Page 13 of Stolen By the Bratva King

There’s also a little voice inside my head chiming at me to do it. I’m a journalist through it all, and a damn good one. Life is about adventure and impulse sometimes. To get what you want, youneed to take risks, and it’s not like I haven’t already dipped my toes into the water. Maybe it’s time to go all the way in.

I can see he’s mirroring my thoughts in the way that his eyes spark. “You’ll be taken care of, if you are worried about that.”

“Taken care of… how?” I ask.

“You will have a personal bodyguard to accompany you places when I am not able to.” His Russian accent is altering my brain chemistry. His sly grin is making it difficult to see straight. “But I advise you to just conduct your work and research in the safety of the condo for now.”

“You mean I’ll be followed around by that bald guy who was bullying me in the warehouse?” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

David’s eyes darken, and he frowns, but in a flash, his demeanor is replaced with his diplomatic ‘businessman’ charm. “Miroslav is very sensitive about his hair.”

“You mean lack of hair?” I tease.

“Yes, right, whatever.” He fans a hand through the air as if he’s not in the mood to be patronized. His accent is going to destroy me, I know it. I’m already one word away from caving in and agreeing to do anything he wants me to do. I’m trying to hide the fact that I’m so easily persuaded by making jokes. It’s clearly not working.

“This is all a game to you.” I say it as a statement of fact, not as a question.

“Isn’t all of life just a game? Don’t you want to be on the winning side of it?” He declares it as if he’s the all-knowing prophet ofthe universe. With a jawline like that, who am I to question it? Maybe he is.

“I suppose you have a point.” I give him a half scowl, but I know he’s right. I want to make a name for myself, to be a well-respected, high-powered journalist who gets to the root of the hard-hitting stories. I want to be the one my boss Robert assigns all the top articles to, because he can trust me. I want to climb the rungs of the journalism ladder until I’m standing at the top, victorious and proud.

“You and I are alike,” David mutters.

My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “In what way?

David’s lips purse into a smoldering grin. “The hunger. I see it in your eyes. You want this story, and I want my reputation to be less tainted. We both want to end gun running and violent crime in the city, so we make a good team.”

“What about what happened at the warehouse?” I ask in a quiet voice.

“Sometimes these things can’t be helped. That was a life-or-death situation,” he says.

My eyes jump into my lap, trying to avoid his. “You’re right, I guess.”

“I won’t hurt you. I promise. I will keep you safe. And I will assign you a bodyguard to protect you when I’m not around. You will be a comfortable guest in my home. How is it any different than a journalist going on assignment for a job, or traveling to where the story is? You have to engage, and act when you want something. Fight for your place in the world, and fight for your safety.”

I lift my posture and meet his gaze. “Alright, you’ve sold me. I’ll do it.”

David’s gray eyes brighten. “Excellent.”

“My boss keeps giving me clickbait pieces about celebrities. I don’t want to do that anymore,” I admit. “I’m better than that.”

There’s something like understanding that molds into David’s expression, and respect. “You want to be taken seriously.”

We maintain eye contact, and it’s at that moment that I know we are on the same page. “Exactly.”

My heart skips in my chest and a million butterflies erupt in my stomach. I’m excited, but I’m also nervous.

When I tell Robert about this, he’s never going to believe it. But if I pull this off, he’ll never be able to take me, or my ambitions for granted again.

We arriveat the same condo that Miroslav brought me to the other day, only this time I’m with David. Alone.

Sunlight spills in from the huge windows in the living room. The couches are black leather, and the décor is all sleek and modern. Angular brass that better resemble art pieces than anything functional, but they work all the same.

The kitchen is any chef’s dream, with industrial, stainless-steel appliances and a huge gas stove. “Wow,” I say as I brush my fingertips across the counter. “The island in here is bigger than the entire kitchen in my apartment.”

David’s eyes twinkle and he moves closer to me. I get a whiff of his cologne. My vision gets hazy in his presence. A swirly sensation runs through my stomach.

I release a slow breath as he continues hammering me with that sultry stare of his.

---