Page 19 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
Her mouth opens, trembling, like she wants to argue—but nothing comes out.
I turn to Maxim, who’s watching all of this with that unreadable calm of his.
“Come,” I say simply.
He follows without question, and I don’t bother looking back.
Not even when I hear the soft hitch of breath behind me.
Not even when I know I’ve just shattered her whole world.
Chapter 5 – Violet
I’m pacing the length of the bedroom—no, prison—back and forth like a caged animal. My bare feet are cold against the marble floor, but the fury pumping through me keeps me warm. I have no idea what time it is, or even what day. I don’t care. All I know is that I’m trapped here, and I’ve had enough.
I’ve gone over every possible escape plan in my head. None of them work. The windows are sealed. The door has no visible handle. The hallways echo with guards. I’m screwed.
Did that insane bastard just call me his? Like I’m his freaking property? Wait, am I in some kind of simulation?
I’m just about to scream into one of the silk pillows like a deranged maniac when the door clicks open.
I whirl around, expectinghimagain.
But it’s not Kaz. Or Maxim. It’s someone new.
She’s tall, lithe, and dressed in the most colorful thing I’ve seen in days—a lime green sleeveless hoodie, cargo pants with embroidered flowers, and full-sleeve tattoos dancing down both arms like stories inked in rebellion. Her hair is shaved on the sides and platinum on top, styled in a sharp pixie cut. Black lipstick. Black nails. A knowing glint in her eye.
She locks the door behind them and leans back against it like she’s just walked into a cocktail party.
I blink, fascinated by her appearance. “You’re…you don’t look like the others.”
She grins. “Thank God for that.”
“Who are you?” I ask, breath caught halfway between suspicion and relief.
“Arina Morova,” she says, strolling into the room with easy confidence. “Security chief. Tech god. Emotional support chaos gremlin. Take your pick.”
I stare.
She holds out a hand. “They/them, by the way. I bite, but only if you’re into that.”
Despite myself, I snort. “You’re joking.”
They shrug. “Most of the time. But not about your situation.”
My smile disappears.
“I know who you are,” Arina says, coming to sit cross-legged on the edge of the velvet chaise lounge. “Violet Harrison. Literature major. Freelance murder reports. Closet romantic who probably has a Harlequin paperback hidden under her pillow right now.”
I blink. “How do you—?”
They tap their temple. “Tech expert, remember?”
I exhale slowly, dropping onto the nearby chair. “So what? You came to accuse me, too?”
Their face softens.
“No. I came because…I know you’re innocent. And I don’t like what Kaz is doing. You were just in the wrong alley at the wrong time. That’s it.”
