Page 3 of The Bratva's Knocked-Up Bride

“Really?” I hum, watching as she can’t help but lean in closer as my voice takes on a deeper, more flirtatious tone. “And what kind of fun was that?”

As Gwen begins to speak, I’m suddenly distracted by movement at the entrance of the bar. Three men in burgundy suits enter the bar area, their synchronized movements immediately setting off alarms in my head. They scan the room with cold, calculating eyes before settling at the very booth I just came from, the only one in the area with a clear view of both exits.

My instincts, honed by years in the Bratva, immediately tell me these men are trouble. Their matching attire suggests they're working together, and the way they position themselvesspeaks of military or tactical training. I watch them carefully from the corner of my eye, noting how they communicate with subtle nods and gestures.

One of the men reaches inside his jacket, and I tense, ready for action. But he only pulls out a pack of cigarettes. I relax marginally, but keep my guard up. These men are professionals, that much is clear. Their every movement is deliberate, their eyes constantly scanning for threats. The man lights the cigarettes, and I’m sure he’s well aware that he’s not allowed to smoke in here. He simply doesn’t care, which tells me he might have the kind of power that lets him get away with whatever he pleases.

Suddenly, all three men turn their heads in perfect unison, their gazes locking onto me. A chill runs down my spine as I meet their eyes, unflinching. The air between us crackles with tension, like the moment before lightning strikes. My hand instinctively twitches towards the concealed Glock 19 holstered at my hip, hidden beneath my tailored jacket.

For a long moment, we're locked in a silent standoff. I can almost hear the gears turning in their heads as they assess me, just as I'm assessing them. Their eyes are cold and calculating, reminiscent of sharks circling their prey.

But I'm no prey, and they seem to recognize that fact.

After what feels like an eternity, the tension breaks as they simultaneously look away, resuming their quiet conversation.

I don't let my guard down. Years of experience have taught me that moments of apparent calm can be the most dangerous. I take another sip of my whiskey, using the motion to subtly scan the room once more. Gwen is still talking, she andher friend oblivious to the undercurrent of danger that has just rippled through the bar.

“What about you?” I turn to face Gwen as she asks me the question, and I try not to showcase my thoughts through my expressions as I smile at her.

“Business,” I tell her. Normally I don’t reveal too many details about myself to strangers, but something about her keeps my guard down a bit. “The place belongs to my family. I’m checking out some new security features we implemented recently.”

Gwen’s eyes light up with genuine interest. “Really? That’s so cool. So, you run this place?”

“Something like that,” I say, but my mind is still distracted by the characters behind me. As I turn around for a brief moment to check on the men, I notice something that makes my blood run cold. One of the men in burgundy is now staring directly at Gwen and Riley, a predatory gleam in his eye. His associates follow his gaze, their expressions darkening with malicious intent.

My jaw clenches involuntarily. Whatever these men are planning, it can't be good.

I wonder if they made the same deduction about the girls that I did, that they were young and out of place. More importantly, their threatening gazes make me feel like something might happen, and, if so, I can’t help but wonder if I put Gwen and Riley at risk by approaching them. That they think I know them, that we are here together. I’m not entirely sure.

The looks in their eyes were unmistakable.Hunger, the kind of hunger you see in a lion’s eyes before it sinks its teeth into a gazelle—a carnal desire for ruin.

My survival instincts kick in, mixed with the unexpected protective instinct for Gwen, as well as Riley. I turn back to the girls, keeping a neutral tone as a plan comes to mind.

“Actually,” I begin, masking the edge to my tone with the prior flirtatiousness. I make eye contact with Gwen. “I do own this V.I.P. club on the strip. It’s incredibly hard to get into, but for you girls… I’ll make the exception.”

Gwen’s eyes glint with something mischievous, and she exchanges a glance with Riley, whose concerned face stands as a silent protest. While the girls begin to bicker nonverbally, I steal a look at the men behind us through the mirror behind the bar, watching as they begin to lean toward each other and shift in their seats. My jaw clenches. Something is going to happen. I can fucking feel it.

“I wasn’t giving you the choice,” I say firmly but playfully, extending out a hand to both Gwen and Riley, paired with a smile. “Come on. I’ll take you ladies there. You’ll love it.”

Riley shoots Gwen another glance, but it’s ultimately pointless as Gwen doesn’t hesitate to put her hand in mine, shooting warmth running up my arm. “Good,” I say with a grin. “I promise you, you girls will have the time—"

Bang.

Before I have the chance to finish my sentence, a gunshot rings through the air.

Chapter 2 - Gwen

“Which effect refers to the tendency of individuals to alter their behavior in response to awareness of being observed?”

“The Hawthorne Effect.”

“Correct. Also referred to as “configurationism,” what school of psychology from Germany says that when we look at the world, we see the “big picture” and not just the individual pieces?” Riley peeks out from behind her laptop screen. “Hint: you could also summarize it by saying, ‘The whole is more than the sum of its parts.’”

“Mhm… Gestalt.”

“Correct!” Riley beams and throws me another sour candy, which hits me square in the nose. We both laugh as I wipe the sugar off my nose before I pop it into my mouth.

“Which cognitive bias describes the illusion that you know other people better than they know you?” She asks next.

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