Page 64 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
“Violet,” Arina gasps, staggering inside, blood trailing down their arm and soaking the shoulder of their tactical vest. Their face is pale but determined. “We have to move. Now.”
My blood runs cold.
I rush forward to catch them as they stumble, my arms barely holding them upright. “You’re bleeding—”
“No time,” they snap, already pulling me toward the hall. “We’re exposed now. Kaz doesn’t know I opened the door. He thinks you’re still in here, and so do the people who attacked. The panic room is unbreakable, but I don’t want to risk it. We need to get to the west exit.”
Gunshots echo through the walls like thunder cracking the sky. My pulse is pounding so loud I can barely hear myself think.
Bang. Bang.Screams. More gunfire.
Arina grabs my hand and pulls me out into the corridor. The mansion—once pristine—is now splattered with blood andlittered with bodies. Smoke hangs in the air. I can’t tell who is friend or foe. I just run.
I stumble over something—someone—on the floor. A man in tactical gear, unmoving. Inches away from his hand is a knife.
Without thinking, I grab it. My fingers close around the handle, my breath shallow. I’m not who I was weeks ago.
Arina looks over and nods grimly. “Take this too.” They hand me a small pistol, its weight shocking in my palm. “Don’t hesitate. If it’s not one of us, shoot. We can’t afford kindness right now.”
We move again—me with a death grip on the knife and the gun, the scent of blood thick in my nose, and my heart hammering in a rhythm that’s no longer fear.
It’s survival. And somewhere out there—Kaz is still fighting. I’ll be damned if I don’t fight my way back to him. We crouch behind the cold marble base of a statue, Arina’s breaths sharp and shallow beside me. The weight of the pistol in my hand is unbearable, my fingers slick with sweat. I can hear the crunch of boots—three men, maybe more. My grip tightens. Arina raises a finger to their lips and signals for me to stay still.
The men are close. Too close. I hold my breath. And then—
Gunfire erupts.
A deafening crack splits the silence, followed by the thud of bodies collapsing. Bullets scream above our heads, and I duck instinctively, gasping.
“Violet!” a voice roars from the smoke.
My head snaps up. Kaz. He storms into the corridor like a force of nature, eyes burning, blood on his shirt. He’s in front of me in seconds, his gun hitting the floor with a loud clatter. He drops to his knees, gathers me into his arms like he’s scared I’ll disappear.
“Are you okay?” His voice is raw, frantic. He touches my face, my shoulders, my waist. His hands check for blood, as if he’s not sure I’m whole.
I grip his shirt, tears threatening to fall. “Are you okay?” My voice cracks as I push his hair back, searching his face. “You’re covered in blood—are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he says tightly. “None of it’s mine. Are you hurt?”
I shake my head and melt into him, burying myself in the scent of blood and gunpowder and him. I can’t let go.
Then his voice changes.
Sharper. Colder.
“Why the fuck was she out of the panic room, Arina?”
Arina, still leaning against the wall, grips their bleeding arm with a grimace. “Because the panic room wasn’t safe anymore, Kaz. They were about to breach it. I got there just in time.”
“You should have told me. You should’ve radioed me first.” His tone is lethal.
“I had seconds,” Arina bites out. “If I’d waited, they would’ve had her. You’d be cradling a corpse right now.”
Kaz glares at them, his jaw clenched, but he says nothing. Not for a long moment.
Then he looks down at me again, his hand cupping the side of my face like I’m the only thing grounding him. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re safe now.”
