Beneath the table, Lauren squeezed her hands together, trying to keep face. She knew what Mishca was, had accepted it, but she had also made it up in her mind that Mishca killed man that deserved it.
Agent Green produced a manila folder with a case number written across the label. In her heart, she knew what would be inside, just judging from the look on the agent’s face. Even still, the first picture was like a punch to the gut.
It was of a man, his fingers missing, just nubs in their place. His face was so badly beaten that he was rendered unrecognizable. Several holes littered his torso, cutting through the image of the Kirim on his chest. Without a doubt, she knew that the body was Ivan.
Even as agent explained who he was, Lauren wasn’t listening. She knew him and how he had ended up like this. This was the product of Mishca’s rage. She knew what he was capable of, at least she had thought she did, but it was nothing like seeing his actual work.
I took care of it.
That was what he had told her so long enough when he had all but confessed to what he had done. She remembered the discoloration of his knuckles, the cuts on his hands, but that was nothing in comparison to what he had done to Ivan…what he had done for her.
Lauren shoved the pictures away, but Agent Green wasn’t done. She presented picture after picture, forcing her to face what Mishca had done. She didn’t recognize the majority of them, but that didn’t make her feel any less queasy at the sight of them.
“Surprised?” Agent asked reading Lauren’s expression. “You don’t just get the markings because you know someone. You have to earn them. I know you must be terrified,” she said trying another tactic. “We only need just a little information to put these monsters away.”
“I can’t help you,” Lauren said looking away from the agent, the pictures, wishing she could also ignore the realities of the situation.
“Really? Not even after all they’ve done to your family?”
Lauren felt cold at her words, time slowing down as she spread out a number of pictures on top of the others, these completely different from the others. She met Agent Green’s eyes, a battle of wills ensuing. This was the challenge, whether she could look down and not be affected.
Finally after what felt like minutes, Lauren tore her eyes away and looked down. Against a wooden door, his legs spread out in front of him was her father. Unlike the other men, his eyes were closed and if not for the blood saturating his shirt, he might have appeared to be asleep.
There were dozens, from every angle, sometimes only a millimeter of change marking the difference in the shots. Looking at them, she knew she hadn’t been ready to see them when she read through her father’s file. She still wasn’t.
Lauren balled her hand into a fist, trying to hide the trembling in her hand. Clearing her throat, she carefully stuffed the pictures back in the folder, keeping it on her side of the table in case the agent decided to pull them back out.
“How awful must it be to look into the faces of the men that took everything from you? I know how that must hurt.”
For years, Lauren had held onto that anger, and for a while, she let it consume her, but no longer. She was at peace with it and no matter what Agent Green said, she wasn’t about to start blaming Mishca again.
Lauren looked up, not blinking as she stared into the face of a woman that would do anything to break someone. Too bad for her, Lauren wouldn’t be breaking.
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, her voice calm and even. “I haven’t seen Viktor or Ivan in a long time.”
Her fake frown of concern turned into a frown of agitation as she tried to maintain her composure.
“Are we done?” Lauren asked, already standing, more than ready to leave this behind her.
“You must really love your husband, to stand by him so faithfully when he doesn’t do the same for you,” said Agent Green almost thoughtfully as she held onto that last folder, her holy grail.
The meeting was supposed to be over, Lauren was more than ready to walk out of there, but she made the mistake of turning back to face her, ready to tell her off, but she came up short when she saw the new surveillance photos Agent Green was presenting.
She vaguely heard Jessica telling her something, but Lauren sank back down into her chair, pushing the photos around with trembling fingers. There were only a few, but it was enough.
She wanted to believe that it was just a misunderstanding, just a shot of two people that could be read the wrong way, but there was no way to read this one the wrong way.
The photo was of a hotel window, the curtains were parted, the light of the moon shining into the room. Mishca was standing in that room, only his profile visible, but the girl with him was clear enough to see.
Naomi.
She was smiling fondly, her eyes focused solely on Mishca. With each picture, she moved closer and closer to Mishca, her arm going up and around his shoulders. The last shot, the one Agent Green seemed so eager to show her was the most damning.
Right in front of her was Mishca kissing Naomi. It didn’t matter that it might have been Naomi kissing him, he never bothered to tell her that it had happened. Lauren wanted to believe that the picture was old, it was no secret that they had had a relationship in the past…if only Lauren didn’t recognize the clothes he wore in Brazil.
She didn’t bother trying to come up with an adequate excuse, because she knew there wasn’t one that she could come up with that would explain what she was seeing now. The blood was rushing in her ears, drowning out the voices she heard carrying through the walls.
Lauren was still focused on the picture when the door was swung open by Jessica, Mishca storming in before she could take a step into the room. While Jessica’s disapproval was toned down, there was nothing she could say to calm the storm brewing inside of Mishca.
He was spewing angry words in Russian, aimed at Agent Green though she only looked amused, but that only seemed to make him angrier, making him switch from Russian to English.
“You bring in my wife?”
Agent Green merely smirked, turning her attention away from Lauren to where Mishca was standing behind her. “She was free to leave at any time. And we didn’t force her to come in, she volunteered.”
While that was technically true, it was left unspoken that she had talked her way into getting Lauren to stay, but Lauren wasn’t paying attention to the heated discussion between the agent and Mishca, she was still looking at the picture of Mishca in Brazil.
Before Mishca could see it, however, Agent Green snatched the photo, stashing it away. Lauren wished, craved that she could see what other pictures were in there, just so she would know.
Mishca pulled her out of the chair, his hand tight around her arm, she couldn’t protest much as she was practically dragged from the room. On their way out of the station, Lauren saw Detective Rodriguez. Briefly, she wondered what he was thinking, but when his mouth dipped into a frown, she had a pretty good idea.
It took no time at all to file into Mishca’s car, or even to pull out into the late day traffic, but it took ages for Lauren to build up the energy to finally question him, but he beat her to the punch.
“What did she ask you?”
Lauren looked at him, trying to see behind that deceptive mask, wondering if she would see any guilt at all when she got around to asking him about Naomi.
“They showed me my father’s crime scene photos,” Lauren said quietly, her voice sounding far too calm, even to her own ears.
Mishca shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t take his eyes off her. He had a curious glint in them, like he knew she was hiding something from him, but he had yet to call her on it.
“I’m sorry.”
And she didn’t doubt that he meant it, but for the first time, her father’s crime was the last thing she was thinking about at the moment.
“And Ivan,” she went on, her tone dead, her eyes flat as she stared at him. She had never not felt anything before, but as she watched Mis
hca watching her, she felt nothing. “And Viktor. And Anatoly. I think I underestimated your need for revenge.”
They were interrupted by his chiming phone, but Mishca didn’t answer immediately. It was like he felt compelled, just as she did, to seek out answers in her expressions, and what she wasn’t saying.
When he answered his phone, Lauren sat in silence for the rest of the ride home, ignoring Mishca’s conversation on his phone. He would occasionally glance over at her, like he was expecting her to say something, but when she didn’t, his brow furrowed.
Not even when they were home did he end that phone call, but by this point, Lauren had gone through every possibility of what Mishca might say to her, and she had yet to find one that would appease her.
She walked into the kitchen without a word, searching through the cabinets for the bottle of Vodka she knew Mishca kept there. Unscrewing the top, she tossed it on the counter, not bothering with a glass as she tipped the bottle against her lips, swallowing the burning liquid.
Mishca wasn’t far behind, ending the call before taking the bottle from her. “Chto eto takoya—What is it?”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the alcohol in her stomach as she faced Mishca. “What happened in Brazil?”
It was a curse, knowing someone so well that you could read every minute facial expression they made. Only a few seconds passed, but it was enough time for her to see the truth in his eyes.
“Don’t lie to me,” she quickly said, could almost see the lie forming on his tongue. “Whatever bullshit excuse you’re about to give me, save it. Tell me what happened with Naomi.”
“How—”
“Casper told me—How the fuck do you think I know, Mishca?”
“Now is not the time, Lauren.”
With every word he spoke that was not an explanation, her anger mounted. Without a doubt, if he had bothered explaining it at all, given any excuse, she would have put it out of her mind because she trusted him that much.
But as he avoided the question, that sinking feeling in her gut returning as her mind was consumed with possibilities.
“Did you sleep with her?” Lauren asked.
Mishca didn’t have to look at her to know that she was dreading his answer. That meant, at least a part of her, believed that he had done it. He had no right to be upset with her for her assumption, but it bothered him all the same.
“I told you, nothing happened. Leave it.”
He had never been good with words, especially when lines were blurred between his life with Lauren and his life in the Bratva. Now, as those words hung between them, he could feel her rage escalating a she shoved him from behind, forcing him to spin around and catch her hands.
Her eyes were alight, her body tense, and if it weren’t for the fact that he knew she would slap him for it—she had a knack for hitting him when he pissed her off—he would tell her she was beautiful.
“I am your wife!” She snapped at him, trying to wrench her arms free, but he held fast. “I won’t be your damn doormat.”
“Nyet!” Mishca exploded. “I didn’t fuck her. You know this!”
“I don’t know anything! How the fuck could I when you’re lying to me. Was she the reason we took that trip in the first place? Why did I have to learn from the damn FBI agent that you were seeing her.”
He narrowed his eyes on her, coming around the counter until he was just inches in front of her, forcing her to crane her head back to see him. It was no longer about her doubting him.
“What did she say?”
“Mishca—”
“Tell me!”
She flinched, a fear he had hoped to never see in her eyes blooming. He hated seeing it, but he needed her to answer, and though he feared what she would say, he had to hear it.
“She didn’t tell me anything.” Though she spoke softly, there was still steel in her voice. “She had pictures, but I only saw one, one of you kissing her.”
He backed away from her, unable to say a word, not knowing what to say.
Mishca shot out of the apartment, the blood in his veins racing as he climbed into his car and sped off. His nerves were shot and it was only going down hill as the night went on.
Not only had that agent brought Lauren into their field office, but there was no way she could have known about Brazil, not when the trip had been spontaneous. Even if they had been under surveillance for some time, Mishca knew how they worked, they wouldn’t have been approved for Brazil in time.
Mishca didn’t doubt it, Mikhail had been right about the mole being FBI.
There were only a few people that knew of the trip to Brazil, but only one of them knew of his plans to meet Naomi…
Vlad.
As she lay there alone, Lauren wondered how many time she would be back in a similar situation like this, wondering where Mishca had went, and what was going on with him. It wasn’t a big mystery that something she had said pissed him off, but whether that was about her questioning him about Naomi or the fact that Agent Green had caught him in the middle of…well whatever it was he’d been doing, she didn’t know.
Sighing, she picked up her phone again, sliding her finger across the screen to check for any calls. She even made sure the volume was turned up on the device, just to be sure. It was useless, she knew, but doing it gave her some peace of mind.
The hours slipped by one by one, to the point that she had given up waiting for him to get home. Her tears had long since dried, and now there was just a numbness that had taken her over. Even laying in this bed felt wrong, especially when she didn’t know what all Mishca was keeping from her.
Shoving the cover off, she climbed to her feet, walking into the closet to pack a duffel bag. Lauren wouldn’t leave, not without an explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to live in the same room with him until she got it.
With the size of the penthouse, she could comfortably live on one side without ever having to run into him, especially since she knew his schedule. The guest bedroom on the ground floor was already furnished, and Lauren didn’t have to do much but grab fresh linens to make up the bed.
Instead of wallowing, she opened up her laptop, submitting a few more applications before heading to Stanford’s website, her father’s alma mater. It would be a great school to go to—probably impossible to get into—but the only problem was the fact that it was located in California. She couldn’t just think of herself anymore, she also had to think of Mishca.
And she seriously doubted he would accept her staying in California while he remained in New York.
Before long, she heard the elevator ping, then Mishca’s voice as he called out to her. A part of her wanted to stay silent, to ignore him entirely, but she needed to at least let him know that she was safe…then ignore his ass.
Shutting the screen of her computer, she headed to the door, pulling it open just as Mishca was pushing it in. He didn’t appear drunk, but the smell of alcohol on him was strong.
He reached for her, but she pulled away before he could touch her. The reaction was involuntary, but she could see that he took offense anyway.
“Why are you in here?”
Taking a page out of his book, she shrugged, boldly looking up at him as she said, “I don’t think I can sleep next to you.”
Sighing, he shoved a hand through his hair, grappling for patience. “You’re being ridiculous. Nothing happened.”
“If nothing happened, you would have told me about it. Just face it, Mish. You lied, you got caught. Own your shit.”
But he seemed unable to do just that. Lauren didn’t understand why he was being so resistant in telling her what happened…unless what she suspected was the truth.
That thought threatened to unravel her, but Lauren refused to accept it, not until Mishca told her everything. Call her naive, call her willfully ignorant, but she wasn’t going to accept anything less.
“Come to our room.”
Sighing, because she knew that he wouldn
’t bend, at least not tonight, she took a step back and closed the door in his face.
Lauren stayed in one of the guest bedrooms every night for the next week, and if she could help it, she avoided Mishca all together. She wanted to feel bad for what she was doing to him, but she was resolute in her desire not to give in. Anything she needed to know about the case came from Alex, or Luka on the rare chance she ran into him now that he was officially done being her guard. She didn’t think he minded being fired so much, probably because he still followed her around despite her protests.
Things between her and Mishca were as bad as they had ever been, maybe a little worse since they weren’t talking to each other, even though they lived together.
“If, hypothetically, he did kiss another woman—especially that bitch—I say give him hell,” Amber said, the wind making it hard for Lauren to understand her over the phone. “But I do say that if he wants to talk to you about what happened, you should still listen to what he has to say.”
“I just want to know how to fix it,” Lauren went on, though she was glad that Amber had agreed with her.
“Well, he’s the one that should be doing the groveling since he was going around behind your back, but you should at least let him explain. Could’ve been some secret black ops mission.”
Since Mishca’s case had been all over the papers, everyone was always careful with what they said over the phone. There was no guarantee that their phones were tapped, but they would rather be safe than sorry.
Outside her bedroom, the front door slammed.
“Hold on, I think Mish is back.”
Lauren climbed out of bed, going over to the door to crack it open, not just wanting to pop out and it be anyone else, but she was right. It was Mishca.
And he was pissed.
“Amber, I think I’m going to need to call you back.”
She vaguely heard a response before Mishca grabbed the phone from her hand, tossing it over her shoulder where it thumped softly on the bed. Without so much as a hello, he grabbed her around the waist and practically—not really practically when he did just that—carried her into their bedroom. She was too shocked to put up much of a fight, then again, she also knew what was coming, and she definitely wasn’t going to fight that.
The Final Hour Page 27