Page 14 of The Bratva Stalker's Ruthless Claim
Then—BOOM.
The airbag detonates.
White fabric bursts into my face like a punch from a ghost.
My head snaps back against the seat.
For a moment, everything goes silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
My ears ring with a high, sharp whine.
The world tilts strangely around me.
I’m conscious.
Disoriented—but conscious.
My hands tremble on the steering wheel as I try to understand what just happened.
The car sits crooked across the road.
The engine sputters.
And the hazard lights begin blinking. Slow. Rhythmic. Orange flashes cutting through the dark.
Then, movement appears outside the window.
My stomach drops.
The sedan’s doors open.
Two men step out.
They move fast. Too fast.
Not confused drivers checking damage.
Not people panicking after an accident.
They move with clean, practiced efficiency.
Like they’ve done this before.
Like they expected this.
A cold realization crawls up my spine.
No.
No, no—
One of them reaches my door and yanks it open.
The interior light floods the car.
