Page 50 of Bratva Bastard

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “Ana, darling, I told you that it’s rude to use your phone when we have guests.” He gestured around the table to me, Misha, and Dimitry.

“But it’s too gorgeous to ignore. Look. Show Maxim.”

Ana was relentless, so Sorokin grabbed the phone, looking at the screen and passing it over, mumbling that it was nice. I wanted to hand the phone back to her, but I could see him watching me from my peripheral, so I pretended to be interested, passing the phone to Misha. I even added, “Isn’t that nice, Misha?” for good measure.

I could see the pity in his eyes as he took the phone, feigning interest. Dimitry couldn’t give a fuck less, and told Ana as much with a shrug as he passed the phone to her.

She snatched it back with a “Hmph!” and I couldn’t help the smirk on my face.

Needing a reprieve from our make-believe relationship, I excused myself and headed to my sanctuary—the bathroom, pulling out my phone before I even made it through the door.

I’d made a habit of stalking Crissy through social media to make sure she was doing okay. Sometimes, I would even type a message to her—a long message telling her how sorry I was for not returning sooner, and that I would call her soon—but I could never bring myself to press send.

But looking at her accounts tonight, I noticed she hadn’t been online in days.

Huh, that’s strange.

I swiped in and out of every app I knew she used, seeing the same thing on every app—nothing. She hadn’t been active or posted in days on any app. Swiping back to my main screen, I noticed I had a missed call. Scratch that—several missed calls. All from Zoran. He must’ve called over a dozen times. That wasn’t like him.

My concern for my friend outweighed any desire to go back to that table, so I slipped outside unnoticed, and called him back.

“Maxim, thank god you called me!” An urgency in his voice made my stomach sink. “Gabby is worried sick about Crissy.”

My heart stopped, and I nearly dropped my phone. “Crissy? Why? What happened?” I blurted out so fast that it was barely comprehensible.

I could hear Gabby in the background asking, “Is that him? Did you tell him? Ugh! Give me that phone!” Followed by shuffling, Gabby answered the phone. “Maxim? You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. What’s going on? Where’s Crissy?”

“Well, that’s just it. No one knows. I haven’t heard from her in over a week, and a few days ago, Sandra—her mother—called me saying that Crissy never came home that night, and that she hadn’t heard anything from her. She’s tried calling Crissy, we all have, but it goes straight to voicemail every time.”

“When’s the last time her mother saw her?” I asked, filled with panic. What if my bullshit going on here had affected Crissy somehow?

“Two or three days ago. Crissy came home after yoga and then she left for her shift at the bar. No one from the bar has seen her since that night, and no one has heard from her since then. God, Maxim, I’m so fucking scared. What if something happened to her?”

Gabby broke down over the phone, sobbing into the receiver. Chills ran down my spine as goosebumps riddled my arms. “It doesn’t make sense,” she said, sniffling. I could hear her blow her nose. “She would never in a million years just up and leave like that. Not without her mother.”

“I know.”

It had been the very reason she didn’t want to come with me to Moscow. She couldn’t leave her mother. It wasn’t the fear of flying, or the insistence she would be a burden—it was her concern for her mother.

“Especially in Crissy’s condition,” Gabby said, letting out a small gasp right after.

“What condition?”

Gabby blew into the receiver. “Crissy’s pregnant.”

My mouth dropped open, and I stood there like a moron, not saying a word. “Is it… mine?”

Of course it’s yours, you fucking idiot!

Mimicking my exact thoughts, Gabby snapped, “Of course it is, you fucking prick.”

Sighing, I said, “I know. I just…didn’t know what else to say.”

Honestly, what the fuck could I say? Crissy was pregnant and missing, Ana was expecting a wedding, and here I was standing outside a mansion, hating every minute of being here, unable to even consider how I could be a father.

Too. Much. Shit.

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