Page 45 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

He doesn’t see my fist coming. I don’t think any of them do.

I just hear two gasps and a very loud, very shocked yell as my knuckles collide into Murray’s face. Cartilage crunches and the bleeding starts almost immediately.

“What the fuck… you motherfucker…” he moans.

Just then, I hear a siren off in the distance. It’s faint, but a sobering reminder that we might in fact have company soon.

“I told you backup was—”

I punch him again. This time, the aim is to knock him out cold. Sure enough, he goes out like a light, his head cracking against the floor as his eyes roll back in his skull.

When he’s limp and unresisting, I hoist the man onto my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Wait! What are you doing?” the brunette asks urgently.

“Leaving.”

“You’re just going to leave us?” she asks.

I raise my eyebrows and resist the urge to look at Elyssa. The night we met was… unique.

But I’ve spent enough fucking time thinking about it in the year that’s passed since then.

I let her distract me once before, and it cost me my best shot at Ozol. I won’t let her do it again. So, despite the fact that I’m aching to look at her one last time before I leave, I bury the desire underneath resolve. I focus on the reason I’m here in the first place.

I came for Murray.

I have Murray.

Time to cut and run before the backup gets here.

“Leave you?” I repeat. “Neither one of you are my fucking responsibility. I saved your asses from a life of enslavement. That’s my contribution here.”

I turn to leave.

“Wait!”

Her voice stops me in my tracks, despite the siren sounds drawing closer.

“You have to take us with you,” she says.

“Give me one good reason.”

In response, she nods, then turns and runs deeper into the shelter.

“Where the fuck is she going?” I demand. “I haven’t got all fucking day.”

“Give her a minute,” the brunette snaps at me, as though I’m being the unreasonable one here. “This is important.”

That look is back in her eye. The look that suggests she knows something about me that I don’t.

“Elyssa?” the brunette calls out as the sirens grow ever louder.

“We can leave through the back door,” Elyssa calls from out of sight.

With the sirens blasting as if from right out front, I know I can’t risk taking that exit out of here. So when the brunette starts walking, I follow her, lugging the unconscious cop along with me.

We reach an ugly crevice that leads to a backdoor, when Elyssa emerges from an adjacent door to the left.

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