Page 100 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

Niko nods once. “Already handled.”

I exhale. But there’s no relief.

“I’ll need the coordinates to LaFarge. I’ve heard of the place. Its location is highly classified,” I say.

“That’s right. I don’t have them yet,” Niko replies. “But I’ll call a contact who owes me too many favors. You—get ready to fly. I’ll get you what you need in five.”

I’m already out the door before he finishes speaking. I head to my room. I throw open the wardrobe and start changing. Tactical gear. Lightweight, breathable, dark. I strap a knife to my ankle and tuck another under my shirt. Every movement is sharp. Efficient. My mind is a furnace, and Violet is the only thing inside it.

My phone buzzes. One new message. It’s a pin drop. Coordinates. And just under it:

See you in Mexico.

I call him immediately. “What the hell do you mean, ‘See you in Mexico’?”

“You think I’m letting you go alone?” Niko’s voice is dry. “Kaz, you’re in love. That makes you dangerous—and reckless. I’m coming with weapons and men. We do this right. Clean and brutal.”

I close my eyes, jaw tight. “I owe you for this.”

“Damn right you do.”

He hangs up.

I finish dressing and head to the hangar. My jet is already being prepped for takeoff. As I step inside, I tug Violet’s necklace—her silver chain, warped and tarnished—tight around my wrist like a bandage, like armor.

They think I’m the wolf. Now they’ll see what happens when you steal the wolf’s mate.

Chapter 25 – Violet

I wake up cold.

The first thing I feel is the sharp bite of metal around my ankle. Then, the damp air pressing against my skin like a second layer of clothing. I open my eyes and everything blurs before it settles.

Stone walls. One bare lightbulb swinging lazily above. A thick iron chain links my leg to a bolt in the floor.

Panic rises, but I press it down. I don’t scream. Not yet.

I sit up slowly, wincing at the ache in my side. My head pounds—something hit me when the door exploded. My wrists are sore, but not bound. My clothes are intact. No blood. No sharp pain. No violation. Just bruises, hunger, and confusion.

I’m alive.

Across the room, a man stands near the door. Big. Silent. Dressed in black from boots to collar. A guard. His eyes are blank, unreadable, like he’s trained to be nothing but a wall.

“Where am I?” My voice is hoarse. Raw.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he walks forward and places a plate of food on the small metal table a few feet from me—potatoes, some kind of broth, water in a plastic cup. Steam curls up in slow spirals. It’s hot. Fresh.

I look up at him again. “Please. Just tell me what’s going on.”

Nothing. He doesn’t even blink.

He turns and walks back to his spot by the door, arms folding across his chest.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I force them down. Not yet. I can’t fall apart. I need to think. I need to stay sharp.Whoever brought me here wants something. That’s good. That means they need me alive.

Still, the silence of the room wraps around me like a threat.