“Or. What?” she asked, not flinching away from the hostility that was bleeding out of him now.
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he slowly moved to his feet, his teeth grinding together, restraining himself if only for Mishca’s sake. “You’re acting like a damn child.”
A dangerous light entered her eyes as she stabbed a finger in his chest, not caring that the enforcer was nearly twice her size. “That’s what I am, remember? Can’t have it both ways, Luka.”
Luka opened his mouth to respond, but Mishca spoke first. “Enough.”
Normally, their bantering was entertaining—as long as he wasn’t in the middle of it—but there was clearly something Mishca had missed about their relationship since he had last been in a room with them. On the surface, it just looked like there was normal animosity there, but Mishca could remember what he felt when he argued with Lauren, and seeing this…he could imagine that this was what he looked like.
“Aleksandra, I need a minute. Wait out at the bar and when Luka is done here, he will take you home.”
Surprisingly, she left without further argument, snatching her purse on the way out and making it a point to slam the door behind her. While Mishca was staring at Luka, Luka was focused on the door with a look that said he was only a second away from going after her.
“What was that?” Mishca asked folding his arms across his chest.
“What was what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. With Alex, that arguing, what was it?”
Luka shrugged, finally turning so that he was facing Mishca, though his face was wiped clean of any emotion. “Friendly disagreement.”
“What you do with those girls in the rooms, I couldn’t give a shit about. My sister is not one of them. I ordered you to watch her and make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless, as she’s prone to do. The dark shit that you’re into, do it on your own time. You’re not what Alex needs.”
Luka didn’t make a joke, nor did he make any playful remark to Mishca’s words. The person he saw now reminded Mishca of the one who broke his finger.
“I’m not good enough for your sister, got it. We done here, Boss?”
That wasn’t what Mishca had meant, but it didn’t look like Luka would believe him even if he explained that.
Looking up at the set of monitors mounted to the wall behind Luka, Mishca saw Lauren—and Klaus?—coming through the entrance.
“You—”
“We done?”
Deciding it was best to let him go, Mishca nodded. Before he was out the door though, Lauren and Klaus entered. Her smile was big and warm, as it always was, at least until she looked back and forth between Luka and Mishca.
“What’s happened?”
Luka, at least for her sake, tried to wipe away the tension on his face, giving her a smile as he mussed her hair, though he didn’t offer a response. Even if he was upset with Mishca, he wasn’t going to take it out on her.
“All’s good.”
He opened his arms to Klaus next who scowled and took a step back. “Touch me and—”
“How many times have you threatened to kill me already?” Luka asked, and that playful tone of his voice was back as he forced his arms around the mercenary. In a stage whisper, Luka asked, “Can you feel it, Red?”
Klaus grumbled something beneath his breath as Luka rested his head on his shoulder. “Get the fuck off me.”
“I feel a bromance coming on.”
“I thought you two didn’t like each other,” Lauren said with a frown. “You said Klaus was a bully, and he was the reason your face was so beat up a couple of weeks ago.”
Apparently, Luka had disappeared for a night and when he returned the following morning, he’d had a black eye, a bruised face, and bloody knuckles. By the time they saw Klaus again, his hands were mostly healed. He didn’t deny that he and Luka had gotten into an altercation, though neither was willing to confess as to why it happened.
“He was a bit resistant, but he’s come around. Right, Red?”
Klaus looked at the ceiling as though it might be able to provide him with an escape. “Sure. Now, get the hell off me.”
Luka finally did let him go, but he kept one arm slung around his shoulders. “Red will walk me out.”
They left with very little fuss, leaving Lauren shaking her head in their wake. Mishca went back to his desk, picking up the pen he’d thrown down earlier.
“How was your meeting with Roman?” she asked, coming around his desk, mindful of the papers there before she sat on it.
“He’ll more than likely move on it within the week.”
She was silent after his response, prompting him to look up at her. Reaching out to him, she twined her fingers with his, pulling him to his feet, spreading her legs slightly to bring him closer.
“I missed you today.”
She kissed the underside of his jaw, his own arms going around her to pull her flush against him. Mishca tilted her face up, intending to only kiss her briefly, but as his lips touched hers, he delved deeper, wanting the contact.
His hand slid down her spine, spanning over the curve of her hip and resting there.
At this moment, he enjoyed being lost in her because he finally had her exactly where he wanted her without interference… At least until his phone rang.
Sighing, he pulled away, just far enough so that he could get his phone from his pocket to see who was calling.
He looked at Lauren.
“Need to take that?”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Kissing his cheek, she hopped down from his desk, smoothing the front of her dress. “Take your time.”
Since it was still early, and Mishca wouldn’t be needed back at the club until later that night, Lauren ordered takeout from one of their favorite restaurants while she waited for Mishca out at the bar. Luka and Alex were already gone from what she could see, leaving only the bartenders and a number of the bottle girls preparing for the night.
Not only them, but also a few of Mishca’s new security tried to look unassuming as they stood near the majority of the entrances.
It was turning out to be a rather quiet night, at least until there was a commotion near the entrance. Lauren spun around, trying to see what it was all about but couldn’t see through the crowd forming.
Sliding off the barstool she’d been perched on for the last ten minutes or so, Lauren headed in that direction, a figure immediately appearing in her periphery. She knew, without having to look, that it was probably Alik.
He was new and older than Lauren—probably around Mishca’s age—and worked for Roman. Only when Luka was preoccupied, and he happened to be in the area, did he stay around Lauren for any length of time. Unlike most of the others that Lauren had come across, Alik didn’t have the Russian accent. In fact, he sounded like he was born and raised in the heart of Brooklyn. She couldn’t explain it, but he reminded her of Luka. Maybe it was the blond hair, or the way an air of menace seemed to surround him—or just the fact that while the others made a point to dress impeccably, he and Luka were the only two in street clothes. Except, while Luka had a long mane of curling hair, he had nothing on Alik’s. He always kept his hair out of his face, pulled back into a man bun that worked for him.
Alik seemed nice enough, though he didn’t talk much and seemed to have a rather quiet intensity about him.
“Shouldn’t you be letting them handle this?” he asked casually, still trailing her.
Lauren didn’t see Roman in the near vicinity, so she wasn’t quite sure why he was still there. “I’m sure you’ve already sent Mishca a message or something by now,” she said with a small smile.
He shrugged because they both knew she was right. “Can you at least let me handle it? Your boss wouldn’t like anything happening to you, right?”
And that was another peculiar thing about him. He never referred to Mishca by name, and when he was talking to her, he always referred to him as “her boss.”
&nbs
p; “Of course.”
When they got closer, it was much easier for them to get to the front since the crowd parted easily for her. A man with a face reddened by anger, his hands balled in fists, tendons sticking out in his arms, looked like he was ready to shove through the bouncers.
Placing a hand on Steven’s shoulder as a silent stand down, Lauren smiled pleasantly, not deterred by the man’s anger.
“Can I help you?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
There was something particularly non-threatening about someone she knew wasn’t a part of the life she was now involved in. Was it still dangerous? Yes. But this man, whoever he was, had nothing on some of the few individuals she knew personally.
Seeming to not really care about the question he’d just asked, he went on. “Where is Christina?”
In just seconds, Lauren looked him over, assessing his mental state. His eyes were dilated, sweat beading on his brow, and considering the fact that he’d wiped his nose at least five times since she came upon him, he was more than likely high on something.
“Hold on.” Lauren made a show of looking around, not truly expecting to find someone by that name. Toward the back of the crowd, she saw a girl partially concealed by a number of people who were too busy observing the man to notice her.
The fear in her eyes was clear and even clearer was the fact that she was the girl that he was looking for.
“Considering I know everyone here by name, I can assure you there is no Christina here. If there is anything else…”
Wiping his brow with his shirtsleeve, he shook his head hard. “I saw that bitch run in here.”
He made the mistake of taking a step forward, as if he meant to move Lauren out of the way, and Alik had his hand against the man’s chest, shoving him back a few inches.
Shoving Alik back too—who barely moved an inch—the man was clearly in the mood for a fight, even if he now had to fight someone of the same strength. Alik, who was definitely reminding her of Luka now that a too happy smile was crossing his face, was ready to launch himself at the man until two things happened.
One, Lauren ordered him not to, if only because bailing him out for attacking a civilian would take a lot of time and would attract unneeded attention. Though, if they were honest, he really didn’t have to listen to her.
Second, Mishca and Roman were right behind her, both formidable in their own way, and if she were on the other end of that untapped rage, she would definitely be afraid.
Mishca’s hand went to the small of her back first, his way of telling her that he was handling it now. “Poyti—Go.”
Even though she knew what he did and how he did it, he still didn’t like for her to see it.
Turning on her heel, Lauren headed back toward the bar but stopped, whispering to Alik, “That girl in the corner, that’s who he’s looking for.”
She gestured with a tilt of her head. He scanned the crowd for who she indicated and nodded once.
Not waiting for him, she returned to her seat. She was glad for the cover that the crowd was providing, though it was clearing up now that Mishca had taken the belligerent man from the entryway. Since the shooting—a night they would never forget—he was careful to keep the clubs as clean as possible, so however he had gotten this situation taken care of, Lauren didn’t think she wanted to know.
When Alik came over with the girl, he tapped the bar with his hand before making himself scarce. She stood there stiffly, her arms folded across her chest, continuously looking over her shoulder.
“You’re safe for the moment. Christina, yes?”
Almost reluctantly, she nodded. “I’m sorry about this, I—”
“Oh, don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. Can I get you something?”
She shook her head vehemently, her shoulder-length purple hair swaying. “No, thanks. A friend of mine is picking me up. The big guy at the door told me I could sit here until she got here. My bags are still over there.”
Lauren couldn’t imagine that kind of struggle, as she’d had only one real boyfriend who happened to now be her husband. Without Christina having to say anything, as she rubbed her hands over her arms, the hem of her shirt rose just slightly, displaying dark bruises. She could only imagine what the rest of her looked like.
“Thank you,” she whispered, peeking up at Lauren. “For not—”
“Please don’t thank me for that. Anybody would have done it. But will you be all right at your friend’s? Can he find you there?”
Lauren kind of felt as if she was invading the girl’s privacy, but she wanted to help in any way she could.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t have a lot of options, ya know? She’s letting me crash until I can find a job and—”
“Have you ever been a server?”
“Huh?”
“Server, like have you ever served drinks?”
She looked confused, but nodded. “Most of my undergrad, yes, but—”
“We have an opening.”
Her mouth dropped open and was about to snap shut again when Mishca came back up, his hand sliding beneath the fall of Lauren’s hair and his thumb sweeping over the nape of her neck. He tended to have that reaction on most women. But she didn’t count on Roman being with him.
Tearing her eyes from him and looking back at Lauren, she still shook her head. “That’s nice of you, but—”
“Mish, this is Christina. I offered her one of the bottle girl positions.”
He looked back and forth between her and the girl, then said something to Roman in Russian, who didn’t look pleased by whatever he was told. He said no, but ultimately relented, finally agreeing to whatever Mishca had asked of him.
Roman grabbed a napkin from the set on the bar top, pulling out a pen to scribble something down.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Christina?”
“Full name.”
Clearly, Roman only had two moods. Intense and really intense. He hadn’t even looked at the girl since he walked up.
“Christina Montana.”
He handed her the napkin. “Go to that address next week Tuesday. Tell them Roman Pavlov sent you and they’ll take care of you. Understand?”
She could do no more than nod, her eyes skirting over each of them. She was probably trying to work out who the hell they thought they were, but upon seeing Lauren’s reassuring smile she nodded once.
“You’ll be safe here for the time being.” Mishca looked at Lauren. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
As they were walking out, Christina called to them, “Thank you.”
When they were some distance away, Mishca was shaking his head with a smile on his lips. “I can never leave you alone, can I? Not even for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mish. I’m just accepting the role you gave me.”
Chapter 2
Lauren was up before Mishca, the sound of banging pans in the kitchen having woke him. Picking up his Blackberry, he scanned through the few messages he had, rolling his eyes at the one from Luka that asked, “What are you wearing?” He briefly wondered why she was up so early—in the kitchen nonetheless—but since he was alone for the time being, he went ahead and altered their plane tickets, having already made the reservations for their hotel stay the night before.
Leaving his phone on the bedside table, he headed into the bathroom, relieving himself before washing his face, his thoughts already drifting to what he would need to have done before they left the state. The process went by surprisingly fast, especially since it was so last minute, but while he didn’t always rely on it, sometimes having his last name was a bonus.
Walking out of the bedroom, Mishca could only see Lauren’s back as she stood in front of the stove, her arms moving though he couldn’t see what she was making. Taking a seat at the bar, he watched her for a while, a small, contented smiled spreading over his face. He never expected it, couldn’t say he actually wanted i
t, but now that he had it, he cherished it.
Normality…or at least the closest to it that he would ever get. Since the time he’d become an integral part of the Bratva, he never expected to have a wife, or even to care enough about another person to make that kind of commitment.
But here she stood, through the chaos that was his life, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
“What are you making?”
She startled, jumping slightly before glaring at him over her shoulder, spatula in hand. She turned back after a few seconds, carefully flipping an omelet, if he had to guess, in the skillet.
“Breakfast for you, obviously. Even when I purposefully get up two hours early, you’re still up at the crack of dawn before I can finish.”
He smirked. “You’ve been up for two hours?”
She made a noise, not outright answering his question. Her eyes skirted over to the trash can in the corner. He didn’t doubt that if he looked, there would be a few failed attempts at her eggs.
Reaching into one of the nearby cabinets, she removed a plate, setting it on the counter. As she went about plating the food—only for him, it seemed—and grabbing the silverware, he wondered why she was going through this much trouble.
It was no secret that she wasn’t very good in a kitchen—not that he cared much about that—but he had to wonder about her motives now.
Placing the plate in front of him, she continued standing, smiling proudly as she gestured with a tilt of her head for him to eat. Though Mishca picked up his knife and fork, he made no move to actually cut into the omelet. Truthfully, he was working up the nerve to do so.
“I do love you,” he tried instead, glancing back down at her offering. “But I’m not sure about this.”
She didn’t look disappointed by his statement, just laughed instead. “It’s not like I poisoned you, Mish. Swear. I even got lessons.”
As she talked, he did finally cut off a small piece, spearing it with his fork. “Oh? You never told me about this.”
The City: A Novella Collection (Volkov Bratva Book 4) Page 2