Page 85 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva
She’s gone.
From my house. My fucking stronghold. With guards at every damn exit.
How?
How the fuck did they get to her?
I fall back a step, chest heaving as I stare at the blood again. It’s not much. Barely a streak. But it’s hers—and that’s enough to make my vision go red.
They touched her.
They hurt her.
They took her.
A sound escapes me—low, guttural. The kind of sound men fear in the dead of night. And they should fear me now. Because whoever laid a finger on her just started a war they’ll beg to end.
I don’t even feel the pain in my knuckles as I slam them into the wall again. And again. Drywall splits. Wood cracks. I flip the bed. The lamp crashes into the ground.
My lungs burn. My throat aches from the roar I didn’t realize I let out.
She’s gone.
Everything in me is unravelling—shredding from the inside out. I’ve killed men for far less. I’ve burned cities in retaliation. But this?
This is something else entirely.
Footsteps thunder down the corridor.
The door bursts open.
Zalar storms in with four guards behind him, guns drawn. His eyes take in the overturned room, the blood, the devastation—then land on me.
He knows.
“Boss….” His voice is cautious, like he’s trying to speak to a wild animal mid-rage.
I spin on him, eyes wild. “Where the fuck were you?!”
Zalar flinches. “I—I was checking the east perimeter—”
“You left her!” I hurl a chair across the room. It crashes into the wall, shattering.
I’m shaking. My hands are bleeding. I can barely see straight through the blinding rage.
“She was in this fucking house. Surrounded by my men. And they still got to her!”
Zalar steps forward slowly, arms raised slightly like he’s approaching a man with a gun to his own head. “We’ll find her. I swear on my life.”
I laugh—sharp and dangerous. “You will, or I’ll end yours.”
One of the guards starts to speak. I silence him with a glare.
Zalar looks around again. “There’s no sign of forced entry. Whoever did this had access. Clearance.”
I freeze.
Of course.
