Page 3 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

And then it hits me.

I know that face.

Not well, not personally. But I’ve seen him before. At Jennie’s house, once. Maybe twice. Lurking in the background like a ghost with a cigarette. Quiet. Watchful.

I’ve seen him around Adrian and Lukin. The Bratva. Fear, regret, and sorrow settle deep in my stomach as I realize that I may have tampered with something that is way beyond my power.

I don’t know this guy’s name or the smallest detail about his life, but if he’s here—doing this?

I saw too much.

I took too much.

And now…I’ve become part of this.

He takes a single step forward, and I know—I know—I have to run. Or I’ll never get the chance again. So I run like hell.

The camera swings wildly around my neck, slamming into my chest with every stride. My boots pound against the wet pavement, the icy air slashing across my face like knives. My car is parked two blocks away—too far—and I don’t dare look back. If I do, I’ll freeze. If I freeze, I’m done.

Keep running, Violet.

I nearly skid out as I take the corner, lungs burning, throat tight with panic. I fumble for my keys even before I reach the car. They clatter to the ground, and I swear—I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I scoop them up, throw myself into the driver’s seat, and slam the door shut.

I don’t even buckle up.

The engine roars to life, and I floor it, tires screeching against the asphalt.

Red light. I blow through it.

Stop sign. I ignore it.

I don’t stop until I’m home. I don’t breathe until I’m inside.

The moment the door shuts behind me, I collapse onto the couch, the adrenaline wearing off so fast it makes my head spin. I curl into myself, knees to chest, shaking like a leaf. The camera is still around my neck, its metal body warm from where it’s pressed against my skin.

I clutch it like it’s a lifeline.

Because it holds proof.

Proof I saw a man die.

And proof that the man who saw me…knows I did.

“Violet?”

I jolt at the sound of her voice. Noelle’s standing by the doorway, still wearing her oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, hair in a messy bun, a bag of popcorn forgotten in one hand.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Jesus, what happened?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just a shaky breath.

She crosses the room in seconds and drops to her knees in front of me. “Hey. Look at me. What’s wrong?”

“I—I saw someone die.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I think I saw a murder. I think they saw me.”

Noelle stills. “What?”

“I was out taking pictures for that pawnshop robbery story. You know, for The Ink.” I clutch the camera around my neck. “Four men dragged someone into the alley. He was screaming. And then—I heard a shot. I didn’t mean to, but I—my camera—there were flashes. I got pictures. And one of them looked right at me. Like…he saw me. Really saw me.”