Page 3 of Forced By an Obsessive Bratva Stalker

We went up the stairs and through a couple of long corridors until we reached a steel blue door. He walked ahead of me and unlocked the door with his key card.

“You have ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not enough. I drove two hours to get here.”

“Look, I wish I could get you more time,” he said. “But I’m already risking a lot for you as it is.” A pause. “Don’t make me regret it.” He stepped aside.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “And thank you, I appreciate it.”

“Just hurry up, okay?” He withdrew from the entrance. “I’ll be down the hall.”

I walked into the room and closed the door quietly behind me. “Okay, okay.” My eyes scanned the space; boxes were neatly arranged on tables and shelves.

I checked the files in the cabinets and those in the drawers until I found copies of some old financial records.

“This should do,” I whispered to myself, flipping through the pages.

Because there were so many files to cover in under ten minutes, I resorted to photographing the documents with my phone. I’d been right about Meridian Solutions, after all. These people were dirty, involved in all manner of corruption.

The more pages I photographed, the more evidence of money laundering and racketeering I gathered. With steady hands, I skimmed through the files as the fluorescent light hummed above.

I glanced at my watch.

Six minutes gone.

I gathered as much proof as I could under the remaining four minutes while adrenaline pumped through my blood. Somewhere deeper in the building, machinery moved, mechanical and indifferent.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard approaching footsteps down the hallway outside. Not one. Not two. Not even three. These footsteps were heavy and hurried, like soldiers marching toward danger.

With each passing second, the sounds drew closer, accompanied by occasional grunts and muffled noises. I rushed over to the door and leaned my back against the wall beside it.

“Move!” a manly voice barked in accented English.

“You can’t do this!” another voice replied. Masculine, too, but lighter, weaker, fearful. “Do you know who I am?”

“Shut your mouth!” someone else said, voice deep and terrifying.

I held my breath, eyes squeezed shut, hoping and praying they didn’t walk right into this room. Even though I didn’t have the slightest clue what the hell was going on, I knew it was trouble.

My heart hammered against my ribs, my grip tightening around my phone. Their footsteps and voices were now clearer than before, like they were just right outside the door.

Fuck.

Just when I was about to run behind a cabinet, I heard one of them say, “This way.”

They changed direction, their footsteps fading into the distance.

I let out a quiet sigh of relief, my hand reflexively darting to my heaving chest. “God, that was close,” I breathed.

Where the hell had Frankie been when these men arrived upstairs? Why didn’t he inform me? He was supposed to be waiting down the hall.

Something wasn’t right. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I could feel it in my bones that something was off.

Should I stay here for now, or make a run for the door?

I thought for a moment before deciding to text Frankie: Where are you? What’s going on out there?

I hit the send button and waited.