The Final Hour

by London Miller

  Lauren ran her thumb around the rim of her mug, images of Brahim’s head snapping back when the bullet punched through his head flashing in her mind, the utter contentment and overall disregard of the Albanian men that stood around her, more than willing to torture her any way they wanted to just because.

  But that wasn’t something she could just tell Amber. She didn’t want to put those kind of images in her head, instead she would live with them alone.

  “Mish got there before anything too bad could happen,” Lauren lied easily, already seeing Amber’s gaze shifting over her face. “This was during the struggle to get me out of the apartment. I promise, I’m fine.”

  In a bid to change the subject, Lauren looked around the apartment, already noting how clean it was, but there was also a number of paintings leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

  “New pieces?”

  Amber almost seemed reluctant to talk about them as she glanced back at the canvases, but like any artist valuing their work, she had to share a little bit about them. “Yea. There’s a new gallery opening in the Village and they asked me to bring in some samples. Hopefully, they like something, otherwise I’m not sure how I’m going to live.”

  “They would be fools not to,” said Lauren as she hopped down from the bar stool, hearing her ringing phone, instinctively knowing that it was Mishca.

  “Go on and get that,” Amber suggested. “I’m already late for my interview, but I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

  Lauren gave her a quick hug, squeezing tightly before letting go. “Good luck, and when you get it, I’m definitely saying ‘I told you so.’”

  Sure enough, Mishca was on the other end, and sounded more than relieved that Lauren answered. She could only imagine the panic he would feel if she hadn’t answered, especially after the number of missed calls she had seen from him when she was taken.

  “Where are you?” She asked crawling back into her bed, feeling sore all over. She heard the sound of cars passing rapidly, and could guess that he was in the car.

  “Just came from a meeting, on my way back to you. Doc should be meeting me there.”

  It hadn’t been that long ago that Lauren had learned that her father had been replaced by another doctor who was indebted to the Bratva. The information had surprised her at the time, not because she thought her father had been particularly special to them, but because she had never thought much of what they did for medical care after he was gone.

  The new doctor was kind enough on the lone occasion that Lauren had met him. At the time, Lauren had rather heatedly offered to pay the man’s debt to the Bratva so he could be free to be with his family, and not suffer the same fate as hers. She still didn’t know if Mishca would take her up on that or not.

  Lauren rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes as she listened to Mishca arguing with someone in the background. God, had it only been a day since she was in that safe house? Two?

  “How far are you?” Maybe she could go back to sleep for a bit before he arrived.

  “Ten minutes out.” So much for that idea. “Are you hungry?”

  She really wasn’t though she had no idea when she had last eaten. “No.”

  He didn’t seem to like the sound of that, grating words in Russian that sounded suspiciously like curses. “Lauren…”

  Rolling her eyes, and not in any mood to fight with him, she relented. “Whatever you pick up is fine. You know what I like.”

  “I’ll see you shortly.”

  After the call clicked off, she grabbed one of the pillows from the top of her bed, smashing it until she was satisfied, sighing as the coolness kissed her cheek.

  One minute it felt like she had just closed her eyes, the next she was opening them as Mishca came into her room, a bag in one hand, a to-go cup in the other. She gave him a sleepy smile, turning over to face him.

  He set it all on top of her desk, coming to lean over her, pressing a sweet kiss to her forehead. His eyes were closed, the tension in his body drained away. That one simple act meant just as much to him as it did to her.

  “Ya lyublyu tebya, Mish—I love you, Mish.”

  “Myoe serdtse tvoya—My heart is yours.”

  She blinked up at him in confusion, only understanding part of what he had said. It had grown easier to understand when he spoke in Russian, in part because of him using the same phrases.

  “Translation?”

  He only smiled. “How are you feeling?”

  “I think you asked me that already, Mish. I’m fine, honest. Are you in trouble?”

  Mishca looked away, but not before she saw the anger in his eyes.

  “That bad? What did you do to piss him off…or was it me?”

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.”

  She didn’t know if she was ready to believe that. Mishca didn’t have a habit of being irrational…except when it came to her. She didn’t want Mishca to get in any more trouble because of her.

  “Put it out of your mind,” Mishca insisted, heading out of her bedroom when the doorbell rang.

  “Wait!” She didn’t mean to yell, but her voice echoed around the room, bringing him up short.

  He was able to see the fear in her face, the exact thing she had been trying to hide from him. It was reasonable, it wasn’t like he had expected her to bounce back from this so quickly, but she wanted to move on from it.

  Reaching behind him, Mishca pulled out the gun she had grown used to him carrying, holding it out to her. When she hesitated, he placed it in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it.

  “Shoot anyone that’s not me.”

  That was enough to loosen the fear constricting her, making her laugh aloud. “The neighbors would hear.”

  Walking backwards out of the room, he shrugged. “And I’d take care of it.”

  Lauren was smiling, but she did take a few steps back from the doorway, her hands feeling clammy with sweat as she waited. She thought about what Ross had taught her, going over what might happen, but Mishca was back in seconds, the doctor following behind him. He came up short when he noticed the gun in Lauren’s hand.

  “Sorry,” Lauren said quickly, practically shoving it at Mishca—luckily, the safety was on.

  That helped dispel some of his fear as he continued in, setting his bag on the floor. As he began his cursory exam, Lauren made sure to mention that she didn’t think that it was at all necessary because she felt fine.

  “All the same, it doesn’t hurt. Besides, that looks like a pretty painful bruise.”

  Lauren instinctively touched her face, feeling the soreness in her jaw. “Sometimes Mish has a heavy hand.”

  Doc froze in shock, Mishca scowled in the background, a promise of pain in his eyes. “I…uh.”

  “Lauren.”

  “Sorry,” she said with a smile in Mishca’ direction. “I was only joking.”

  Judging from the way he carefully moved on, she doubted he believed her. When he was finished—and everything was fine as Lauren had said—he was packing up to leave when Mishca finally spoke.

  “Your debt to the Bratva has been filled.”

  They both looked over at him in surprise, the doctor more than Lauren.

  “You will not receive another call from anyone, and I trust that our arrangement will be kept quiet.” Now that part sounded more like a veiled threat.

  He looked far too stunned to do anything more but nod, but that shock soon turned to relief, then an undeniable happiness that even made Lauren smile.

  “I…thank you.” He rushed forward, grabbing Mishca’s hand with both of his. “Thank you.”

  With a wave to Lauren, he was practically running out the door. Mishca came back from locking it behind him, stumbling back a step when Lauren threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

  He returned it, kissing the spot just below her ear. “It’s coming out of your account just so you know.”

  The first few of months were tense, it felt lik
e they were walking on eggshells as they waited on Jetmir to retaliate. Some time ago, Mishca had went back to the building—Lauren choosing to sit that one out—and found that Brahim’s body was gone. There hadn’t been any crime scene tape, nor was there any talk of a body being found.

  Since then, Mishca had made it a point to have Luka shadow Lauren wherever she went. Unlike Vlad, however, Luka didn’t stick to the background, keeping pace with her instead.

  It hadn’t been so bad at first, at least not until Luka began to annoy her.

  “When he said you had to watch me, I don’t think he meant for you to actually follow me inside,” Lauren said dryly as Luka got more comfortable in the desk, stretching his long legs out in front of him, oblivious to the double-takes by some of her classmates.

  When Mishca had told her that Luka would be her new guard until he could find somebody he trusted more, she didn’t argue with him, knowing there would be no point after what they’d just faced. She was actually grateful for it, but she had almost forgotten how badly Luka teetered on the edge of sanity, at least until he showed up today.

  It wasn’t his attire, that was relatively normal. Jeans and a T-shirt, scuffed boots on his feet. No, it was the fact that he made a point to glare at any person that came within three feet of them. Two seats on all sides of them were empty, no one daring to sit any closer. By the time class was over, Lauren was sure the professor would tell her to drop the class or leave Luka at home next time.

  “Just doing my job,” he said with a big grin, leaning back in his chair, stacking his hands behind his head as he whistled softly, a song she was growing used to, though it appeared that the noise was only irritating her professor.

  He was a tiny guy, with a round stomach and thick glasses, and despite his irritation at the constant interruption that was Luka, he didn’t say a word. If Lauren were him, she probably wouldn’t either.

  It didn’t just stop in class though. Luka literally stayed with her all day, purposefully crowding her space, grabbing for doors before she could—the latter she didn’t mind as much. By the time they got back to Mishca’s apartment, Lauren was ready to take him out herself.

  Mishca was on the phone when they entered the apartment, but one look at her face had him telling the person on the other line he would call them back.

  “What is it?”

  “As much as I appreciate what Luka is doing—“ That made Luka raise his chin proudly, waving like they had any doubt she was referring to him, “—maybe we can find somebody else.”

  Mishca looked amused even as he shook his head. “There is no one else. There are only two people I trust with your life, Vlad and Luka. I need Vlad for work.”

  Lauren took a step closer to him, not wanting Luka to overhear what she was about to say. “You do realize that he’s insane, don’t you?”

  He bit his lip, scratching at his facial hair as he tried to stifle a smile. “That’s his way of saying he likes you.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him, stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “This isn’t funny, Mish. Do you know how threatening he looks? Hell, they probably thought he was going to kill them.”

  “Is that not the point?”

  “No. It would make more sense if he didn’t look threatening because if he does, people will wonder why I need a personal bodyguard all the time, thus attracting more attention.”

  “That may be true, but he’s all I have at the moment.”

  “Mish.”

  “Lauren.”

  It wasn’t the first time he’d started trying to intimidate her into agreeing to his terms, but she refused to be bullied. She might have been the only person that didn’t fear his wrath.

  “No.”

  “This isn’t up for discussion,” Mishca said slowly, his earlier amusement vanishing. “You’re not going out alone.”

  “You’re right about that. It’s not up for discussion.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, grappling for patience. “Why are you making this difficult for me?”

  “You’re saying that as though I’m telling you I don’t want anyone at all. I didn’t say that.”

  Luka cleared his throat, raising his hand. “I have a—”

  “Shut up, Luka!” They both shouted back at him.

  The enforcer wasn’t offended, instead he smiled in good humor and went to grab one of the apples Lauren had left out, stretching out on the couch to watch the ensuing fight.

  “Just listen to what I have to say,” Lauren said.

  Nodding, Mishca waved her on.

  “If you’re going to leave me with Luka, you have to make him stop doing the death glare at anyone that comes near me.”

  “Death glare?”

  Lauren looked back at Luka. “Show him.”

  Anyone else might have looked confused by the request, but not Luka. Instead, he made the exact face he did when they were in her class, proving her point that he had been doing it on purpose.

  “Anything else?”

  “What about my demands?” Luka piped in.

  Mishca looked like he was dangerously close to doing them both harm, but he obligingly turned to face Luka, waving him on in the same fashion as he had Lauren.

  “Oh shit…I didn’t actually think you were going to listen.”

  Mishca barked something at him in Russian, making Luka laugh as he went back to eating his apple. Sometimes Lauren wondered if it were all an act, or if something was really wrong with him.

  “Is he even getting paid for this?”

  “No.”

  “Seriously?” She looked to Luka for confirmation. “Why not?”

  “It was an order.”

  “But what about his other duties, like the Gilded Room?”

  Glaring at Luka, Mishca simply said, “He’s been reassigned.”

  “Having too much fun,” Luka chimed in. “It might also be because of the shirt.”

  Mishca, as he always did, threatened Luka when he began unzipping his jacket, turning to show Lauren the shirt he was wearing despite Mishca’s protests.

  Printed in bright red letters were the words, MISHCA’S MINION. It nearly took up the entirety of the front of the shirt, and when Luka turned around in an excited spin to show off the back of it. A smiley face, with stars for the eyes and a tongue sticking out, had to be the best part.

  Laughing, Lauren said, “I want one.”

  “I’ll burn it,” Mishca threatened.

  “Fine, I won’t buy the shirt if you do something to help me.” When he narrowed his eyes on her, she knew she had won.

  “I’ll work on it. For now, Luka is all I have.”

  Before long, those first few months turned into six months, and those six months turned into nearly a year. Without even a hint of Jetmir in all of that time, Lauren had gradually stopped fearing that she would see him on the street. Mishca hadn’t. He was still as vigilant as ever. And while Luka had started on other assignments for Mishca, no longer just watching Lauren, there was always someone nearby.

  During this time, she gained a full understanding of Mishca’s true network. He had people everywhere.

  Instead of taking the summer off—as she had done since starting college—Lauren stayed in school, taking fifteen hours, and another eighteen for the fall and spring. Because of this, she was graduating early. She had barely been able to spend time with Mishca with the amount of course work she had for her last semester, but it was all worth it, knowing that in just a few short weeks, she would be graduating, one step closer to medical school.

  To say that she was stressed was an understatement. Most of her nights were spent in the Manhattan Public Library, studying away to prepare for graduating in May. More often than not, there were empty cups of coffee resting in front of her, but by the time finals came around, it was no longer just coffee, but numerous shots of espresso as well.

  On one particular night, she had consumed so many, she was practically bouncing
in her seat, her thumb twitching ever so often. She was so wired it felt like she was running on pure adrenaline.

  It was only four in the afternoon.

  Since she had planned on staying the night at Mishca’s apartment, he came to pick her up an hour later, his eyebrows rising the closer he got to her. Gently distracting the cup from her vice-like grip, he tossed it in a nearby trash can.

  She watched him curiously, her leg still bouncing beneath the table, as he shouldered her bag, the sight of him like that making her smile since he was wearing one of his suits.

  “I’m not done yet,” she said shaking her head. “I still have two chapters to go over.”

  “I can help you when we get back.”

  He wasn’t really giving her much of a choice, and she wasn’t in the mood to fight him over it—though it felt like she could. She picked up what few belongings she had left on the table, following Mishca out to his idling car.

  Vlad waved from the driver’s seat, his usually stoic expression melting away when Lauren climbed in the car exuberantly. Mishca was more subdued, but it was clear that he was amused by her.

  “How many of those have you had?” Mishca asked as they pulled off.

  Lauren shrugged, waving her hand like it was no big deal. “I’ve only had like two cups.”

  She tried not to seem too proud of that answer, but it was written all over her face, and he had a feeling that she wasn’t telling him everything.

  “How many shots of espresso were in each?”

  “Maybe three or four, but I needed them,” she quickly went on as he dropped his head back at her answer. “I didn’t sleep much last night—your fault by the way. I only asked you how the position was possible, not to give me a demonstration.”

  Vlad’s startled cough made Mishca smile, shaking his head. “Lauren, now would be a good time to stop talking.”

  “But—”

  He gently placed his hand over her mouth, drawing her closer. “Maybe it’ll be a good idea if you get some sleep now, no?”

  She shook her head, pulling his hand away. “But I’m not tired. Give me like another three hours and I’ll be ready.”

  When they were back at his place, Lauren set up her books on the couch, Mishca heading into the kitchen to get a glass of water for her. By the time he got back, though only a few minutes had passed, Lauren was fast asleep.