Page 57 of Stolen By the Bratva King

He raises his glass. “You ask a lot of questions.”

I clamp my jaw, offended. I don’t want to tell him I’m a journalist. I don’t know what David has told him about me.

“Relax, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head about the details. That’s for the bratva professionals to deal with. But I can assure you, nothing will happen without David’s approval, first. For now, we wait.” He tips his head and knocks the drink back in one gulp.

19

David

“Your move,” I grunt out, annoyance seeping into my bloodstream.

“You think I don’t know that?” Knox cuts me a dirty scowl. It’s difficult to register his facial expressions through his heavily tattooed face.

“Don’t cheat, either.” I grind my teeth.

Squares of sunlight filter in through the bars of the jail’s rec room where Knox and I are sitting at a table playing chess. It seems like all I ever do is play board games or read, or mop the floors, all day every day until they sound the alarm for lights out.

“I never cheat,” Knox declares.

“Oh yeah?” I raise an eyebrow. “How exactly did you get in here then?”

Knox shakes his head and props an elbow on a thigh, leaning forward, brows bridging in concentration. He puts a hand on a pawn but doesn’t move it.

“The second you move that you can’t take it back.” I point to it.

“I know how to play the damn game,” he hisses.

He hovers his fingers over the knight, his tongue sliding out of his lips. He moves it. “Check!”

For a moment, I pretend to be disappointed, sighing, putting on a show. Knox’s grin splits his face.

I move my queen to the empty space next to his king. “Checkmate.”

Knox’s face collapses. He picks up the board and all the pieces go flying.

“Nice,” I drone. “Congratulations, you’re a toddler.”

“You set me up!” he shouts.

“I’m not picking up the pieces.” I tilt my chin to the floor.

“Petrov!” one of the guards calls out behind us.

“He started it,” Knox and I both declare in unison.

The guard grunts something under his breath I don’t hear and begins waddling over to us, red-faced, beefy-necked. He winces with every heavy step. He has a lot of weight to carry. His keys jingle on his belt with every move of his tired knees.

“You’re out of here.” He nudges a thumb over his shoulder, looking at me.

I stand up. “I still have half an hour of free time.”

“No, idiot, you’re getting released,” he explains, out of breath just from the twenty-foot trek across the room.

“I am?” I turn to Knox who is currently crouching on the floor picking up all the chess pieces. If he doesn’t, he’ll get laundry duty. There’s nothing Knox hates more in this world than laundry duty. “You’ll have to find a new chess partner.”

“You cheat anyway,” Knox grumbles under his breath. “Filthy Russians. You’re all the same.”

I pretend not to hear him because one wrong move and I’m back in solitary. I turn my back to him and start following the guard, strutting all the way. “How’d I make bail?”

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