Page 101 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

I arrive home just before dawn, exhausted from coordinating searches across the city all night. My penthouse is dark except for the kitchen light bleeding into the hallway. I'm not expecting anyone to be here, especially not at this hour.

Mark is sitting at my kitchen table, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My younger brother looks like hell. His dark hair is disheveled, his green eyes red-rimmed and anxious. There's a white envelope sitting on the table in front of him, and his hands are shaking slightly.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.

He looks up at me, and I see genuine fear in his expression. Mark doesn't scare easily. He grew up in the same world I did, saw the same violence, and learned the same lessons about survival. Which is why he wanted nothing to do with the family business. Seeing him rattled immediately puts me on edge.

"Someone gave this to me," he says, pushing the envelope across the table toward me. "Outside my apartment building. They just walked up, handed it to me, and left."

I pick up the envelope. It's plain white, no markings or writing on the outside. I tear it open and pull out a single piece of paper with an address written in neat block letters. Nothing else. No threats, demands, or explanation. Just a warehouse location near the industrial district by the docks.

My instincts go dark immediately.

"When?" I ask.

"Two hours ago. I came straight here." Mark's voice is steady, but I can hear the underlying tension. "The guy didn't say anything. Just handed it to me and walked away. I tried following him, but he disappeared into an alley."

"What did he look like?"

"Average height, dark jacket, and a baseball cap pulled low so that I couldn't make out any of his facial features." Mark stands up, pacing toward the window. "Nick, what the fuck is going on? Why would someone give me a random address in the middle of the night?"

I don't answer immediately. My mind is already running through possibilities, none of them good. Someone used my brother to deliver a message. That level of knowledge is dangerous.

I pull out my phone and call Russ first, then Alex. Both answer on the second ring despite the early hour. I give them the address and tell them to assemble men and meet me there ASAP.

"Stay here," I tell Mark after hanging up. "Don't leave this building. I'm putting two men outside your door."

"Nick, what's happening?"

"I don't know yet." I grab my jacket from the back of the chair and check the weapon holstered at my side. "But whoever gave you that envelope wanted to make sure I took it seriously. Using you guaranteed that."

Mark's face goes pale. "You think this is about the warehouse attack?"

"I think it could be about a lot of things." Most likely about Sharon. I head toward the door, then pause and look back at him. "Lock the door behind me and don't answer to anyone but me, Russ, or Alex."

The drive to the warehouse takes fifteen minutes through empty pre-dawn streets. Russ and Alex arrive at the same time I do, their cars pulling up on either side of mine. We're all armed, all tense, and all expecting the worst.

I know they are thinking the same thing I am. We're going to go into that building and find Sharon dead. Possibly even an ambush.

The warehouse is exactly where the address indicated, a large industrial building with rusted metal siding and broken windows. "Spread out," I say quietly to the men who arrived with us. "Check every entrance, every room. Let me know whatever you find."

We move through the building methodically. The main floor is empty except for old equipment and debris. Dust covers everything, and our footsteps echo in the cavernous space. The air smells like rust and stale water.

Alex checks the offices near the front while I move toward the loading docks. Russ heads toward the rear of the building where a hallway leads to what looks like storage rooms or maybe old break areas for workers.

"Nick!" Russ's voice cuts through the silence, sharp and urgent.

I'm moving before he finishes saying my name, Alex right behind me. We find Russ standing outside a locked door near the rear offices. The lock is new, completely out of place in this abandoned building. That alone tells me everything I need to know.

"Break it down," I say grimly.

One of our men steps forward with a crowbar and pries the lock off in seconds. The door swings open, and Sharon is sitting on the floor inside, her back against the wall. The rush of relief at seeing her alive and seemingly well surprises me. But I know the emotion isn't for myself. Mentally, I'd been trying to prepare myself to tell Marla that her best friend was dead, but seeing her now, the relief of not having to upset Marla takes me by surprise.

When she sees us, she bursts into tears.

"Oh my God," she gasps. "Oh my God, you found me."

Alex moves into the room immediately, and cuts through the zip ties binding her to the chair. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"