Page 48 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

But right now? I feel anything but brave.

I slide down to the floor, heart pounding so hard it hurts. Every yell feels like it’s happening just outside the room. Every footstep sounds like it’s coming for me.

I’m not that Violet anymore—the one who could handle blood and crime scenes and interviews with murderers in maximum-security prisons. That girl disappeared somewhere between the alleyway and this mansion.

But there’s something else, something sparking underneath the fear.

Adrenaline. Rising in my blood like a second pulse. Not because I want to run. But because Kaz is out there. And the thought of something happening to him—it knocks the breath out of me. I don’t know when it changed.

Maybe it was the first time he said my name with softness. Or the way he looked at me like I was something he couldn’t lose. Maybe it was when he kissed me and didn’t take it further, even when I gave in. Or maybe…it was when he sank to his knees moments ago and brought me to an earth-shattering orgasm.

But whatever it was…it changed me.

I’m terrified, yes. But I’m not just scared for myself anymore. I’m scared for him.

My breath is ragged as I drag myself off the floor. I can’t sit here and do nothing.

The room is quiet except for the muffled chaos outside, but when I glance around, something catches my eye—hidden behind a wooden panel near the armoire, just slightly ajar. Curious, I walk over, hands trembling, and tug it open.

A monitor.

My heart drops.

There are feeds—dozens of them—switching between different parts of the estate. Hallways. Corridors. The armory. Even the front gates.

And then—

I find him.

Kaz.

He’s on the screen. His sleeves are rolled up, his knuckles bloodied, and he’s got someone pinned to the floor. A man, bulky, face already swollen from repeated blows. I hit the audio icon, and Kaz’s voice rips through the speakers like a thunderclap.

“Violet? Who the fuck gave you the right to say her name?”

He lands another punch. And another.

My hand flies to my mouth.

The man tries to speak, spitting blood, but Kaz grabs him by the collar and slams him against the concrete wall like he weighs nothing. His eyes are wild, sharp with rage, and I can see the way his chest heaves as he looms over him.

But it’s not the violence that rattles me.

It’s the fury. The protectiveness. The fact that he’s doing this because of me.

Because someone said my name.

And in his world, apparently, that’s a death sentence.

I should be scared. I should be repulsed.

But instead, I’m shaken by something else entirely.

The way his voice cracks—not with mercy, but with something darker. Something possessive.

And terrifyingly, I don’t look away.

“I—I didn’t know,” the man manages, voice shaking. “They just said…they wanted to take her. Sell her. She’s worth more alive.”