Page 2 of Pregnant Bratva Virgin

“I went to see Mom, that’s what’s going on. She’s not doing good, and I hate seeing her in that place.”

“Shit. Sorry. Our insensitive asses just waltz right into your apartment. I forgot you were seeing her today,” Stacy adds compassionately.

“Don’t be. I just—I think I’m going to have to apply for a loan or whatever.” I release a tired, drawn-out sigh as Kiara crunches on the borrowed corn chips from the pantry, dipping them in the hummus she’s helped herself to.

“I have a great idea,” Kiara poses, waggling her eyebrows as Stacy giggles.

“What is it? And send those corn chips over here before you finish the whole bag,” I scold, gesturing for the bag as it’s passed along to me. I take a handful out, sending it back over.

“Well, I think we should go out to Destiny Bar. It’s happy hour tonight from five, and we’re already behind. Then we can club hop to Blindside. Come on! Happy hour only lasts until nine,” Kiara explains enthusiastically as Stacy nods.

“That’s not such a bad idea. You can shake off any bad feelings for a few hours. We’re too young to be sitting here on a Friday night,” Stacy whines, expecting me to say no, but I’m thinking hard about it being a yes. I haven’t been out for a while, and I haven’t seen either one of them for a while as well. Two birds and all that jazz.

“Yeah, I can’t remember the last time I went out. Destiny Bar’s still there?”

Stacy and Kiara exchange smirks. “Nope. I can’t let it happen to my friend. No, not you. We are going out tonight before you forget how to party. Destiny Bar is 100 percent open, friend. Please tell me you have a cute dress to wear.”

“A cute dress to wear. Hmm. I’m sure I can find something.” A small smile finds its way to my mouth, and I pretend to be happy about tonight’s outing. I’m hoping their enthusiasm will rub off on me by air osmosis or something like that.

Kiara drums her socked feet against the couch with a funny squeal. “She said yes! Yay! We’re going out on the town. You won’t be sorry. It’s only one night anyway, and it will help relax your mind.”

“I guess I can manage one night. And it’s a Friday, and I didn’t take any extra shifts this week at work,” I remind myself, doing the quick math. Most of the cases I’m working on havebeen quick and easy. Working in petty crimes isn’t exactly the highest order in the Bureau of Investigation, but for me to be a detective, it was a necessary start. I’m known as one of the fastest risers in the police department. At least that’s what the employee of the month plaque said when I received it last month.

“Good.I like your rational thinking, Detective,” Kiara mocks, her lips making funny shapes. I retrieve the cushion from behind the back of me, turfing it at her. Her arm moves out front reflexively, catching it single-handedly. Her mouth drops open, but she manages not to spill the open dip container on her lap or lose any of the corn chips either. “Oh! How about that?”

Stacy laughs hysterically as Kiara places the pillow behind her. “See. You cannot thwart my plans for us to go out, knock the drinks back, and party. Come on! We’re already late. It’s six thirty already, and we don’t want to miss the two-for-one specials.”

“Noooo,” Stacy moans, getting up and shaking off the crumbs as I smile at my two friends. Even if I wanted to think about my mom, I can’t.

“Not the two-for-one! Okay, let me get up and get ready,” I reply, willing myself to stand back up. “Looks like Destiny Bar is where we’re destined to be tonight.”

“Correct, and we are going to have a ball!” Kiara jumps from the couch, dancing over to me and smushing a wet kiss on my cheek, which I promptly wipe off.

“Ugh. Leave me alone,” I fake wail, getting up and walking towards my bedroom, because I’m going to have to find a nice outfit to wear.

Chapter Two - Ryurik

Where are you hiding?Scanning my eyes over the bar from the VIP section, I look down below to the sweaty writhing bodies on the dance floor, but I can’t spot the snake. Cracking my knuckles, I step back from the railing for a second to regroup.

No matter what, William Dee is a fucking dead man walking. My informant told me the man was here, but right now I feel as if I’m on some wild goose chase to find him. He’s not a hard man to recognize. He wears his hair in a slicked back ponytail, has shoulders like a linebacker, but his Play-Doh muscles built from the gym, don’t scare me. Mine are built from being a hard-core street thief along with my cousins. That’s precisely why I’m the head of all the street operations out of Chicago’s heartland. Nothing street- or narcotics-related goes unchecked by me.

“Anything?” one of my associates asks me as I oversee the next level of the club below. It’s not going to be an easy task to find him in my own club, even with security cameras, but one of my guys has already found him before me, so all I have to do is rein him in.

I crack my neck, shaking out my shaggy hair, and sucking in a deep breath, the pulse of the trance music trebling through the tight drum of my chest. “No. But I can’t have a fucking rat running around my club. I’ve got product on the floor, and if he’s here, that’s a problem I don’t care for,” I say in a soft, violent tone.

“No. The sooner you find him the better. Next level down?” my associate suggests as I nod letting my eyes cruise over the clubgoers. Thankfully, Blindside is never empty, and that’s largely because of the trade I’m in. We’re known for ourpremium supply of pills and coke should any of our guests want to have themselves a good time and blow off steam.

It’s a testament to how tightly I keep the Blindside ship running, vetting every single one of my staff, and taking note of all their family members right down to their dog for collateral damage purposes if need be. So far, so good. I haven’t needed to fire, warn, or lose any of them. All of them know the drill, and most of them come from a hustling background, which makes them pliable and easy to manipulate. A coup for me. Ah, I’m damn proud of the criminal family I’ve hand-picked and nurtured.

“Right. Next step,” I reply curtly, hating that this douche bag is causing a rift in my smoothly run operations.

Blindside Metro is one of Chicago’s premier super clubs with three different levels, and it’s high octane. Each level has its own DJ and genre, but apparently, judging from my target’s lack of presence, he’s not into house or trance music. I hustle down the stairs greeting my club’s drug mules—staff, delivering product all night into the VIP sections and setting up product deals for repeat customers from out of state. I’m not about to let William Dee, a bloodhound and senior Chicago detective, come in here—tomyclub—and steal all my snow-kissed power and thunder. Besides, he spent years soaking up kickbacks from me when it suited. Don’t bite the motherfucking hand that feeds you….

Where is the prick?I move through the throngs of people dancing with their drinks on the RnB level, keeping my eyes peeled in the process. Grim-faced, I pierce through the crowd, looking for any man over six feet tall with a long ponytail, a few leads catching my glimpse, but when I see their faces, it’s a letdown. None of them resemble William Dee.

If worst comes to worst, I can return to the security room out back and have my team visibly pick him out. One way or the other William—or Willy, as I affectionately know him—doesn’t stand a chance. My eyes are getting a workout, and I’m sick of the strain.

No need to rush. He’s not going to be leaving in a hurry. And there’s the added benefit of knowing my doormen are on the lookout and all have his description on hand in their phones. Willy Dee isn’t leaving Blindside without me knowing all about it.

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