Page 5 of Bratva Hunter

“You’re not going back to your mother’s in Mexico. It’s time you pay me back for all the money I’ve spent on you.”

“What money?”

“The money I gave your mother for you.”

“Mama didn’t need your money.” I wouldn’t even be here if you hadn’t taken me from home when my mother was gone. I’d only been home for a few days after my model shoot in Rio.

My father’s hand swings out and catches me across the face. It’s not the first time he’s hit me. He’s broken my nose, my wrist and so much more. I lick my split lip. Asshole. The coppery taste is a reminder of how much he hates me. He pulls his arm back, and I shift my footing so he misses. “Bitch.” I prepare myself for more abuse, but his phone dings, and he opens the door to walk out into the open warehouse. “This isn’t over. The only thing that has any value is your bloodline and your virginity.”

Well, one for two isn’t bad. I peer from the corner and look through the large glass window in the side office. A large man with a scar enters the warehouse. There’s just enough light to see the scene like an old black and white movie. The man carries an aura of authority my father has always wanted but never mastered. He and my father talk across the warehouse floor. I can tell my father is angry, and I can hear them arguing until all hell breaks loose. Bullets fly and bodies fall. If I’m lucky, the beast will kill the asshole.

I peek from my hiding place in the side office. My father approaches the scarred man who ducks behind a shelving unit to lure him. He’s considerably smarter than my father. Not really a surprise, though. My father jumps out as the man shoots him twice in the chest. The man moves in on my father’s lifeless body as two other men rush into the room. Time stands still as I realize I’m standing in an open window witnessing murder. Fear forces me to move as I bend down to notice an open area behind the counter by the window. I shimmy down, pushing myself behind the adjacent cabinet. Just in case they come looking in here.

Time passes and I debate whether to wait longer or head out. It’s time. No one’s coming in here. I notice his computer sitting on the desk. There’s a flash drive sticking out of the USB port on the side. I yank it free and toss it in my purse as I walk out the side door of the warehouse. My father left his keys in his BMW, so I’ll take it and leave. I have to hurry to his penthouse to get my passport and bags. I need to leave New York tonight.

It takes me forty minutes to get back to my father’s place. I use his garage opener to get into the condo garage and park his car. The elevator opens as I get out. Please let me get into his place and get out fast before anyone realizes he’s dead. I take the elevator to the penthouse and use my father’s keys to get in. Twenty minutes later, I’ve collected everything I brought and changed my clothes into casual traveling attire.

My phone rings. “Hello?”

“Rosa?”

“Uncle Arturo?”

He speaks to me in Spanish. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the condo.”

He snorts. “Where is your father?”

“I’m not sure.”

He clicks his tongue. He’s as big an asshole as my father. My mother hates him, too. “Weren’t you with him?”

“He was waiting for someone at the warehouse and told me to return to his condo.”

“That’s a lie. Your father said he was taking you with him after his meeting.”

Shit. “I don’t know why he sent me back; you’ll have to ask him.”

“You and I know that’s not possible. You watched him die.”

“Uncle Arturo, I don’t know anything. I just want to go home.”

He blows out his breath as I hold mine. “You witnessed an important man execute your father. You need to wait for Marco to get there.”

Uncle Marco is my father’s oldest brother. Uncle Arturo is my father’s uncle. I’ve never spent any significant amount of time with either, and I don’t trust them. My mother considers them just as evil as my father. “You just want me to wait here?”

“Yes. I’ll protect you from the Russian family of the man who executed your father.”

“Sure. I’ll stay. When will Uncle Marco arrive?”

“He should be there in the morning.”

“Okay.” I end the call and grit my teeth. There is no way I’m staying here to wait for my execution, or worse. I walk to my father’s study and remove the painting that covers his safe. Inhaling a deep breath, I remember the combination. I open the safe to dozens of wrapped money bundles stacked in the front. I reach in and grab the first handful of money, slipping it into my purse. The second stack goes into my carry-on bag and the last set of bundles goes into my backpack. I’ve got enough money to get me to Mexico and avoid the Aguilar cartel.

There’s a file in the safe, marked ‘insurance’. I pull it out. Inside is a dossier on each of my father’s brothers and his uncle. I slip that into my backpack as well. Hoisting my backpack onto my back and grabbing my bag, I walk into the kitchen. I open the drawer and pull out the mallet in the utensils drawer. I set my phone down to beat it on the granite counter. Pieces of glass fly around the kitchen, as I scoop up the pieces and shove them into a Ziplock bag. I’ll drop this in the trash the next time I stop.

I peek out my father’s door into the hall. It’s empty. I move quickly and calmly to the elevator, reminding myself to look like any other resident that’s heading on a trip. The doors open, and I step inside. I get down to the fourteenth floor before the doorsopen again. A small, elderly woman walks into the elevator and smiles. “Good evening.”

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