Page 1 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
Chapter 1 – Violet
I really should be home right now.
Curled up in bed with a sappy Hallmark movie playing, or rereading my favorite Harlequin novel for the sixth time, pretending I don’t know exactly how it ends. That’s where I belong—under a blanket, hot tea in hand, swooning over a fictional man with a tragic backstory and a secret heart of gold.
Not here.
Not in a back alley behind a pawnshop where a man got himself killed less than twenty-four hours ago.
But the gig pays well.
Freelance crime pieces are grim and gritty and everything I used to hate, but they cover rent—and these days, that matters more than comfort.
My fingers are cold around the leather casing of my vintage camera, the strap wound around my neck like a tether. I raise it, focus, and snap another picture.
Click.
The cracked pavement.
Click.
A broken window above the shop’s entrance.
Click.
The bloodstain that refuses to wash off the cement.
I should be afraid. Most people would be.
But something about doing this job has dulled the edge of fear. Or maybe sharpened mine.
Still, I can’t help thinking—just for a second—how much I’d rather be swooning over a fake love story than documenting someone’s real, violent end.
Now what I think about the man who died…it’s such a shame. Was he alone, too? Did he have a family? A girlfriend waiting for him? A dog that still thinks he’s coming home?
Maybe not.
Not everyone does.
I don’t.
My mom died of cancer when I was a kid. My dad left right after. Bastard. But who can blame him? Grief does funny things to people—especially men with weak spines.
I snap another picture.
Click.
The crime tape flutters slightly in the night breeze.
Click.
The alley stretches long and empty. So still it almost hums.
What if the robber comes back tonight? What if he sees me? Who would come for me? Who would realize I’m gone?
Jennie? Zoe? Sure. Eventually. But not right away. Not before it’s too late.
Noelle may not even notice I’m gone until next year.
