Page 42 of Stolen By the Bratva King

I light the cigarette and the flame burns orange as I inhale a long drag, closing my eyes, allowing the nicotine to give me an instant head rush. The smoke is acrid and little stale, but I don’t care.

I silently thank myself for not throwing out that pack of cigarettes and saving it for a rainy day when I really need it. The nicotine is slowing my racing pulse and dulling my thought processes, exactly what I need right now.

The street and traffic noise from below soothe my nerves as I take long, desperate inhales of the cigarette. It’s exactly what I need right now, but in an annoying sort of way, it reminds me of David. He always smelled like the cigars he smoked, but they were a lot nicer than this little white stick of death clenched too hard between my trembling fingers.

After a few minutes, I’m subdued enough. I pull out my phone and dial Veronica’s number, half hoping she’ll answer, halfhoping I’ll get her voice mail. I need someone to talk to, but I don’t know what to say.

I’m locked into a conversation, however, when she answers on the third ring. “Hey, lady, how’s it going with your bratva boyfriend?” she chirps.

Her words feel like a stinging slap, but I don’t react. She doesn’t know any better. “Well, first of all, he’s not my boyfriend, and second of all, I quit the story.”

“You quit the story?” The shock rings in Veronica’s voice.

My head droops. “I couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?” Now she sounds concerned. “Did something happen?”

I glance over my shoulder as if someone is watching me. A tingling sensation whispers across the back of my neck, but I don’t see anything or anyone. I made sure to securely lock my apartment and all the windows as soon as I got home earlier. But it wouldn’t surprise me if David had one of his mobster crew guys follow me, if nothing else to make sure I was safe.

“I can trust you, right?” I ask, lowering my voice.

“Of course,” Veronica declares, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

I stand up and walk over to the railing of the balcony, peering down. “There was an incident. Well, a couple of incidents that caused me to quit.”

“Like what?” Now I have her undivided attention.

I tell her about what happened to me after the first encounter at the warehouse, and how David saved me. She already knowsI’ve been staying with him, but now I tell her about how we went to the warehouse the second night and another shootout happened.

“We narrowly escaped with our life.” I flick the ashes off the balcony railing and watch them fall.

“You aren’t safe,” Veronica says. “You have to call Robert and tell him you can’t do the story anymore. Then call the police.”

“I know.” I chew my bottom lip. Everything she’s telling me is something a sane, levelheaded person would do. But I don’t know if I’m either of those things right now.

“Robert doesn’t know David’s name, right?” Veronica asks.

“Only you know that part,” I say. “And I’m counting on you to keep it a secret, at least for now.”

“I don’t know.” My heart jumps when Veronica sounds reluctant. “I think your safety takes precedence right now.”

“I am worried,” I admit, watching the stop lights change colors at the intersection down the block.

“About what?”

I exhale and grip the railing, contemplating for a moment what it would be like to climb it and jump. No. I’m not at that level of despair. Yet.

“I don’t know. I signed contracts that I would keep his name out of it. As far as Robert knows, I’m just following tips, leads, and doing field research to get these details about the gun running in the city. He doesn’t know I actually moved in with the guy. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I went home. The adrenaline is still raw, and that’s why all this is bothering me.”

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry you went through that, not only once, but twice. That’s more than anyone should ever have to deal with. I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but if Robert knew you were in danger, he wouldn’t let you continue the story. Robert can be an asshole, but I think deep down he cares enough that he wouldn’t want to put any of his staff members safety at risk.”

I know she’s right. The acid in my stomach is slowly building, inching its way up my throat. I choke it back down and gaze up at the hazy, light polluted night sky.

“I don’t know what to do,” I murmur. “It would be absolutely crazy to put myself back in a position where I could be shot at again. I mean, how stupid could a person be? But something is holding me back.”

“What is it? Do you really like this guy?” she asks.

I absorb her words. “I mean, he was kind to me. He is calm, and protective.”

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