by Jo Raven
“We are,” West says. “We’re looking for him.”
“In case he said anything to you,” Nate adds. “About going away.”
“We’d appreciate your help,” I finish.
He’s a short, balding guy with a beer belly and long seventies whiskers. In a light blue shirt and dark pants, his flushed face sweaty, he was talking to the cooks and waiters when we arrived. Apparently there’s going to be a party here later on. All the tables are set up in long rows with crisp white tablecloths and bunches of flowers.
“Let me get this straight,” he says, waving away a waiter who looked about to ask him a question. “Kash just… what, up and left town?” He rubs at the dark shade of beard on his chin. “I thought he found a better job and left without telling me, the little shit.” He glances from West’s troubled face to Nate’s, and then to me. “Holy mother of God. He really left? And you guys are looking for him?”
“That’s right, sir,” West says.
Nate folds his arms across his chest. “Anything you could tell us…”
“Like what? He didn’t say, oh Mr. Papadakis, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything and take care. Did he?”
Obviously not. I wait to see if he’ll tell us anything useful.
“A good boy, Kash is.” Now he seems to be talking to himself. “Hard working, reliable. That’s why I was so shocked he stopped showing up, stopped answering his phone. I thought to myself, George, this isn’t like Kash, not at all. Boy like him, he’d have said something first.”
After a moment with nothing more forthcoming, West says, “That’s true. But all the same, if you know anything about him—about any place where he might go, any other person he used to hang out with, anything he told you about himself…”
“Any information he might have filled in for the position?” I try to imagine Kash working here, and sadness swamps me for all the things I didn’t have the time to do before he left. “Any address, any other phone number, any other name?”
“Let me take a look. Come.” He gestures at us to follow him and we troop into a tiny office. To my surprise, he doesn’t wake the ancient computer sitting on his desk but rifles around in a drawer, pulling out papers and shoving them back inside. “He must have filled out a form…”
West and I exchange a look. “All paper, huh?” he asks.
“Me and tech, we don’t get along well.” George waves a pudgy hand at us. “Intangible things… they’re not for me. Give me paper that I can hold in my hand, and… ah here we are.”
He pulls out a transparent envelope, opens it and slams a stack of papers on the desk triumphantly.
Nate approaches first, watching as George lifts the paper at the top of the stack. “So this is Kash’s application form?”
“Nah. Just general info I ask people to fill out just in case. You know.” He squints at it. “Damn, this boy’s writing is like a spider crawling. Can’t make out a word.”
“Give it to me,” I say, and snatch it out of his hand before he has a chance to say no. “I can read it.” Nate arches a brow at me and heat seeps into my face. “I’ve deciphered it. What?”
“So you’re reading the journal?”
“Yeah. Though it’s slow going. His writing really is like spiderwebs.” I lift the paper and study it. It’s the usual information sheet, and Kash had scrawled in our address, his cell phone number, his name and surname, his ID number. Well, his fake ID number, I guess. “I don’t see anything interesting.”
“Damn,” West whispers, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was a long shot.”
“You sure he hasn’t told you anything else?” Nate asks, taking the paper from me to have a look. “About where he’s from, what he planned to do later, anyone else he knew?”
“Trying to remember.” George scratches at his forehead. He’s sweating profusely, his shirt sticking to him. The little office is stuffy and too warm. “He mentioned a Sydney once?”
“That’s me,” I say, bittersweet joy spilling inside me.
“Oh okay. That’s the only name I remember. What else… He said his parents were dead.”
Nate looks up sharply. “He said that?”
“Yeah, he did. And a sister, I think? Can’t remember what we’d been talking about. My folks are dead, he’s said. And my sis, too. So life sucks, you know? That’s what he said.”
“Okay.” West glances at the door. He’s probably thinking it’s time to go.
It’s almost time to head to work, and we haven’t accomplished anything here.
“Said his dad was Russian,” George says, stopping that thought in its tracks. “His mom had been born here, but his dad came straight from St. Petersburg or something. Ah now I remember. We were talking about immigration. Told him how my mama came over from Greece, and he told me about his dad. Sad story.”
“How did his family die? Did he say?”
“No.” George sinks heavily in the dusty chair behind the desk. “Nothing more.”
West’s hands twitch. I think if we stay a minute longer he’ll start cleaning and tidying up this mess of a place.
“Great. Well, thank you.” I hand the paper back to him. “We’ll be on our way then.”
“Wait, wait… If he left, why are you looking for him? If he wanted you to know where he went, wouldn’t he have told you?”
“We’re not sure he left willingly,” I say.
George sighs. I don’t know if he agrees with me. “I hope you find him, and if you do, tell him to come see me. I miss talking to him.”
Tears prickle my eyes. Not as much as I have missed him. I turn away not to let him see.
Real life is the fact that Kash is gone, and I never got to tell him I love him. That we’re incomplete without him. That he’s our bright light, despite whatever darkness lurks in his past.
We want him back, but how?
The days and nights and weeks pass with no news.
Nate says he found a Zane Madden, but the number seems to be disconnected. He tried a couple more, but they don’t live in Wisconsin. Still, he tried, and he’s still trying.
West has been looking for articles online about a Russian family in Wisconsin who died tragically—although we don’t know whether the death of Kash’s family was tragic to anyone but him.
Time is passing. The weeks are turning into months. If Kash was kidnapped, that is a very bad thing. I know it because I watch Homeland and NCIS. God, I hope they’re wrong. I hope he’s okay.
If he walked away and wasn’t kidnapped, I’m going to throat-punch him. Once I find him, that is. I only want to hear his voice, ask if he’s okay. If he ran away or if he’s in trouble. Is that too much to ask?
If anything has happened to him… God, I can’t bear to think about it. And meanwhile, something the policeman said when we reported Kash as missing has been on my mind.
Drugs. Kash bought the weed he smoked somewhere. In parties, like the one he took me to a million years ago when he was trying to get Nate and West to make up. On the street, for sure. In shady bars, like the one where Nate used to work. Maybe near the Greek restaurant, too, or around the ice cream parlor when he came to pick me up.
If the policeman was right and Kash’s disappearance has to do with drugs… then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll ask the pushers. The candy men. See if he owed them money, if he was caught in any shady deals, if there’s anything at all they can tell me.
So I start with the dealers around the shop, and work my way to the restaurant. A couple recognize his name but shake their heads when I ask if they know where he’s gone. No, he didn’t owe money. No, he wasn’t caught up in anything shady. Boy always walked on the straight and narrow—well, apart from buying weed off the street, but whatever.
Nothing there, then.
I keep walking and I keep asking until I have to go to work, and then I walk and ask some more. It gives me the illusion of doing something proactive to find Kash instead of sitting at home crying and trying to read his journa
l.
His writing got worse with the years, let me tell you. And what he is writing breaks my heart. No way would he have left it behind.
I’m sure… almost sure.
Finally, I come across a pusher not far from where we used to live who says that Kash had looked jumpy the last times he saw him and kept looking over his shoulder. He asked Kash if someone was after him, and Kash said no, but…
But Kash talked about a stalker.
Unsettled, I tell the guy that Kash has gone missing, not expecting it to lead anywhere, but the guy says another pusher told him he saw something strange one night.
Involving Kash.
And this pusher now only sells in certain bars and clubs and rave parties and that’s where I can find and ask him.
It’s the first clue I got. If it is a clue. Something strange—that can mean any sort of thing, from Kash singing opera as he pissed in a trash can to Kash getting kidnapped. But most probably the former.
In any case, I need to find this guy and ask him what it was he saw. And I’m not telling the boys.
I mean, this isn’t the best plan. Or even a good plan. What are the chances that I’ll discover something? I’ll only make them worried, and they’re both still recovering from some pretty heavy stuff.
Besides, I can do this. It’s just some nights out, and I’ll ask the guy a few questions. No big deal.
I won’t be alone, either. I have a wingman: my bestie, Gigi. She doesn’t know it yet, but that doesn’t matter. Me and her, we’re gonna smash it.
Chapter Forty-Two
Nate
Sydney is acting weird.
Funny how in the middle of the mess of West’s life falling apart and Kash disappearing I notice this. How it’s impossible for me to miss any little thing she says or does.
Like tonight. She’s getting ready to go meet her bestie, Gigi. I don’t think I’ve ever met the girl, though Syd says she was at our school, so I may have seen her on the days I go pick her up.
Syd says she’s going out with her for some drinks. Girls night out. Which is a new thing. But whatever. Just because we’ve been spending every night together like an old couple—well, old trio, or whatever—doesn’t mean that our girl can’t go out without us and have some fun.
But it’s weird because Syd has been hit so hard by Kash going, she wakes up crying almost every night. Going out never seemed like something she’d go for, not right now. Then again, maybe she needs the change, and the distraction.
And she’s dressed in heels and a black mini dress that has my dick excited and raring to go. All I want is to push her on the sofa and fuck her until she screams my name, but that’s not how she’s planned her night.
Dammit.
She leans over me and kisses me where I’m sprawled on the sofa, pretending to be watching a sports program while I’m watching her. “Be good while I’m away.”
“Nah,” I mutter. “Sorry. You can’t leave me high and dry like that. Maybe I’ll make out with West.”
Her eyes darken. “If you’re going to do that, I want to be there.”
“Do what?” West wanders in, a mug of coffee in one hand, dressed in low-slung sweats. “And with who?”
“With Nate,” Syd says, and West swallows hard, her gaze darting to me. “Do naughty things.”
“Uh…” It’s fucking cute how he glances down at my crotch and away, a dark flush staining his cheeks. “Are you guys serious?”
Sydney goes around the sofa to kiss him, too, and I think about it. Are we serious? I kissed the guy, and it felt good. He tasted good, and his hard body against mine was great. But do I want to take the next step?
Me, who can’t even fuck Sydney because I get a panic attack when she gets too close.
Yeah, right.
“Take care, Shortcake,” I tell her, giving her one last appreciative once-over. “Call us if you need anything.”
It’s okay if my girl goes out with her bestie, right? Even though it’s becoming a weekly thing, and I wonder what’s up with that. Even though I’d rather go full caveman on her, throw her over my shoulder, carry her to the bedroom and make her come again and again.
“You sure that you don’t need a pair of bodyguards?” West says it lightly, breaking through the direction my thoughts are going—the gutter.
His gaze is serious and intent. He’s overprotective of Syd. Hell, we both are. And overly cautious ever since Kash vanished—because didn’t he say something about danger?
We haven’t talked about it openly, but I know West is thinking of that as he props his hip against the back of the sofa and waits for Syd’s reply.
She sways from high heel to high heel, twists a lock of copper hair around her forefinger. She’s a shorty, but in this dress her legs look endless, and her curves are mouthwatering.
She’s always mouthwatering.
Damn, I have to shift on the cushions to ease my hard-on in my sweats, and both of them glance at me. I fight the urge to wave and grin. My hard-on is saluting them anyway, aching and straining.
West shakes his head with a huff. Like he can talk. His dick is diamond-hard. There’s not much those thin sweats can hide.
“I’m gonna go. The Uber must be downstairs and Gigi’s waiting for me.” She gives me and West a lingering look as if she’s regretting leaving.
I sure hope so. If that makes me petty and selfish, I don’t give a fuck. She’s my girl, and I want her with me. I’m selfish when it comes to her.
The door closes behind her and I slump back on the sofa with a sigh.
You can’t miss her already, Nate. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t be that lovestruck idiot you always laughed about in the past.
Another impossible task.
I snag my laptop from the coffee table, determined to think about other things than kissing my way down Sydney’s body, spreading her legs and eating her up.
Fuck.
Besides, it’s been a long couple of weeks, and I need to talk to West. I’ve just been putting it off.
“Beer?” He sinks down beside me and slams the beer bottles on the table without waiting for an answer, barely missing the laptop.
“Yeah.”
“You wanted to compare notes?” He grabs the remote and changes channels, flipping through them as I open a website. He settles on a cooking show. “You said you had a phone number to call.”
“It’s a tattoo shop,” I say, turning the laptop toward him. “Here.”
He squints at it and takes a swig of his beer. “Damage Control?”
“I know, right? We’d fit right in.”
He chuckles. “So that’s where Kash got his tats? In Madison?”
“Looks like it. If he comes from Chicago, that’s not a stretch.”
“He was young when he got them.”
I shrug. As long as we know close to nothing about Kash’s family, there isn’t much to say. “Maybe his folks were dead by then? Maybe his guardian didn’t give a fuck.”
“Hm.” West scrawls through the images of tats and people posing by the entrance of the shop. “Could be.”
“I’m gonna call tonight. What about you? Did you have any luck with your searches?”
“Well, yes and no.”
I scowl at him. “None of that cryptic shit, Weston. Yes or no?”
“Gimme.” He yanks the laptop out of my hands and types something in the search engine. “I tried to cobble together what we know. It’s not much to go on. Russian background, fighting, Wisconsin, family dead. His age, if he told the truth this time around. I keep hoping Syd will find something we can use in that damn journal. Anyway… I found this. Take a look.”
I haul the laptop back to my lap and scan the article. “Chicago mafia underground fighting…” I glance up at him. “What’s this to do with Kash?”
“Read on, dickhead.”
“Russian mafia controls the underground fighting ring. Blah blah. What’s this, West?”
“Jesus, you have no fucking pati
ence.”
I shrug. “Not one of my strong suits.” I read on, West looking over my shoulder. He throws an arm around me, and his hand taps a rhythm on my biceps.
It’s damn distracting.
“After the death of the Hammer,” I read out loud. “Hammer? What the hell? After the death of the Hammer and a slew of other ex-fighters, the underground ring went through a time of chaos before Andrei Vasiliev stepped in.”
“See? Russians, fighters, killed.” West huffs out a breath. “See the connection?”
“Maybe.” I stare at the screen, not seeing it. “Vasiliev.”
It rings a bell deep inside me. What was it about that name?
“Know what? You’re right. Maybe it has nothing to do with Kash.”
“It’s quite a leap,” I mutter. “But something tells me it’s worth looking into.”
“You think so?”
I rub at my temple where a steady throb has started. Fuck, no migraine tonight, please, God. “Yeah. Is it too late to call the tattoo shop?”
“Doesn’t hurt to try.”
I click back to the website of Damage Control and punch the number into my cell phone. I put it on speaker for West’s benefit.
He still has his arm around me, his hand tapping along my biceps.
Now his touch feels comforting.
The number rings and rings and when I think nobody will pick up, a male voice growls “Damage Control. How may I help you?”
“Uh.” For some reason, I honestly hadn’t thought anyone would pick up.
“Can we talk to Zane Madden?” West says, saving my ass. “It’s important.”
“Is this a prank?” the man growls again. What’s up with that, huh? “Who are you?”
“I’m Weston Black.” He takes the phone from my hand. “Calling from St. Louis. Our friend, Kash Graham, has gone missing, and he mentioned Zane Madden’s name. We thought he—”
The line goes flat.
West shakes the phone. “Motherfucker.”
I take the phone from him before he breaks it. “Probably a dud. Guy did his tats. Doesn’t mean they were close.”