Page 88 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
“Gone,” Zalar replies. “Missing.”
“What’s his name?” My blood starts to boil.
Zalar looks me dead in the eye. “Alexei.”
Alexei.
The name clicks. Quiet guy. Newer to the estate rotation. Had a clean record, nothing suspicious—until now.
I clench my fists. “I want every fucking piece of information on him. Birthplace. Bank records. Affiliations. I want to know who he fucked last and what time he took his last piss.”
Zalar nods. “Yes, Boss.”
“You have until I put my shirt on, or—I’m not kidding—you’ll wish you were the headless corpse on the lawn.”
I storm into my bedroom, shedding the thin cotton T-shirt I’d slept in. It reeks of sweat and fury. I yank open the closet and grab the first black button-down I see—something sharp, something that makes me look like the version of me the world fears.
I throw on the shirt, tuck it into my slacks, and strap my gun to my side. Kaz is leaning against the door, watching me. I won’t say it yet, but I am grateful for his presence. It was rare for him to sleep over at my house, and he only did so because we had planned to make an announcement that would reveal the mole in the morning. Just like we planned in the car ride back home.
Kaz stretches out his hand. “Give me the USB. I’ll send the clip to Dima. He’s good with audio distortion. If there’s anything off in the voice, he’ll catch it.”
I hand the USB to him and watch him slide into the chair at my desk, pulling the laptop to himself. His expression is blank—but I know him too well. That’s his kill face. The calm before the fucking storm.
I pace behind him, every nerve in my body coiled like barbed wire.
“She didn’t even scream,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. “She looked like she was already gone.”
Kaz doesn’t answer for a beat. Then he says, “She’s strong. Whoever took her knew exactly what they were doing. And they wanted you to see her like that.”
“Shut up, fucker, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
Kaz shrugs. “Who’s trying to make you feel better?”
The study door opens again, and Zalar strides in, a thick folder clutched in his hand. It’s heavy—stuffed with papers, printed records, photos.
“Everything we have on Alexei, Boss.”
I nod once, jaw tight. “Let’s dive in.”
Chapter 19 – Jennie
My head throbs.
Pain pulses through my skull in harsh, unforgiving waves. I blink hard, trying to see, but it’s so dark that all I make out are shadows layered over more shadows. The air is cold. Musty. Smells like rust and old oil.
My wrists burn. They’re tied tightly behind the back of a chair, the coarse rope biting into my skin every time I shift. My ankles are bound, too. I test the limits—tug once, twice—but it’s useless. The ropes don’t budge.
Something warm drips past my eyebrow.
Blood.
I lower my head slightly and try to breathe through the fear clawing at my lungs. There’s a cut on my forehead—must’ve happened when that bastard hit me. My hair’s sticky. My vision’s still fuzzy. And my mouth tastes like metal.
My heart starts to race.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Hours? A whole day? It’s impossible to tell. There are no windows. No sound except the occasional creak of some far-off pipe or shifting beam. The silence is worse than any noise.
The panic bubbles in my chest, threatening to overtake me—but I force it down.
