Page 57 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva
Damien’s smile vanishes.
“Wanted to make sure Kion would feel it.”
He nods once at the man behind me.
I lunge.
Not toward Damien—toward the narrow gap behind the dumpster. My shoulder slams the edge hard enough to bruise, but I squeeze through anyway. Shouts explode behind me. Footsteps thunder after.
I run.
My lungs burn. My vision blurs. Every breath feels like fire in my chest, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop.
They’re behind me, close. I hear one curse, the scrape of boots on wet pavement.
I cut right, vault a short railing, duck beneath a hanging pipe. My coat snags, tears. I barely feel it.
A narrow stairwell appears ahead—metal, rusted, steep. I climb. Fast. My legs scream in protest, but I don’t slow down.
I don’t look back, not until I reach the rooftop and slam the door behind me.
Then I finally scream.
Chapter Sixteen - Kion
I know something’s wrong before the call connects.
Yuri’s voice is tight. “Esme went off-grid. Left the perimeter on foot. We’re tracing her phone now—last ping’s in the industrial zone.”
I’m already moving. I don’t stop to ask why she left. Don’t waste breath demanding why no one stopped her. I don’t give a fuck about the excuses.
She’s missing; that’s all I need to know.
I take the car myself. Engine roaring, tires screaming across asphalt. The streets blur past. Red lights mean nothing. Sirens howl in the distance, but none of them are coming for me.
They should be.
My mind spins as I drive, but my hands stay steady. I know that part of the city—crumbling brick, blind alleys, buildings abandoned but never empty. It’s where men like Clarke crawl out of their graves for one last shot at vengeance.
If he’s touched her, so much as breathed near her… he’s already dead.
I pull up two blocks from the last location ping. I kill the lights and step out, eyes scanning. Yuri’s already on foot, flanking. Another man waits near the alley entrance, giving me a single nod. No movement since she ran.
I see the scuff marks. I see the trail.
Time to kill.
***
The first body I find is standing outside the stairwell, facing the wrong direction. He doesn’t hear me coming, doesn’t even see me until my blade opens his throat.
He gurgles once. Slumps.
I keep moving.
I hear shouting above. Metal groaning. Then her voice—sharp and ragged, a scream cut short.
I don’t wait, taking the steps three at a time. The door at the rooftop is already ajar, one hinge half torn. I push it open slowly.
