Page 12 of Claimed By the Bratva Brothers

“It was instant chemistry,” I mumble, my cheeks burning hot. “It’s hard to explain, Shelby. It just… it worked so well between us. Neither of us could stop it.”

Her phone pings, and she is quickly distracted. I can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief—I know she’d keep drilling me on the subject until she gets more information out of me. And that would mean I’d have to tell more half-truths and even full-fledged lies in order to keep yesterday’s affair a secret.

“What’s going on?” I ask, watching as she feverishly reads through a string of incoming text messages. “Is that my father?”

She nods once. “Yeah. He got a call from the FBI’s Chicago field office. They’re coming over to talk to him about Jack Bowman.”

“Oh, man. It’s that serious, huh?”

“It is. Bowman is one of the most powerful people in the United States right now. The fact that he’s missing is rattling a lot of folks all over the country, not just here in Chicago.”

“And they’re asking my dad questions why, exactly?”

“They’re close friends and partners,” Shelby replies with a shrug. “If there’s anyone that knows about Bowman’s enemies or has inside information, your dad is a useful resource.”

I could be, as well, though I have no intention of telling anyone that.

3

Lyric

To say that I’m on edge would be a gross understatement.

Jake Bowman is missing and I’m the only one who knows that he was kidnapped. There’s been no ransom demands. The cops and the Feds are looking everywhere for him. They haven’t reached out to me yet, but it’s only a matter of time. I’ve barely slept since the news of Bowman’s disappearance broke.

At least I’ve got a quiet job here at the library—the hours pass without too much interruption or aggravation. I’m in the middle of rearranging a couple of shelves in the literary fiction section when my phone pings. It’s a text from Shelby.

Apparently, the Feds didn’t get much out of the hotel’s CCTV footage, which tells me that Max, Ivan, and Artur kept their word, scrubbing some, if not all of it. I wonder how they managed to pull that off, but I’m thinking the fewer questions asked is best where the Bratva is involved.

If my father were to learn about my little afternoon tryst with the Bratva, I’d never hear the end of it.

“Miss Phelps?” a man asks, drawing me out of my frazzled thoughts.

I get up and turn around to find a tall, official-looking gentleman in a navy blue suit. “Can I help you?”

As soon as he flashes his Bureau badge, a weight drops in my stomach. I do my best to try and keep a cool exterior in front of Supervisory Special Agent Pete Smith. “I’m here about Jack Bowman,” he says. “I understand you met with him the day before yesterday?”

“No, sir. I was supposed to meet him, but he wasn’t there,” I immediately say.

“But you were in the executive suite of the hotel, correct?”

He measures me from head to toe, his steely blue gaze settling on my face, searching for any clue that might give it away. I suppose everyone’s a suspect at this point in time. It doesn’t help that I feel guilty; I can only hope it isn’t showing.

“I was, yes. But he never showed up.”

“And how long were you in the room for?”

“I can’t remember, honestly. I checked my phone a couple of times to see if he had attempted to get a hold of me. I tried calling him, but it wouldn’t go through. Eventually, I had to leave because I had other things to take care of.”

He nods slowly. “What was your purpose for meeting with Jack Bowman in the first place?”

“Mr. Bowman graciously agreed to do an interview with me for my doctorate thesis paper,” I reply with a half-smile. “It was going to focus on his rise in the financial district, the tools he used for his company’s growth, his plans for the future.”

“Did you notify reception that he wasn’t there?” Smith asks.

I shake my head, my blood thickening. I take deep, calming breaths as I work my way through one of the most uncomfortable moments I’ve ever experienced in my life. “Honestly, I didn’t think much about it. I just thought Mr. Bowman was a no-show. He’s a busy man. I figured he got tied up elsewhere or forgot. I left the hotel and went on about my day. It wasn’t until the following day that I heard the news about his disappearance.”

“Your father is Councilman Phelps.” His quick shift in gears is almost dizzying.

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