me off that I can’t find her.”

My father, the Bravikov Pakhan, folds his arms over his chest. “She’ll turn up. I’m curious who was there to kill her, though.”

“That intrigues me as well.”

My father chuckles. “I’m just as glad to have you home. Family business needs you.”

I can only imagine what I’m needed for. “Should I go see Cynric?”

His face hardens as he picks up his phone on the desk. “I’m texting you an address. I need you to train a new soldier.”

“So, I’m babysitting?”

He growls. “You’re doing what I fucking tell you.”

---