“Syd gave me a few clues as to what Sacha might have done after you two broke apart. One idea was that she returned to school to finish that degree she used to get so excited talking about. I hacked a shit ton of colleges in the New York area, and ran her name through enrollment and financial aid but came up with nothing. Apparently, country-wide online colleges are a different animal, and when I searched those archives, I hit. Yale offers open courses, and your little princessa is taking advantage. I snagged the IP address associated with her account, traced it to her addy, and found out the computer she uses belongs to the landlord, but Sacha’s the one feeding her brain.”
Maks crossed his arms and got into his groove as Alek listened so intently he must have looked like a goddamn slow loris.
“Micha and I hung around her building and learned the hottie who pushes the big stroller and lives in unit 1A is the local ‘babysitter’; Sarah Brighton. Still don’t understand the alias yet but I will,” he said as an aside. “She doesn’t advertise as a daycare because, from what I can only assume, she’d have to jump through some hoops to get certified by the state. She’s either too smart to bother or uninformed. You can ask her about that when we head over in a few.”
He put up a hand and winked when Alek tried to jump on that.
“Saw Sheppard pull up outside her place at one point and bee-line it to her apartment. Checked him out and got the info I gave you last night—I wasn’t searching for it while you were trying not to strangle him outside of Yin’s; it was already saved in here.” He waved his phone. “When I was researching the family, I learned Sheppard has a couple of siblings; one of each. The half-brother lives in New York, and the half-sister lives abroad. Her name is Kristen. She’s a couple of years younger than Sacha and interns at a fashion house in Paris. Single, but will make someone some sweet arm-candy one day. The brother, on the other hand, is a meathead biker named Vex fucking Mason—Mason?” He wasted time sneering at the name. “What the fuck, right? No wonder he dropped it. Anyway, Vex being Sheppard’s stepbrother might account for a portion of his attitude. When I learned that, I paid Lucian a visit and begged a favor. Told him I’d owe him if he could quietly get the grease monkey to quietly steer little bro in our direction last night. Didn’t say why, but did have to promise we weren’t going to hit the attorney with a spray of bullets—main reason Vasily called us off the guy.”
Maks paused, and where, typically, after doing a play-by-play he’d have a been wearing a smug grin, currently he looked wary. As if he thought Alek might react badly to all of this. He just might.
“Syd thought it would go down a little easier for both you and your woman—your ‘cheated-on’ woman—if you ran into each other organically rather than you showing at her door demanding she come to heel. Her words, not mine. I tried to tell her you weren’t me, but she wasn’t listening. Oh, and making you take some time to get your head on straight was Vasily’s idea. I felt for you having to wonder about her all night.” He looked at Anton. “Did Vasily make you zip it?”
Anton got up and came over. “You will be reassured to know she arrived home safe, and her friend left within the hour.”
Alek finally blinked. He wasn’t sure if he should be furious at being left out of the loop or grateful that they’d all had his back. He took some cups down and poured the coffee. He was silent as he handed them off.
Okay. He couldn’t address the coddling. If he did, it would make him appear ungrateful and petty. But that didn’t mean anger wasn’t forming over it. It was. And it wasn’t a new thing.
He’d be the first to admit he was slightly spoiled. Because of how he was raised, and who’d raised him, he’d never struggled or been through the type of life-altering trials his friends had. After his mom had passed away when he was eleven, Vasily had banded with his brother. The two had taken over and continued to provide Alek with a home made up of security, love, and strong leading hands. When Alek’s dad followed his wife seven years later, twenty-eight-year-old Vasily had barely blinked at being left with another dependant—he’d already had Maksim under his wing by then. The three of them had gotten through the loss of Evgeny Tarasov together.
Strange how Alek’s family ties did the opposite of what one would think. Rather than bring him instant respect, it brought the lack of it from some. Alek had been told outright by an associate that the coddling he’d received had prevented him from gaining the skills necessary to thrive in their world. To them, Alek hadn’t earned the right to call himself a Tarasov; he’d simply been born with the name. It had taken him a long time before he was able to ignore the question he’d sometimes see in an associate’s eyes; What’s the little prince doing here?