Page 18 of Bratva's Intern

To avoid looking like a fool and to not let it seem so obvious I hadn’t needed to use the elevator at all, I stepped outside, inhaling the crisp afternoon air. It wasn’t the fresh air I needed; it was distance, perspective. Wren was forbidden, and my brain seemed fixated on that one thing I couldn’t touch. It was one thing I wanted to teach the annoying boy from the coffee shop a lesson by bending him over. It was another thing when that young man turned up at Morozov’s as Wren Holloway.

The urge to go for a run reared in a big way. A long walk would have been nice too, but Sergei wasn’t with me, so I settled on a slow, deliberate walk just a few paces from the building. Not far enough to make Sergei go into cardiac arrest.

As I returned to the entrance, the glass doors slid open, and out walked Wren.

With Bradley.

Again.

Fucking hell.

Were they deliberately trying to piss me off? A muscle in my jaw twitched. Wren was nodding along to whatever bullshit Bradley was feeding him. I had no right to be annoyed, but irritation burned through me all the same.

Wren glanced at me, then widened his eyes.

“Watch out!”

The sharp urgency in his voice barely registered. He sprinted toward me and shoved me hard, sending me stumbling backward. A glint of silver flashed past me, narrowly missing me.

The blade whooshed through the air, slicing through the space where I had been standing mere moments before.

A strangled curse tore from my lips. A few feet away stood the attacker—a wiry man wearing a stocking mask, only his wide eyes visible. He ran.

I started after him. If he got away—Wren grabbed my arm. “Let him go. He has a weapon.”

I swiveled to Wren.

He pressed his hand to his upper arm, crimson seeping through his sleeve.

The bastard had cut him.

He would pay for this.

CHAPTER SIX

WREN

“Maxim!”

Someone shoved me aside, knocking me off-balance. Chaos erupted around me. A sharp crack split the air. Gunshot? No, something else. Shouting. Barking orders. The heavy thud of boots against the pavement.

What was happening? Mr. Morozov’s security team closed in around him, their bodies forming an impenetrable wall. They moved with swift, brutal efficiency, shielding him from sight, herding him toward the safety of the building as though they had rehearsed this very moment a hundred times.

I’d only ever seen something like that in the movies.

The moment stretched, time slowing like thick syrup. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Everything happened so fast.

“You’re bleeding!”

Bradley’s voice sliced through the chaos, sharp with concern.

“What?”

He held my arm. My sleeve was ripped, and blood seeped through the material. I swayed a bit. Only then did the sting of the wound register in my consciousness. I winced, reluctantly pulling my arm out of his grip.

The wound didn’t seem deep. More of a flesh wound.

---