Distrust (Smirnov Bratva Book 1) by T.l Smith Page B

He goes to speak when I notice someone in the distance, sitting at Stephon’s table, the same table he always sits at. He notices I see as well, and in an instant, he’s walking away. He reaches her before I do, her eyes bore into mine when she realizes I can see her, and I’m almost within reaching distance. She looks terrified. She’s never shown that side of her to me before, ever.
    “Stop!” Stephon says placing a hand on my chest. I look down to his hand, he quickly removes it.
    As I look back up, I see the back of her head as she makes her way to the rear of the club.
    “Just leave her.”
    I attempt to walk past him again, but his hand stops me. I reach for my gun, dropping it so it faces downward, and shoot his foot. He screams and falls backward getting out of my way, then I run.
    I run until I’m out the back, through the door, then start again running up and down the street. There isn’t any sign of her what-so-ever. Just as I’m about to run the other way, a car pulls up next to me. It’s Anton. He flings open the passenger door and I get in, then he starts driving up the street. I spot her, a coat covering her body, her hair still down. She’s walking by herself. Anton comes to a stop right next to her. She notices it’s me too late, and she tries to step away, but before she has a chance to open her mouth my gun comes down hard on her head, knocking her out, and she falls straight into my arms.
    ****
    “What do you plan to do with her?” Anton asks as I carry her up the stairs of my apartment. She’s still out cold, her body is flung over my shoulder. I manage to open the door while juggling her on my shoulder.
    “I don’t know yet, though I do expect answers.”
    He shakes his head as he follows me in. “I don’t think you could kill her, Kazier. Even if you had to, I don’t think that you could.”
    “And you could?” I bark back at him.
    He looks stunned for a second while I place her on my couch. “Hell no! I prefer my life. No need to provoke you to end it,” he says with his hands in the air in defense. “Freya is going to be pissed at you,” he says laughing, looking down at Elina on the couch.
    “Go back and say I was sick or some shit.”
    “Yeah right! You really didn’t think we all saw you running after her? You made one hell of a show to get to her you know. Especially with shooting Stephon and all.”
    “He got in my way.”
    “Exactly why I want nothing to do with whatever any of this is,” he says pointing to Elina then to me.
    “You can always leave, like now, ” I say putting more oomph into the word ‘now.’
    He nods his head. “I want more vodka anyway, and to see if I can get that statue drunk. You reckon he’d be crazy drunk? Or more fucked up than he already is?” he asks mumbling these questions about Death as he walks to the door.
    “Go and find out,” I say shaking my head and then walking to the door to lock it after he leaves. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walk back to Elina. I notice she has a bag slung over her shoulder. She never usually carries anything with her when I see her. I reach for it pulling it free from around her and tipping the contents to the floor. Lipstick, perfume, a mobile and wallet drop out.
    I reach for the wallet first. Looking straight at her identification and notice that all my suspicions are correct, her last name is Bartalotti. I throw it at the wall, hoping in some way I can make it disappear.
    Her phone beeps, and when I pick it up the name says Pollie. The message asks where she is. All the messages from her are girlie shit. I wonder if this is the friend I saw that time in the street—her blind friend. Then I start to scroll through the rest.
    Her brother’s number is in there. Also her father’s and grandfather’s, but what surprises me the most is Stephon’s.
    Why would she have his number in her phone, and what’s their connection?
    He isn’t Italian, he’s Russian—family