Page 49 of Sexting the Bratva Beast

Third time’s lucky. I get the tinny recording:The number you are calling is unavailable. Please try again later.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins.

There’s probably a plausible explanation for her not answering my call. Another resident arrived at the shelter. An emergency. It isn’t a nine-to-five job where she can switch off her laptop at the end of the day and walk away without a second thought.

But my instincts are telling me that it’s something else, and me and my instincts have a great working relationship. We keep each other safe. We keep each other alive.

I dress quickly, fasten a holster around my waist, and slide a knife inside each of my socks. I covered my tracks today. This has nothing to do with Michael fucking Swinney, which means that it has everything to do with me. My gut calling it like it is again.

The car is waiting for me in the private parking lot.

Richard, my driver, tells me that Cartier was preoccupied when he dropped her off at the shelter this morning. No doubt this was down to Ivana’s surprise visit. Another thing that I need to address once I’ve spoken to Cartier.

En route, I check in with Victoria. She has nothing to report.

My finger hovers over Leonid’s number, but I give it a wide pass. He has enough on his plate with his new family, and whatever is going on today would typically fall under my remit anyway. It’s underboss business. Not Pakhan business.

When we reach the shelter, I’m out of the car while it’s still moving.

Anyone who believes that buildings don’t talk is an idiot. The door is shut. The windows reflect the glow of the streetlamps. There are lights behind the curtains creating golden halos between the windowpanes and the frames.

But everything inside is a million miles from fucking perfect.

Because even before Mika opens the door, I already know that Cartier isn’t there.

“Where is she?” I growl, sidestepping around her like we’re dance partners, and this is the Viennese fucking waltz.

“Cartier?” She gives me a look that saysI didn’t invite you inbut quickly drops it when she realizes that I’m not here to play games. “I thought she was with you.”

There’s a hot pink flash on her cheeks that she didn’t get while watching her favorite scene fromDirty Dancing. Her hair isworking loose from its ponytail. She has a dish towel slung over one shoulder, and her sleeves are rolled up.

“When did she leave?”

“After lunch.” Her gaze rakes my face for a sign that I have this under control. “She was supposed to cover the evening meal and take the night shift. She owed me after ditching me for your company the last couple of nights.”

That was hours ago. The sun started trading places with the moon before I made it back to my apartment, and no one thought to fucking tell me that she wasn’t here.

“Where did she go?”

“Your Place. You know, the café on the next block. I assumed that you replied to her messages and whisked her away to show her yet another good time.”

I ignore the comment. “What did she go to the café for?”

“To meet her uncle.” She narrows her eyes. “Haven’t you spoken to her?”

“No. Uncle? Who is he?” I have a million fucking other questions, but this one will do for starters.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask his name.”

“Did you see him? Would you recognize him again?”

The adrenaline is pumping its own rhythm through my veins now. This is a tune that I’m familiar with. It’s like a battle cry, calling me to arms.

“No.” She shakes her head. “He came to the shelter to find her, but she didn’t let him come inside.”

That’s my good girl. Protecting the women, making sure that they feel safe at all costs.

“What’s going on, Andrej? You’re scaring me now.”