Page 101 of The Wrong Brother

No.

No, no, no.

I roll onto my back and stare harder at absolutely nothing. When was my last period? The question appears so suddenly that it almost startles me. I try to count backward.

The flight to Colorado.

The shopping trip.

California.

The contract.

Meeting Rus.

The timeline blurs together frustratingly. A knot forms low in my stomach.

Wait.

When was?—

I count again, more carefully this time. It’s been weeks. Several weeks. And I’malwayson time, so if my calculations are right, I’m six days late.

The blood drains from my face, a tingling sensation running down my shoulders and arms. Outside the bedroom, I hear Rus humming under his breath while moving around the kitchen. Completely oblivious.

My heart hammers as nausea takes over; it’s so perfectly timed that it feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke.Anxiety, or?

No, no, no. It’s impossible.

Right?

Chapter 27

Ruslan

I knowsomething is wrong before I admit it. The morning started well enough. Better than well, actually. For the first time since arriving in Colorado, I woke without immediately thinking about Andrei. I made coffee. Burned one piece of toast. Made another. Considered waking Emma with breakfast in bed before deciding she would mock me mercilessly for the gesture.

Then I walked into the bedroom and found it empty.

The bathroom was empty too, but that didn’t mean much. The hotel had a café downstairs. After weeks of chaos, perhaps Emma simply wanted a few moments to herself. And there was last night. It was more than I’d expected it to be. Emotional, rapturous, finally giving meaning to the wordintimacy.I wouldn’t be surprised if she needed a minute to absorb what happened between us.

That was two hours ago.

Now I’m standing on a Denver sidewalk with cold air creeping beneath my jacket, scanning crowds while every instinct I possess screams that something is wrong. I’ve already textedFrank, who got back to me immediately that he hadn’t seen Emma at all this morning or heard from her.

People hurry past holding coffee cups and shopping bags, wrapped in warmer layers they didn’t need a week ago. I barely notice any of them.

I keep searching faces, intersections. Every passing vehicle.

The rational part of my brain reminds me that Emma is an adult capable of walking down a street without supervision. The rest of me doesn’t care.

I pull out my phone again. No messages or calls. I made her promise after that day Andrei grabbed her that she’d let me know if she was leaving the Four Seasons without any of my men to keep an eye on her.

The irritation that has been simmering for the last hour begins hardening into something darker.

Stepan answers on the second ring, despite the fact that it’s barely 8 a.m. there.

“Boss.”