VAL-(A Valerina Barkov Thriller)

Prologue

PROLOGUE:

The door creaked open and a light bump followed. The click sound signaled that someone had gotten in; it made my heart miss a beat as I jerked on the bed, my eyes full of fear and his, dread. He hurriedly pulled on his pants and made for the living room when we heard the noise of things shattering and I followed behind.

"Who are you guys?" He asked as he tried to stop one of them from destroying the picture frame. I watched with fear, maddening fear as three armed masked men tore up our little paradise. The guy with the picture frame smashed it into Morgan's head, sending splinters of glass into the air while some scarred his head. Blood flowed profusely from the several cuts he obtained; he was flung to the center of the room, shattering the fine glass center table. I felt limp all the while, my heart thumped with panic and it seemed I was invisible until one of the men made an eye contact with me. He charged in my direction with a terrifying gaze fixed on me.

"P-please don't hurt me," I whimpered running into the bedroom for refuge. The loud thumps of his boots followed behind me as I shut the door and stood behind it hoping that would keep him out but no, the door broke free as he forced it open. He picked me up from the floor with ease and made for the bathroom, my legs fluttering and my hands jabbing at his back but still, all proved abortive.

"Now this should be quite easy Chica," the huge guy said to me showing off his brown set of teeth in a smile, his Mexican accent was most in evidence. "You just stay in here and you don't get hurt. Consiguelo? [Spanish: Get it?]"

"Leave us alone, I'll kill you," I screamed as I charged towards him. He pushed me back but I went at him again, that was when I felt the hardness of his backhand as he lashed my face with so much force that made me shatter the hand wash with my jaw. There was a moment of dizziness as I lay in my own pool of blood. I was blacking out but the yelling from the living room still happened to appeal to my consciousness. I managed to pick myself off the ground, dragging my body towards the living room with blood dripping down my torso, my hands making a painting of crimson along the wall which served as support to my frail body, and my foot leaving a bloody patch.

"Where is it? ... Money... delivery... Company..." I couldn't make out any meaning from their conversation. I watched with blurred vision as Morgan said something in a language I couldn't understand.

"Vivir a lo grande en el inferno, [Spanish: Live large in Hell]" The skinny guy with a sportsman build said, pointing the barrel of his gun at Morgan.

"No, no," I muttered, leaning on a drawer for support. The gun made an almost silent sound and Morgan's body dropped to the floor. "No!!" I cried feebly, my feeble body falling to the floor.

###

"I didn't do it," My reply was almost inaudible.

"Then how would you explain your finger prints on the weapon and you being at the site of the murder?"

"I DON'T KNOW," I replied with so much effort that I felt my jaw throbbing under the large bandage that was wrapped over my head. There was a moment of silence as my interrogator gave me a long questioning look, like he was trying to get into my head or something.

"I believe you," he said with a hint of sincerity in the way he sounded, "but that's not enough to get you out of this mess."

There was a knock on the glass window that separated the interrogation room from the main office. The gentleman walked out of the room to meet with a lady in a suit, most likely the lawyer I'd been provided since I couldn't afford one.

"Valerie Birkoff?" She said with a smile as she dropped her briefcase on the table.

"It's Valerina Barkov," I replied abruptly as I watched her open her briefcase; she paused for a moment and cocked an eyebrow at me before pulling out some files.

"Did you do it?" She asked calmly, that was the umpteenth time I was being asked that question in the past two days. I fixed my gaze on her, not uttering a word. "Well, you're being charged for murder and there's a logical proof to that. Your finger prints on the weapon used and-" she paused, "you have a record of drugs."

There was still no reply from me as a billion thoughts ran through my mind. One minute I'm with Morgan, the next he's dead and I'm here having to deal with this annoying lady that's supposed to be my lawyer. It couldn't get probably get worse.

"Maybe it hasn't dawned on you yet, here's how these guys see it," She continued after she had taken a hint that I wasn't talking. "A quarrel started in the living room, which explains why all the furniture were scattered" she shoved a picture of the ravaged living room.

"Along the line, you smash the picture frame on his head and run to the bedroom for refuge" she fixed her gaze on me for a moment, perhaps expecting me to protest.

"But he follows you, forcing the door open," there was another picture of the unhinged door. "You run to the bathroom where he assaults you." She placed another picture of the broken blood stained hand wash, "and then leaves to the living room where you approach the drawer, shoot him at the spot and he falls into the glass table before you pass out."

She shoved a file with the images of a dead Morgan to me. "That's most likely a second degree murder. We're talking at least 10 years here."

I stared at the lady in front of me, words felt too heavy to be spoken; my heart sank within me, gripped with fear and unbelief. Was it all a dream? Someone playing a silly joke on me? I knew from that moment that my life was about to take one very weird turn and there was only one thing I could possibly do now. Brace myself.

~•~•~•~•~
Thank you for reading this part. If you liked it, please remember to vote ⭐ and comment your feedback.

P.S- This book is also being featured on The Wattpad Block Party hosted by @/KellyAnneBlount, USA Today Bestselling Author.
🌌🎪🎊🎋🎉