Page 8 of Twisted Prince

I shake my head, my gut clenching as I struggle to keep my usually steady tone even. “He found the girls’ house—Mel and the girls who stayed with you for a while after we took them off Mikhail’s hands.”

The blood drains from Pyotr’s face. “And?”

“He took them. Killed their guards. The girls are gone. There’s no sign of them.”

Silence falls heavily on the room as it seems everyone has found my level. After what happened to the strippers Mikhail kidnapped from our last club, I’m terrified the girls will meet a similar, horrible fate. If not worse.

My mind can’t seem to stop going to the darkest places. That truck my men and I raided—the one Mel I found on—had originally been intended to provide Mikhail with high-priced auction pieces. Which means, now that they’re back in Mikhail’s hands, Mel, Tiffany, Annie, Tori, and Leah could all end up being sold off as sex slaves to some of the sick bastard’s wealthiest and most depraved clients.

They could be terrorized, beaten, raped, imprisoned for god only knows how long.

Pyotr’s jaw works furiously, his rage mirroring my own. We can’t keep standing by and letting Mikhail walk all over us. He’s not going to stop.

“Get them back,” Pyotr commands, his eyes molten. “Whatever it takes.”

Determination floods me. I won’t let those girls suffer or die in the hands of that sadistic monster, not for a moment longer than they have to. With a head jerk of acknowledgment, I stalk toward the door, jumping into immediate action.

“Gleb,” Pyotr says, bringing me up short before I exit the room.

I turn to meet his eyes as I pray I’m not already too late.

“You can’t fail this time,” he says flatly.

“Yes, pakhan,” I rasp, my voice ragged at the thought.

Lev and Denka are already waiting for me by the time I arrive at the girls’ Harlem address. Lev watches me with his signature curious blue eyes. Denka eyes the open front door, his auburn hair leaning closer to brown in the light of dusk. I called them as soon as I left Pyotr and told them to meet me here. Lev was still busy getting things cleaned up at the club, but he knew better than to ask questions.

“The girls were taken. And we’ve been tasked with finding them,” I say curtly, leading the way back into the house.

Though not as skilled at tracking as I am, both Lev and Denka are my best assets, and the faster we pick up a trail, the more likely we are to find the girls alive. Flashes of the beaten and beheaded strippers that Mikhail left as a message last time we pissed him off keep flickering through my mind.

The vivid feel of Mel’s lips pressed against mine swiftly follows, intensifying my inner turmoil.

I haven’t even had time to wrap my mind around the emotional number that one did on me. Mel brings out far more emotion in me than I’m used to. At times, I find it challenging to keep up.

And now she’s gone.

I’ve never wanted to break something so desperately in my life.

But I don’t have time for a temper tantrum. Every minute I waste brings Mel closer to a terrible fate I’m trying desperately not to think of.

Entering the dated kitchen once again, I scan the room to see if I might find a clue there. Mel’s photos lie scattered across the floor, boot prints sullying her perfect face after someone haphazardly trampled over them. My chest tightens at the sight of Mel dressed in various seasonal outfits, with a few headshots mixed in, all taken with masterful precision and clarity.

Mel’s command of the camera captures my attention, even now. Her eyes, that deep, reflective shade of silver-black, look out from the images as if peering directly into my soul. And each emotion she evokes transfers effortlessly off the page, pulling me into her world.

I grind my teeth, furious that someone could take her. That anyone would be willing to subject her to pain or suffering. From what little I know about her background, few people in Mel’s life looked after her or cared to understand her well enough to want to keep her safe.

When I found her, bruised and battered but full of piss and vinegar, I accepted that role. I told her I would protect her.

I’ve failed her completely.

Staving off the wave of guilt that threatens to consume me, I follow the faint bootprints with my eyes. They make it to the back door, which still looks intact. I tread carefully, avoiding the footprints as I approach, then I turn the handle and find it unlocked.

It doesn’t take me long to come to several clear conclusions: Whoever used this door was let into the house. That could have been by the intruder who forced his way in the front, or not. It was a man—a large one by the looks of it. And he left the house through the same door he entered.

I suspect they all left through the back. The alleyway, which leads out onto the main road, is less inhabited, so no one would see them. And it would make for a quick getaway. I step outside into the back alley and immediately spot several signs of a struggle. Along with black tire marks not ten feet from the door. From the looks of it, the girls were forced into a good-sized car—likely a van—and the driver took off quickly.

Whistling, I call Lev and Denka outside to me, and they assess the tire marks.

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