Innocent Prey of the Bratva (Rusnak Bratva #3)

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.

I draw in a breath, shake off the thought, and lift the camera again.

She’s my roommate and best friend from college, but lately, this past year, we’ve drawn apart a little.

Ever since she dropped out of medical school and got her new job.

I don’t know how to reach her, but I hope she knows I’m always there to talk whenever she’s ready.

I attempt to take one last atmospheric shot for my editor—something moody and dramatic. A wide frame, plenty of shadows. Maybe it’ll even make the front page this time.

Just as the flash pops—slam. A door shuts across the alley. Loud. Sharp. Close. I freeze. My heart lurches up into my throat.

What the hell was that?

I slowly lower the camera. The flash has temporarily blinded me, so for a second, everything looks like a smudged painting. I blink hard, squinting toward the noise.

That’s when I see it. A black SUV. Bulky and silent. It wasn’t there a second ago—was it? Now it's right behind me, maybe twenty feet across the alley. The shadows swallow me whole, and for once, I’m grateful for how small I am. I press myself flat against the brick wall, holding my breath.

They haven’t seen me.

Not yet.

But the slam of the car door is ringing in my ears louder than my heartbeat, and suddenly I’m very aware that I’m completely, utterly alone out here.

And maybe…just maybe…I should’ve stayed home with my stupid Hallmark movies.

I inch closer to the wall for support, making sure to stay in the shadows.

But a violent shudder spirals through me when I see four tall, muscular men.

They emerge from the SUV like shadows peeling off the night, their movements fast and brutal.

They’re dragging someone—a man, kicking and screaming, heels scraping the gravel as he fights like hell not to go wherever they’re taking him.

My mouth goes dry. I grip my camera tighter, barely breathing.

They’re not just mugging him. This is…something else.

They shove him deeper into the alley—closer to the broken dumpsters and the hollow silence beyond. The man is begging now, his voice high and cracked, the words a garbled mess of “please,” “I have a family,” and “don’t do this.”

Then—bang.

A single shot explodes through the night like a hammer to glass.

I jump, hand flying to my mouth. Blood. I smell it before I see it. That sharp, metallic tang invades the air, curling into my nostrils, heavy and unmistakable.

Silence falls.

Suffocating, awful silence.

The man isn’t screaming anymore.

I stumble back, heart in my throat, breath tearing in and out of me like I’m trying to outrun a panic attack. My fingers tremble around the camera—and that’s when it happens.

Click. Click. Click. Three flashes in rapid succession. The light bursts through the alley, exposing me like a neon target.

Oh God. I just gave myself away. Four heads snap in my direction. They’re looking at me now. And I know, with a gut-sick certainty, that if I don’t run, I’ll never leave this alley alive.

Out of the four, one man impresses himself on me. His pair of icy blue eyes slices through the darkness and lands directly on me.

Click.

Another flash goes off before I can stop it—like my body acts on instinct while my brain short-circuits—and in that split second, I see him.

Really see him.

Tall. Built like a storm. Dressed in black with no face mask like the others. But it’s those eyes that paralyze me—cold, calculating, inhumanly calm—as if pulling a trigger means nothing to him. As if he doesn’t kill for survival, but for sport.

And now he’s seen me.

Our eyes lock, and for a second—just one breathless second—everything goes still.

And then it hits me.

I know that face.

Not well, not personally. But I’ve seen him before. At Jennie’s house, once. Maybe twice. Lurking in the background like a ghost with a cigarette. Quiet. Watchful.

I’ve seen him around Adrian and Lukin. The Bratva. Fear, regret, and sorrow settle deep in my stomach as I realize that I may have tampered with something that is way beyond my power.

I don’t know this guy’s name or the smallest detail about his life, but if he’s here—doing this?

I saw too much.

I took too much.

And now…I’ve become part of this.

He takes a single step forward, and I know—I know—I have to run. Or I’ll never get the chance again. So I run like hell.

The camera swings wildly around my neck, slamming into my chest with every stride. My boots pound against the wet pavement, the icy air slashing across my face like knives. My car is parked two blocks away—too far—and I don’t dare look back. If I do, I’ll freeze. If I freeze, I’m done.

Keep running, Violet.

I nearly skid out as I take the corner, lungs burning, throat tight with panic. I fumble for my keys even before I reach the car. They clatter to the ground, and I swear—I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I scoop them up, throw myself into the driver’s seat, and slam the door shut.

I don’t even buckle up.

The engine roars to life, and I floor it, tires screeching against the asphalt.

Red light. I blow through it.

Stop sign. I ignore it.

I don’t stop until I’m home. I don’t breathe until I’m inside.

The moment the door shuts behind me, I collapse onto the couch, the adrenaline wearing off so fast it makes my head spin. I curl into myself, knees to chest, shaking like a leaf. The camera is still around my neck, its metal body warm from where it’s pressed against my skin.

I clutch it like it’s a lifeline.

Because it holds proof.

Proof I saw a man die.

And proof that the man who saw me…knows I did.

“Violet?”

I jolt at the sound of her voice. Noelle’s standing by the doorway, still wearing her oversized hoodie and sleep shorts, hair in a messy bun, a bag of popcorn forgotten in one hand.

Her eyes widen when she sees me. “Jesus, what happened?”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Just a shaky breath.

She crosses the room in seconds and drops to her knees in front of me. “Hey. Look at me. What’s wrong?”

“I—I saw someone die.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I think I saw a murder. I think they saw me.”

Noelle stills. “What?”

“I was out taking pictures for that pawnshop robbery story. You know, for The Ink.” I clutch the camera around my neck.

“Four men dragged someone into the alley. He was screaming. And then—I heard a shot. I didn’t mean to, but I—my camera—there were flashes.

I got pictures. And one of them looked right at me. Like…he saw me. Really saw me.”

I fumble for the camera to check the images I accidentally took.

Noelle doesn’t hesitate. She gently takes the camera from around my neck and sets it on the coffee table.

“Don’t look at it right now,” she says softly, her fingers wrapping around my cold, trembling hands. “Later, okay? You’re shaking.”

I nod. I’m not even sure I can speak anymore.

“No one followed you,” she adds, squeezing my hands. “I would’ve seen something. I’ve been binge-watching true crime in the living room for hours. It’s quiet outside. You’re safe.”

“But what if they did?” My voice cracks. “What if they followed me home? What if they’re watching? What if that man finds me?”

“Vee.” Her tone sharpens, like a command wrapped in concern. “You’re safe. You didn’t bring anyone here. No one saw you clearly. Okay?”

I nod again, this time slower.

“Then it’s fine. You’ll be fine.” She pulls me into a hug, her arms warm and grounding. “We’ll look at the pictures later. We’ll figure it out. Right now, you need to breathe.”

I close my eyes. Try to force my heart to stop pounding. Try to believe her.

But that man’s icy blue eyes….

They’re still burned into the back of my mind.

“Come on. Let me take you inside.” Noelle gently pulls me up from the couch, her arm firm around my waist, guiding me toward my room like I’m made of spun glass.

I don’t argue. I can’t. My limbs feel heavy, like they’ve been filled with lead, and the fear still hasn’t loosened its grip on my chest.