Page 5 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
The key’s in my hand, I’m sure of it, but it won’t fit. My fingers are shaking too hard. I fumble, curse, slam my palm against the glass. I try again.
Nothing.
“Help!” I scream. “Somebody help me!”
No one comes. I look back. He’s there. Right there.
He grabs me. Slams me against the cold metal of the car door, one hand around my throat, the other pinning my wrist.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. All I can see are those eyes.
“I saw you,” he whispers, voice low and thick. “And now you’re mine.”
I scream again. And wake up—gasping, tangled in my sheets, drenched in sweat. My heart is thundering. My hands are clenched so tightly they hurt.
But I’m alone. It was a dream—a nightmare.
The last time I had a nightmare was when Nana died. I was seventeen.
My hands shake as I sit up, and I touch a hand to my chest to keep myself from breathing so hard.
Several minutes pass, and I finally slip out of bed, feeling more in control. Maybe Noelle is right. Maybe they didn’t see me clearly. If they had followed me up, I’d be long gone.
My legs feel shaky beneath me as I head to the door, but I’m starting to feel a lot better.
“Noelle?” I call out softly, stepping into the hallway.
Silence.
“Noelle?” I try again, louder this time. But no footsteps. No sleepy groan. Nothing.
I make my way toward her room and nudge the door open. It’s empty. Bed untouched. Of course. She’s gone to work. She always leaves around this time. Night shifts, she says—but she’s never told me what exactly she does. Not once. I’ve askedbefore, months ago, but Noelle had just smiled and said, “I’ll tell you later.”
We never used to keep secrets between us, but since she dropped out, it’s been weird. I shut her door and head toward the kitchen. A glass of water should help. Anything to stop my heart from galloping out of my chest. I pass through the living room, eyes still bleary and half-caught in the haze of sleep—
And then I stop.
My camera.
It’s gone.
My eyes snap to the coffee table where Noelle placed it last night. It’s gone. And now, in its place, is something else.
A note. Just a small slip of paper folded neatly in half. I stare at it. My skin prickles.
Did Noelle take the camera?
Curiously, I walk toward the table, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. Slowly, I reach out and flip the note open.
You took something that doesn’t belong to you.
That’s all it says.
Just that.
But it’s enough to send a chill racing down my spine.
I stare at the note as if it might burn through my skin, my breath turning shallow. The air in the room feels too still, too quiet, like the house itself is holding its breath. I read it again. And again. My eyes can’t seem to move away, locked on those words like they’re alive.
