Page 34 of Innocently Captured By the Bratva

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Wait.What?

“Didn't seem like a mistake at the time,” I growl in protest.

She flashes her palm at me, stopping me from saying more. “Don't. It was a lapse in judgment. Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?”

I lean back in my chair, watching her intently. The determined set of her jaw, the way her fingers clench the mug. She's trying to persuade herself as much as me. But I can't forget. The taste of her lips, the way she quivered beneath my touch—it's etched into my memory, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep my head clear if I’m around her.

If last night was a mistake for her, it wasn’t for me.

“Whatever you say, Quinn.” I grab my keys and stand up, needing to put some distance between us before I do something foolish, like pull her into my arms and show her just how unforgettable last night was. “I have business to take care of. Don't wait up.”

I stride out of the house, my mind reeling from our conversation. I should head into work. In the car, I try to go over some things I need to address, but all I can think about is Quinn. She’s driving me crazy, clawing her way into my head the way she is.

***

Days pass, yet her presence haunts me. I catch glimpses of her strawberry-blonde hair and hear her voice echoing in the halls, but I choose to run in the opposite direction. It’s the only way I know to give her what she wants. If I’m near her, I can’t pretend that night was a mistake. Each time I accidentally see her, it's like a jolt to my system, a reminder of what I can't have. I try to bury myself in work and make it a point to hardly be athome, but even when I’m away from her, I can't keep her out of my thoughts.

“Mark, are you with us?” Abram's voice snaps me back to the present. My brothers are gathered around the table, maps and blueprints spread before us as we plan our next move.

I nod, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, just thinking through the details.”

Vladimir shoots me a concerned look. “You seem distracted lately. Everything all right?”

“I'm fine,” I snap, irritation flaring. “Let's focus on the job.”

“Okay,” Denis adds cautiously. “The Smirnovs have stolen our shipment, and we believe they’re hiding it in the warehouse on the East. Tomorrow, we attack and bring back what’s ours.”

We proceed to discuss strategy and contingency plans should our attack fail, but my mind wanders once again. To her. To Quinn. No matter how hard I try, I can't shake the hold she has on me. It's like an obsession, consuming my every waking thought.

***

The next night, we move into position. Abram takes point, his movements precise and calculated. Vladimir and Denis flank him, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. I bring up the men on the rear.

We approach the target location, a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of town. Our rivals are using it as a storage facility for our stolen goods. Our goal is to send a message, to remind them who really runs this city.

As we breach the perimeter, I think of Quinn, having dinner alone at home. Is she wondering where I am? Why hasn’t she checked in all these days?

“Mark, watch your six!” Denis hisses, snapping me back to reality.

I mutter a curse under my breath, realizing that I've let my guard down. I scan the area, my heart pounding in my chest. We are exposed and vulnerable.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rips through the air. Instinctively, I dive for cover, my hand reaching for my weapon. Bullets ricochet off the concrete, sending debris flying in all directions.

“Ambush!” Abram shouts, returning fire.

I join him, my muscles tensing as I aim and squeeze the trigger. But even as I fight, my mind is torn.

How can I be so consumed by her, even in the heat of battle? It's a weakness, a liability that can get us killed.

As the firefight rages on, I force myself to push Quinn from my mind. I can't afford to be distracted, not now. My brothers are counting on me.

“Behind you!” Denis yells out in warning.

I dive behind a crate as bullets ricochet off the metal, my heart pounding in my chest. My brothers are scattered around the warehouse, each fighting their own battle.

Vladimir is a whirlwind of motion. He quickly takes down two attackers, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

Denis is more methodical. He picks off the attackers one by one, his shots finding their mark with unerring accuracy.

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