Page 4 of Forced & Owned By the Bratva Boss

My mind is already racing because I fucking know this isn’t random. The police aren’t fumbling through a routine raid.

They move with purpose and direction, straight toward the hidden storage room behind the regular section, placed in that location because I knew for a fact that not one living soul would look there.

My stomach drops.

Only four people know that location: me, Sergei, Joaquin, and his second-in-command, Emiliano.

Not even Ruslan knows.

I feel the shift in the private area before I see it. Joaquin’s hand falls from my shoulder.

When I glance at him and Emiliano, who’s now on his feet with one hand hovering over the holster on his belt, their eyes are locked on me.

There’s a lethal accusation burning in the suspended silence between us.

Someone’s accusing someone of betrayal, and I sure as hell know I trusted no one enough to spill information of where I stored the Mexicans’ marijuana.

My gaze snaps back to the bar, and I find her standing there.

She hasn’t run. Her expression is placid, free from panic or stress. She’s standing perfectly still behind the counter, eyes lifted toward me through the ongoing drama, watching. Just watching.

That’s when the memory slams into me with force, harsh enough to seize the breath from my lungs.

One year ago…

The same calm expression. The same unnerving silence. The last time she looked at me like that, she handed me straight to the authorities and walked away without a backward glance.

Who’s to say she’s not responsible for this raid, too?

Rage replaces reason in a single, blinding rush, and the world around me narrows to her face.

I turn to Ruslan with determination hardening like steel in my chest.

“See the bartender over there? Brown hair, black outfit?” He nods, and I grit my teeth. “Bring her to me. I want her alive.”

Chapter One

Audrey

[ONE YEAR AGO]

Desire is a deadly weapon.

It can be aimed for you or at you. Point it the wrong way and you’ll shoot yourself in the foot.

Sounds stupid, right?

Well, that’s what happens if you can’t control it—you end up doing foolish things.

Things like sneaking glances at your boss while making an espresso martini for a customer.

“He’s definitely checking you out too, if you’re wondering.”

I almost spill the drink while handing it over.

Flustered, I tuck a few strands of hair behind my ears and clear my throat. The music is loud, so I have to amplify my voice for her to hear.

“What?”