Page 4 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

As soon as we exited the nightclub, I knew something was wrong. Brian’s face paled and he started running. Both Scarlett and I followed, then I saw it. Anastasia’s purse laid on the ground; the car keys and her phone scattered by the car.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my gut wrenching with fear.

I bent over, picking up all Anastasia’s possessions scattered across the ground. Still in a crouched position, I raised my head to see Brian dialing his phone. My eyes darted to Scarlett who suddenly didn’t look so drunk.

“How could this have happened?” she whispered.

Brian was right; we shouldn’t have let her sneak away. We should have all left at the same time.

“Brian, who are you calling?” I asked him, my voice slightly shaking. The fear for Anastasia shook me to my core; this should have never happened to her again. The last time she survived her kidnapping, she was forever changed. She never spoke of those days and I never wanted to remind her. But her nightmares were evidence enough of the terror she went through.

“Her father,” he barked out. He was furious, unlike I’ve ever seen him before. And we’ve given him plenty of hard times. He always kept his cool.

“I don’t give a shit,” he yelled into his phone. “Tell him it is about his daughter. Put him on the goddamn phone.”

I rose up and hugged Scarlett. “It’s my fault,” she mumbled. “I wanted to stay for-”

She cut herself short, tears glistening in her dark eyes.

“Don’t start the blame game,” I comforted her softly. “If we are starting that, we are all to blame.”

“Sir, Anastasia has been taken,” Brian started speaking. “I have Olivia and Scarlett here. Anja’s purse, phone, everything was left behind, right in front of the nightclub.”

I couldn’t hear the response but I knew it wasn’t good from Brian’s expression.

“We should at least notify local authorities,” he suggested. It didn’t take a mind reader to see he was shut down. I didn’t pretend to understand why. It made sense to me to notify authorities, or at least the U.S. Embassy here in Moscow and ask for help.

“Fine,” he muttered into the phone and hung up. His eyes darted between Scarlett and me, then announced, “We are going back to the hotel. Our flight to the States will be changed to tomorrow.”

My heart sank like a stone to the bottom of the ocean; and the feeling of drowning overwhelmed all my senses. I wanted to scream no. I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. My eyes shifted to Scarlett and our thoughts must have mirrored each other.

But then I immediately scolded myself. Anastasia was kidnapped and here I was being selfish. What kind of person did that make me?

We were back in the hotel within twenty minutes; not a word was spoken during the whole ride back. Brian drove way over the speed limit. Understandably he was upset; we all were. I was scared to even imagine or speculate what happened to Anastasia.

As we entered the elevator, he pushed the button for our floor. “I want you both in the lobby by six a.m. And text me when you are leaving your room.”

Scarlett and I both nodded in agreement. Dread pooled at the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t help but wonder at this very moment what was worse… being broke in Russia or Malcome Schmidt. I feared it was the latter. I wouldn’t think twice about staying in Europe if only my mother wouldn’t be the one to suffer consequences. I just couldn’t bear leaving her to suffer under my father and Malcome.

* * *

The next morning, Brian and I stood in the lobby waiting for Scarlett. I got absolutely no sleep, worrying over Anastasia and my impending marriage to Malcome Schmidt, making it impossible to close my eyes. The moment I met Brian’s eyes, I knew he didn’t get any sleep either.

Without a word, he handed me a cup of coffee. He must have been in the lobby for a while, eager to get going.

“Thank you,” I murmured. Tilting his head in response, he took another gulp of his coffee. The way he drank it made me think he wished for something stronger. “I’m sorry, Brian,” I added softly.

Those kind eyes met my gaze and he took a deep breath.

“It’s not your fault,” he replied quietly. “They were coming for her, whether we locked her up or not. And knowing Anastasia, she wouldn’t have agreed to being locked up in the house twenty-four seven.”

I wondered who he meant when he saidtheybut decided against asking. There were certain things that shouldn’t be discussed out in the open. He glanced at his watch.

“Did you grab all Anastasia’s stuff?” I asked him. He confirmed, then glanced at his watch again.

“Where is Scarlett?” he muttered annoyed. “It is five minutes after six a.m.”

“I’ll go get her,” I offered.

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