Page 2 of Wayward

“I can barely hear you over the—Nara, where the hell are you?” I barked, annoyed that she hadn’t been considerate enough to go someplace quiet to call me.

“I’m in a condo downtown close to the Four Seasons,” she practically yelled into the phone, the techno beat of the music behind her still nearly drowning her out. “Vanya’s here because he forgot Pasha’s party was tonight.”

Or more likely, her brother was, as usual, too fucked up to remember. Once Ivan Krupin, Vanya to his friends and family, had discovered alcohol, and then drugs five years ago, finally settling on heroin being his favorite of all, nothing was ever as important again. “And so? Are you still coming? Do you need me to send a car for you or—”

“When I got here, he was trashed already,” she rushed out, her voice catching on a sob, “and when I tried to get him to leave with me, some guys pulled him away and dragged him into a bedroom.”

Fuck.

“I tried to get in there, but they locked the door. What am I supposed to do? I don’t know what to do!” she said, her voice shrill and rising.

“Where the hell is Alexei? You have a bodyguard for a reason, and he—”

“I don’t know where he is. He’s the one who knew where Vanya was, and he drove me over here, but he made me wait in the car while he went up.”

That should have been fine. Dinara Krupin—Nara—wasn’t a high-profile fashionista influencer like my stepsister. She didn’t need two bodyguards. It had never been necessary before. Just the one should’ve been enough to keep her out of harm’s way.

“I don’t know what happened, but he never came back, so I finally parked the car and went in to look for him.”

“And someone directed you to the party once you were in the hotel.”

“Yeah. There were a couple of guys in the lobby.”

“Did they go up with you?”

“They did. They said they didn’t want me to get lost. Everyone’s been so helpful.”

Of course they were.

This was just getting worse and worse. Whoever was holding Vanya had lain in wait for the man’s little sister. The situation was becoming more sinister and premeditated by the second.

“Have you tried calling Alexei?”

“Yeah, but his phone keeps going to voice mail, and I’ve looked all over and asked everyone if they’ve seen him, but nobody has, and I can’t find him anywhere.”

Jesus.

Her breath hitched. “You don’t think that—”

“No, I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, trying to sound hopeful, soothing her, keeping my voice calm, level, even as I put her on speaker so I could text Nikolai—Niko—Ochagavya, one of the men who worked for me, to go get the Mercedes-Benz GLS-Class parked a street over and bring it around front. “But I have to ask, did you tell whoever grabbed Vanya who you are?”

“Yeah, I did, but they laughed at me.”

I felt her words in the pit of my stomach like ice. If the name of the Krupin family, which everyone knew was directly related to the Lenkovs, didn’t scare you at all, then you were either from out of town or looking for a fight.

“Do you think Alexei got hurt?” she asked again.

He was either dead or had led Nara like a lamb to the slaughter. “Absolutely not,” I lied, because either way, Alexei’s life was over.

“There are men by the doors, Maks, and they won’t help me find Vanya. I know they locked the doors behind me when I came in, and I’m getting a little freaked out.”

“I’m sure they have general orders not to move,” I assured her, wanting her to remain composed while I thought fast, needing a lifeline for my cousin. “So is there anyone you know at the party? Who invited you?” I asked, taking her off speaker and heading toward the door of the office.

She was silent a moment, and all I heard was the driving beat of the music.

“Dinara,” I almost yelled, using her full name to get her attention. “Who the hell’s party is it?”

“It’s Burian Petrov’s,” she confessed in a rush, her breath catching.