Sadly, Lauren understood both sides. She knew Mishca didn’t want to believe that Alex had anything to do with it, but with the world they lived in, not everyone could be trusted, and with the treachery in their family, Mishca didn’t know what to believe.
“You kept it from me,” Mishca said through gritted teeth, staring his sister down. “What the hell am I supposed to think?”
“That I wouldn’t betray you, you selfish ass!”
“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Lauren spoke up again, trying to be the voice of reason. When Mishca looked back, she gave him a pointed stare. “I’ll talk to Alex, you figure something out. And don’t give me that look. I trust Alex. You should too.”
“Lauren—”
“When I told Mikhail about Anya and Viktor, I didn’t think about what that would do to Alex in the process. Of course I didn’t know her that well, ad she’s not nearly as close to me as she is to you, don’t ruin that when you don’t have all the facts…okay?”
He pulled her to him by the nape of her neck, kissing her forehead. “You’re right.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell her.”
When he moved past her to Alex, Lauren exhaled, glad that she could do something to help diffuse the tension, even if it racketed right back up seconds later. Klaus was watching her, and she thought she saw a glimmer of respect in his eyes as he pointed to his phone, then the back room.
Alex was crying soundlessly, but she accepted Mishca’s hug, nodding at whatever he was whispering to her. She went to stand on the other side of the room as Mishca came back to speak to Luka. He was significantly calmer, and seemed to be thinking clearly.
“Anya couldn’t have pulled this off on her own, even with her contacts.” Now that he was a fraction calmer, Mishca moved on from assuming it was Alex, despite what he knew about her, Alex didn’t have the resources for this.
“What are you thinking?” Luka asked folding his arms across his chest, the warped rabbit tattooed on his forearm pulling taut. “Jetmir?”
“It’s crossed my mind.”
“Want me to see what I can find out?”
Mishca was hesitant to give his consent, not because he didn’t want answers, but because he had no idea how this would affect Luka. It was no secret that Luka hated the Albanians…probably more than Klaus and Mishca combined. It was, however, a secret as to why he hated them so much.
“Are you sure you can do this with minimum bloodshed?”
“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
“You always have a choice, brother.”
When Mishca looked away from him, Luka’s gaze sought out Alex where she sat across the room.
“Not in this.”
But those words never reached Mishca’s ears.
Some minds couldn’t handle torture, it broke them.
Luka Sergeyev was a product of that kind of torture. His life was a mystery to those that knew him, even to his bosses. He had always been good at hiding the truth.
That was one of the reasons why he was glad to be working under Mishca. The Bratva Captain didn’t pry, not even when he’d entrusted Lauren’s livelihood with him.
Luka had never thought much about rising in the ranks of the Vory v Zakone, only caring that he be respected…and feared—he would much rather be feared than loved. Not since he was a boy did Luka ever care about making friends, but that innocence was stolen from him. He hadn’t even been granted a reprieve from those horrific sights, because those men had wanted him to remember every hour of every day what he had caused so many years ago. The memories didn’t dwindle away as time went on. No, they stayed in the forefront of his mind, constantly plaguing his thoughts.
It was why Luka never got close to anyone, putting up a wall to keep himself from forming attachments. Some thought he was crazy, not just because of the things he said at any given time—he’d actually always been strange that way—but because of his presumed lack of empathy. Most killers in his line of work had training, were taught not to feel anything for the people they slaughtered. Except, Luka’s ‘training’ was of the unconventional variety—and it hadn’t worked well enough. On the outside, it looked like Luka slept well at night, the crimes of his past not weighing on his subconscious, but in reality, the demons he lived with haunted every moment of his existence.
No one understood that agony.
But he was okay with that. So long as he had his job, and women willing to share his bed, he had no complaints. It didn’t matter to him that it was Lauren’s life hanging in the balance and not Mishca’s, they were both the same to him. Luka saw the way Mishca looked at her in those few unguarded moments when he thought no one was paying attention. While he might not have ever experienced the emotion himself, Luka knew true love when he saw it.
It was why he needed to get this done.
Taking out a cigarette, Luka entered the rundown bar, dropping his gaze as he walked to the other end of the room, plopping down on the barstool with a loud sigh, quickly grabbing the man’s attention beside him. It was a renowned Albanian Mob spot, one that Luka frequently visited.
Luka had similar markings as the men that came to this place, because at one point in his life, he’d been one of them.
It was nearly impossible, but Luka forced himself to relax, rolling his shoulders as he snuck a peek at the man seated near him, making sure he didn’t stare too long lest the man remember him. Though it was burned into Luka’s mind, he doubted the Albanian remembered the last time they had run into each other.
“You new here?” the Albanian, Bastian, asked.
From what he understood, he was Jetmir’s right hand now, a far cry from where he had been when Luka was around. Because he knew names and faces, Luka knew he was the only person that could find out this information.
“Yes, Naz sent me over.”
Bastian grunted, tossing back his shot before ordering another. It was a habit of his when it came to Naz. The pair hated each other more than Luka hated all of the Albanians.
Over the course of the night, Luka needed to get him drunk enough that he let his guard down, spilling secrets that he would normally keep close to his chest. It didn’t take long, just a casual mention here, an offer to buy him a drink there. By the time Bastian had consumed his tenth shot of jager, Luka was still nursing a glass of water.
Leaning against the bar top, Luka lowered his voice so only Bastian could hear him. “I heard what the Russians did to Brahim.”
“Fucking bastards, all of them. Just wait, we’ll kill them all and fuck that bitch of his.”
Luka’s hand twitched on his glass, but otherwise, he gave no reaction to his words. “And the Russian woman with the Boss? How does she play into it?” Luka hadn’t meant to come right out with the question—any rational person would find that suspicious—but Bastian was too far gone to notice.
“Using the money from that bastard daughter of hers. She’s so hard up to take them down, she’ll do anything.”
So just as they’d thought, Anya was behind the hit, not Alex. One problem solved.
“When is Jetmir planning to strike?”
Bastian shook his head, looking at Luka intently. “You sure I don’t know you from somewhere?”
“I have a very familiar face.”
It was time for him to get out of there. He didn’t want to be stuck in enemy territory if Bastian did remember how they knew each other, and he definitely didn’t want him yelling it out.
Luka glanced down at his watch, pretending to check the time. “Shit, I have a run for Naz.”
“Wait,” Bastian called as Luka stood, heading towards the back exit without a glance back.
He’d gotten what he came for, now he just needed to report back so they could strategize.
In the back alley, Luka heard Bastian trying to stay silent as he snuck up on him, but even if he hadn’t trained himself to listen to even the softest of steps—hating anyone at his back—Luka would have been able to hear what sounded like
a dump truck behind him. Anxiety shot through him, that age old fear trying to take him over, but he couldn’t fuck this up, not with what was at stake.
He kept walking.
Bastian blitzed him, using his weight to shove Luka against the brick wall, one hand fisted in his hair as he kept his cheek pressed against it. Luka breathed deeply through his nose, trying to remain calm. He swore to himself that he wasn’t going to kill him, despite all he had done to Luka in the past.
“You think I wouldn’t remember you,” Bastian grunted, his sour breath fanning over Luka’s face.
At his words, the tension in Luka’s body shot up as he went on the defensive.
“I’d remember you anywhere.”
It didn’t matter anymore. Luka wasn’t the same little helpless boy he had been back in those days, but Bastian was still the same sick fuck.
He had the information he needed from him, and Luka knew that the next morning, when they found Bastian’s body, it wouldn’t be reported.
At that moment, he cleared his mind, blocking everything out as he shifted his stance slightly, throwing his elbow back into the man’s gut, breaking free with ridiculous ease. Bastian looked surprise for all of a second before he tried to throw himself at Luka, making him laugh as he dodged his futile punches.
It amazed him how different Bastian appeared now that Luka had the power.
Striking out, Luka hit him in the trachea—as Klaus had done to him—cutting off his cry of alarm. With a single kick, Luka broke his leg. Bastian fell to the ground, wheezing as he tried in vain to call for help, but there was no one that could help him now.
“Are you afraid?” Luka asked as he crouched down beside him, his lips turning up at the corners as he reached for the butterfly knife in his pocket. “Shh, it won’t hurt for long.”
The words were like second nature to him as he saw the familiar fear finally enter his eyes. They had been spoken to him often enough that he could perfectly match the tone and pitch of Bastian’s voice. It was a heady feeling, having this kind of control over another’s life. It wasn’t something Luka took for granted.
“If it makes it any easier, I’ll go slow.”
And that was what he did. First, he took the man’s tongue, then cut off each one of his fingers until both hands were just bloody stumps. Lastly, he slit the man’s throat from ear to ear.
The act didn’t necessarily make Luka feel any better, despite what he had initially believed, but there was a blessed numbness that crept through him, putting his thoughts at ease. It wouldn’t last long, probably until he finished cutting through the man’s body, but he would enjoy that peace of mind for as long as it would last.
Luka was glad Mishca had moved to a more secure location, one that was run by men on their payroll. It wasn’t that he disliked the last apartment, but he couldn’t stand outside smoking a cigarette, covered in blood at that one.
The nicotine heated his lungs as he drew in, slowly exhaling as he chased the calm he’d felt earlier. That was how it had always been.
Once he took a life, he idly stood by listening to their screaming pleas in his head, and smoked until he could no longer hear them. They wondered why he spouted nonsense, but he found peace in constant conversation, laughter…anything but the silence.
He hated silence.
“Shit, what happened to you?”
Luka turned, spying Alex walking up to him, her eyes trailing over him slowly. They’d never been around each other much, in part because she’d been in France for years, but also because Mishca preferred none of them go near her.
Not that Luka ever would despite his predilection for pissing Mishca off. Some things he knew were off limits.
But he loved testing those boundaries…and his own.
“Pigeons,” he answered, taking another drag of his cigarette. “They’re blood thirsty little beasts.”
He expected her to roll her eyes, call him crazy, and walk off, but she did none of that, propping her hip against the brick wall beside her instead. It wasn’t that Luka was trying to notice—he was actually making a conscious effort not to—but she made it hard for him…ever since he brought her to the safe house months ago.
He had never told Mishca how he had found her, valuing his face too much to have that conversation, but the image was seared into his brain, and he doubted he would be forgetting it anytime soon.
“Right. Is there something I can do? Towel, maybe?”
He smirked, amused by her question though inside he was a bit shocked by her offer. His family in the Bratva didn’t particularly care what happened to him after the job was done, not that he could really blame any of them since he made a habit of fucking with them when he wasn’t needed.
“Nyet—No.”
What he really wanted was to be alone, calm his chaotic thoughts on his own, but a smaller part of him was glad she was there. No…he needed to be glad someone was there, not just because it was Alex.
“What are you doing out here?”
She was dressed in one of those dresses of hers, though as of late, they were all starting to get shorter. He would have liked to think he didn’t notice, but he did, and he wasn’t ashamed of it.
“Waiting for you.”
She gave him a small smile, making his eyebrow arch up as he took a long drag from his cigarette. “Yea?”
With a hitch of her shoulder, she came forward, close enough that he could smell the warm scent of whatever perfume she was wearing, but not enough that she was actually touching him. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, she put it between her lips, not looking away from him as she took a drag, uncaring that blood stained the filter.
Yep, they were all fucking insane.
“Since you’re not doing your I’m-about-to-do-murder face, I assume you found out what I’d already told you.”
He nodded once. “I did.”
“Then I’ll make myself scarce for a while. I’m sure you have to plot the downfall of my mother.”
She waved her hand as though that meant little to her, but Luka knew differently. She dropped her gaze from his, looking just past him to the nearly empty street, save a few pedestrians walking by.
“She is going to die regardless,” Luka said honestly, even as she flinched at his cold words. “Anya may not know it, but Jetmir thinks only of himself, and when his back is against the wall, he would sacrifice anyone to stay alive.”
Alex dropped the cigarette, grinding it out with the toe of her heel. “Seems counterintuitive, don’t you think? I mean, Mish thinks he’s ready to go to war for his brother.”
“Because he wasn’t the one to do it—and of course the whole twin thing.”
“So you do think the Albanians are planning something?”
“I know.”
“Fucking great.”
Luka tried not to be amused as Alex muttered about ‘needing a drink.’ “You should get going.”
“Oh?” She canted her head to the side, a dangerous light entering her eyes. “Not gonna carry me back inside? Since, you know, you’re good at that.”
He was tempted. “Not tonight.”
“Are you sure?” She reached for him with dainty fingers, trailing them over his bicep, down to his forearm where she followed the veins that stood out in his skin. “That wasn’t what you said last time.”
He smiled down at her, trying to remember why this was a bad idea, that promise he had made to her, but when he readied to answer her, Luka heard the slightest movement in the alley that made him go on alert.
He knew who it was, had been waiting for him to approach since Lauren had asked him for help.
“You should get going,” Luka said.
Whether she heard the warning in his voice, or was just done playing with him, Alex left him there, but not before she stretched up to kiss his cheek.
At another time, he might have stopped her from leaving, but his attention was focused on the mercenary lurking in the darkness. Luka already knew what this w
as about.
Besides the others, Luka was the only one that hadn’t been surprised that Mishca had a brother. They had already met.
“Imagine my surprise finding you here,” Klaus said walking forward, his arms folded across his chest as he stared Luka down.
There was no smartass remark Luka could come up with, not when facing off with Klaus. He had every reason to hate the Albanians, even more than Mishca did, but what Mishca didn’t know was that Luka had been directly involved with what the Albanians had done to Klaus.
“I heard you were taken prisoner by Syrians in eastern Egypt,” said Luka.
“Just a rumor.”
Luka tried to take inventory of the number of weapons Klaus carried. There was the 9mm at the small of his back, knives strapped to his arms, but it was the weapons that Luka couldn’t see that worried him.
“Why are you really here?” He asked Klaus.
“You’re a shitty tracker. Word got back to me that the Russians were hunting me, so,”—he shrugged one massive shoulder—“I tracked you. Does he know about you?”
Before Luka could utter a word, Klaus had his hand wrapped around his throat, thrusting him back until he was pressed against the brick wall. “Does he know you tortured me?”
“Vse my raby nashikh masterov, net?—We are all slaves to our masters, no?”
“I’ve spent years putting each and every one of you in the ground.”
And now would be the perfect time, Luka thought. It wasn’t like Alex had actually seen Klaus, Mishca would assume the Albanians had done it.
“One thing before you kill me,” Luka said holding up a finger.
Obliging him, Klaus actually stepped back a few inches, giving Luka room to do whatever he intended. Begrudgingly, Luka had to admire the confidence in which Klaus moved about, like he had no reason to fear what Luka might do.
But he did see Klaus’ finger twitch when he went for the edge of his shirt, drawing it up, then tugging on the edge of his jeans, making sure Klaus could see the full extent of the tattoo on his hip.
After staring at Luka in bemusement for several moments, Klaus’ gaze slowly lowered, taking in the sight of the rather feminine tattoo there. He didn’t have to explain what it meant, Klaus had spent enough time studying them to know what it stood for.
The Final Hour Page 19