Page 1 of Stolen By the Bratva King

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Hazel

My phone vibrates in my purse for the third time in five minutes. Sighing, I reach for it, but my hand knocks it into the crack between the seat and console.

I lift my head, eyes darting, assessing my surroundings as I glance through the windshield. My heartbeat increases, thumping so hard in my chest that my ribs ache. Blending in like I belong here is going to be my survival tactic, but it might not work this time.

I wiggle my fingers around in the crack where I lost my phone and manage to get a grip on it, pulling it out and squinting at the screen.

It’s my coworker and friend, Veronica.

“Where are you?” she demands in a manic voice the second I answer.

“You know, a simplehelloworks, too,” I say, the grim smirk showing in my voice.

She gives me a non-committal huff. “When are you coming back to the office?”

I glance at my watch. “In a little bit. I have to do something first.”

“A work something?” she quizzes.

“Of course,” I reply, a little annoyed that she thinks I might be doing anything else. I work more than she does and she knows that.

“Robert called a meeting,” Veronica continues, lowering her voice a bit. “He seems pissed about who knows what.”

I wince and chew my bottom lip. “What else is new? Robert is always pissed about something. I’d be more concerned if hewasn’t.”

“How am I supposed to make it through this without you there?” She’s borderline whining now.

“Sorry I can’t be your emotional support pillar this time. I’m chasing a lead. Robert can’t be that mad at me for missing the meeting. He’s the one who put me on this story in the first place.”

“That gun trafficking thing downtown?” she chirps, her mood lifting immediately.

“That’s the one,” I reply with a grin.

There’s a pause, and I hear talking and phones ringing in the background. I smile and picture Veronica leaning over her desk cubicle, her tight curls springing around her head in a dark brown halo as she talks in a low voice into the phone.

“You owe me,” she says.

“Drinks on me this weekend,” I promise.

“I can’t wait that long. Charlie is going to break things off with me. I know it.” There is doom in her voice, the knowledge that what little support she has is crumbling. She’s relying on me to fill that void, but I don’t know how much support I can realistically give her.

“Don’t spiral. And you’re better off without him anyway.” I use my most comforting voice.

She groans. “You’re not helping.”

“Thanks, love you too,” I chuckle.

“Come back soon,” she whisper hisses, then hangs up.

I push my phone back in my purse and step out of the car. The humidity hits me like a waterfall, nearly knocking me back into my car. It gets worse every year.

I pull my hair back into a low ponytail. Then, I check my tires to make sure I parallel parked within the lines. I don’t know this area well, I’m somehow still terrible at parking, and I don’t want to be slapped with a fine. I should be paid to work, not have to pay to work.

Satisfied with my parking job, I swing my purse over my shoulder and straighten my posture with a new level of determination in my bones.

I set my sights on my target. It’s a large, gray, two story warehouse a block away that’s been associated with local gun-running activity.

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