Page 37 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

“She’s fine,” he says quickly, lifting his hands. “She’s in her room. Everything’s quiet.”

My heart, the one I pretend I don’t have, slams against my ribs.

I nod once, sharply, and push past him without a word.

Up the stairs. Two at a time.

My pulse is hammering as I reach her door. I don’t knock—I burst into her room like a storm that never got the chance to die down. My eyes sweep the space in a second—and then I see it. A burner phone. In her hand.

I see red.

Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m across the room and pinning her to the wall, my forearm braced beside her head and my other hand wrapping tightly around her wrist.

“Where the fuck did you get this?” I hiss through my teeth, staring into those wide, furious eyes.

She doesn’t even flinch.

“I don’t know,” she snaps, her voice rising with each word. “I just found it in my closet. Maybe one of your enemies left it there. You seem to have enough of them!”

I narrow my eyes, but she keeps going.

“They’re coming for me now, because of you. Because you kidnapped me and dragged me into your hellhole of a life!” Her chest heaves, eyes burning with rage. “None of this would be happening if you weren’t such a psycho with a god complex!”

The air between us tightens like a wire pulled to its limit.

My grip on her wrist tightens instinctively—just for a second. Not enough to hurt her. Just enough to match her fury with mine. But then a tear slides down her cheek. Fuck.

The storm inside me shudders and stumbles. My hand drops from her wrist immediately. I step back like I’ve been burned, like the guilt in my chest just reached up and slapped me across the face.

She’s crying.

And I hate it.

Not because it’s weakness—but because I caused it. Again.

For a moment, all the noise in my head dies. I don’t see a threat. I don’t see a liability. I just see her—this girl who didn’t ask for any of this, who looks like she’s been fighting a war ever since I pulled her into my world.

“I didn’t mean to….” I swallow hard, shaking my head once. “I didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

She doesn’t respond.

She just looks at me, eyes glassy, lips trembling with rage and helplessness.

I rub a hand down my face and curse under my breath.

“Give me the phone,” I say, softer this time. Not demanding. Not cold. Just…tired. “Please.”

She hesitates, then tosses it at me without a word.

I catch it. Pocket it. And when I meet her eyes again, she’s already turning away, curling in on herself like she’s trying to disappear. I don’t know what I’m doing until I’m doing it.

She’s on the floor now, crumpled, angry, heartbroken—and fuck if that doesn’t split something open in me. I crouch beside her, reaching out carefully this time, like if I move too fast she’ll bolt or shatter.

“Violet,” I murmur, my voice raw. “I know you’re not my enemy. You were just caught in the middle of something you never asked for.”

She doesn’t respond.

“I wanted to let you go,” I admit. The words feel like ash in my mouth. “I told myself that once this was under control, I’d let you walk out of here. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. And now I’ve brought danger to your doorstep.”