Page 2 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

I draw in a breath, shake off the thought, and lift the camera again. She’s my roommate and best friend from college, but lately, this past year, we’ve drawn apart a little. Ever since she dropped out of medical school and got her new job. I don’t know how to reach her, but I hope she knows I’m always there to talk whenever she’s ready.

I attempt to take one last atmospheric shot for my editor—something moody and dramatic. A wide frame, plenty of shadows. Maybe it’ll even make the front page this time.

Just as the flash pops—slam. A door shuts across the alley. Loud. Sharp. Close. I freeze. My heart lurches up into my throat.

What the hell was that?

I slowly lower the camera. The flash has temporarily blinded me, so for a second, everything looks like a smudged painting. I blink hard, squinting toward the noise.

That’s when I see it. A black SUV. Bulky and silent. It wasn’t there a second ago—was it? Now it's right behind me, maybe twenty feet across the alley. The shadows swallow me whole, and for once, I’m grateful for how small I am. I press myself flat against the brick wall, holding my breath.

They haven’t seen me.

Not yet.

But the slam of the car door is ringing in my ears louder than my heartbeat, and suddenly I’m very aware that I’m completely, utterly alone out here.

And maybe…just maybe…I should’ve stayed home with my stupid Hallmark movies.

I inch closer to the wall for support, making sure to stay in the shadows. But a violent shudder spirals through me when I see four tall, muscular men. They emerge from the SUV like shadows peeling off the night, their movements fast and brutal. They’re dragging someone—a man, kicking and screaming, heels scraping the gravel as he fights like hell not to go wherever they’re taking him.

My mouth goes dry. I grip my camera tighter, barely breathing.

They’re not just mugging him. This is…something else.

They shove him deeper into the alley—closer to the broken dumpsters and the hollow silence beyond. The man is begging now, his voice high and cracked, the words a garbled mess of “please,” “I have a family,” and “don’t do this.”

Then—bang.

A single shot explodes through the night like a hammer to glass.

I jump, hand flying to my mouth. Blood. I smell it before I see it. That sharp, metallic tang invades the air, curling into my nostrils, heavy and unmistakable.

Silence falls.

Suffocating, awful silence.

The man isn’t screaming anymore.

I stumble back, heart in my throat, breath tearing in and out of me like I’m trying to outrun a panic attack. My fingers tremble around the camera—and that’s when it happens.

Click. Click. Click.Three flashes in rapid succession. The light bursts through the alley, exposing me like a neon target.

Oh God. I just gave myself away. Four heads snap in my direction. They’re looking at me now. And I know, with a gut-sick certainty, that if I don’t run, I’ll never leave this alley alive.

Out of the four, one man impresses himself on me. His pair of icy blue eyes slices through the darkness and lands directly on me.

Click.

Another flash goes off before I can stop it—like my body acts on instinct while my brain short-circuits—and in that split second, I see him.

Really see him.

Tall. Built like a storm. Dressed in black with no face mask like the others. But it’s those eyes that paralyze me—cold, calculating, inhumanly calm—as if pulling a trigger means nothing to him. As if he doesn’t kill for survival, but for sport.

And now he’s seen me.

Our eyes lock, and for a second—just one breathless second—everything goes still.