Until the End (21 page)

Mikhail had arrived.

It was the first time since their meeting at Diego’s that Lauren had seen the Russian mob boss, but today, he didn’t have his usual easy, albeit a little arrogant, smirk.

He looked pissed.

He still spoke cordially to all of the officers, even the men and women that were digging bullets out of the walls and photographing them. If he hadn’t shown up, Lauren might have believed that this was a random incident, but to call in his father, Mishca had to know who had done it.

He smiled when he noticed Lauren off by herself. Without a word to any of his men, he walked over, his hands clasped behind his back, his angry expression melting away.

“This is not a place for you. My driver will take you home,” Mikhail offered, gesturing to one of the three men he arrived with.

Even if the man hadn’t given her a sly, predatory gaze when she looked over at him, she still wouldn’t have gotten in any car with him.

“Mishca wants me to stay.”

“Hmm…and is that what you want?”

She blinked, surprised that he would even care—if he did. “Yes, I’ll just wait for him.”

Mishca glanced at her, his eyes narrowing when he noticed her with Mikhail. He spoke quickly with Agent Green, rolling his eyes when she tried to continue her pseudo-interrogation. He pointed to Vlad, a secret message to the enforcer that only they knew.

“Go ahead,” Mikhail said when Mishca looked to Lauren first. “I can wait.”

Instead of going out the front, Mishca led her to the back entrance with a hand at the small of her back. He tossed his keys to Vlad who immediately went to start the car.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

She wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him, not when she had questions, but she knew she could ask them another time.

“Promise?”

He smiled gently, meeting her eyes. “Promise.”

“You’ll look out for him, won’t you?” Lauren asked as she scooted across the seat to get out the car.

“Of course.”

Vlad didn’t pull off until she was safely inside her building. Rubbing her forehead, Lauren felt a headache coming on. This was…all of it was crazy.

“What the hell happened?” Amber asked when Lauren had only a foot in the door. Since it was Friday night, Tristan and Matt were over, both holding plates of food.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s already on the news,” Amber said pointing at the television where a newscaster was already reporting the shooting at the club.

“No idea,” Lauren replied honestly. “I was in Mishca’s office at the time.”

Tristan and Matt shared a look, the one they were famous for when they were both thinking the same thing.

Lauren couldn’t help but ask, “What is it?”

“What did you say that Russian did again?” Tristan asked taking a big bite of burger.

Her brows drew together as she regarded him. The question was innocent enough, but it was the way he asked it that made her suspicious.

“He owns the club. I thought I told you that?”

“Right. Right. But you also said he owns a penthouse apartment in Manhattan, has what—like three cars?”

“His club does well?” But that didn’t even sound convincing to her.

“Is he in the mob?” Matt asked pushing his glasses up his nose.

The question was asked so abruptly that Lauren was too startled to think of an answer immediately, giving them
their
answer by default.

Tristan grinned, pointing at Matt. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

“You didn’t even give her a chance to answer!” Matt retorted.

“Shut up, both of you. Are you alright though, seriously?” Amber asked and there was true worry in her eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Lauren wondered how many times she would be saying that while she was with Mishca, even if it was a lie.

Lauren was running on fumes by the time she left class. Work. School. Study. More work. Time with Mishca. More
school
. How she was able to accomplish this fall semester last year was beyond her.

“Why don’t you take a day off?” Mishca suggested, his voice crackling over the phone. “You deserve it.”

“Maybe. How are the renovations going?”

He sighed. “Got a quote today and it’s going to take at least three weeks to prepare the damage, even longer to restock.”

She frowned, her thoughts taking a turn for the worst as she tried to decipher why he sounded like he was in such a bad mood. She understood that it was stressful trying to repair the club—especially when it was riddled with bullet holes—but she thought there was more to it than that. They hadn’t talked about the shooting and with the news coverage, she assumed it
had
been a random event.

Ever  since Naomi had arrived in their lives, she felt like she was experiencing a side of Mishca she had never seen before. He was irritable and always seemed on edge, but with her, there was something entirely different about the way he acted.

“What’s wrong?” She asked slipping inside one of the local eateries close to campus, holding her phone between her ear and shoulder as she readjusted her bags.

She found a semi-private booth with cracked vinyl on either side, the sight of it bringing a sense of nostalgia for her and Ross’ favorite diner in Michigan.

“Work,” he responded simply, moments after barking orders to someone in the background.

“If you want, I can drop by later—take your mind off of it for a bit.”

Now, she could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll send Vlad.”

“You know, I can always drive there.”

“He drives faster and is less prone to road rage.”

“That was
one
time.”

Two weeks ago, Mishca had let Lauren drive them, but since she had only driven to work a couple of times, she was unprepared for the sheer chaos that was New York traffic. Two hours, furious yelling, and one amused Mishca later, he swore he would never let her drive again.

“So you say.”

“Yea, yea, whatever. I’ve got some studying to do. Call you when I’m done.”

“
Ya tebya lyublya
.”

Smiling, Lauren said, “Love you too.”

Hanging up, Lauren pulled out her books and engulfed herself in Biology.

Lauren took a bite of her pastry, scanning over the last of her notes for the test she would be taking in a couple of days. For the past twenty minutes, she had stayed diligent, forcing herself not to look up when the bell chimed as a customer entered.

She didn’t know what made her look up this time, but the five men entering one after the other was a good indication. More importantly, these five were walking directly towards her.

Lauren had only spent a limited time around the Volkov
Bratva
, but she could tell which of these men were in charge.

The two in front.

One was shorter, with curly brown hair and kind eyes. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze focused downward. Unlike the other man he was walking with, he didn’t appear menacing.

The other, he carried himself differently, like he knew he was in charge. This one was tall with a cropped haircut and had a stocky build, but the one thing that stuck out about him was the scarring on the left side of his face. However he had gotten it, it affected his eye as well. The right was a dark brown, but this one was milky white. She couldn’t tell if it affected his eyesight since both eyes were trained solely on her.

Without a word, they both sat across from her, the man with the scars signaling for the men following him to sit at the tables nearby.

The waiter hovering towards the back came over, looking from the men to Lauren, his question clear in his eyes.

Scars said, “Coffee, black.”

The waiter looked at Lauren.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

When he hurried off to fill the new order, Lauren looked to them both. “Can I help you?”

“Lauren Thompson. I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I am Jetmir, this is Brahim, and our associates,” he said pointing to himself first then the others in turn. “Yes, you can help me.”

She blinked, shifting in her seat as she slid her purse onto her lap, slipping her hand inside to grab her phone.

“It seems,” Jetmir went on, “that a mutual acquaintance of ours has something I need.”

“I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”

Despite what little she knew about the Volkov
Bratva
, she knew that Jetmir wasn’t a part of it. He lacked the distinctive tattoos she had grown accustomed to and his accent was glaringly different.

“How much has Mishca told you since the alluring Naomi came into town? Very little I would imagine from the expression on your face.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Lauren said, “I still don’t see how I can help you.”

“It seems,” Jetmir said with a smile as his gaze skirted to the windows, “you already have.”

Lauren followed his gaze to the newest member to their little party. While Jetmir’s grizzly visage garnered a few stares from the other patrons in the café, the newcomer had everyone craning their necks to get a better look.

In many ways, he reminded Lauren of Mishca with the same blue eyes and arrogant demeanor. It seemed she was just part of a testosterone battle because the newcomer hardly bothered with a glance in her direction as he sat beside her in the booth. With his presence, she was quickly forgotten.

He folded his hands on the table, the tattoos covering him standing out. One, Lauren noted, was the symbol of Anarchy, inked like a ring on his middle finger. She couldn’t say for sure if he was under Mishca, but she could assume he was part of the
Bratva
from the way he stared rather blankly at Jetmir.

“I expected him to show,” Jetmir said casually, “not send his loyal lapdog.”

“Happened to be in the neighborhood,” he said grabbing the salt shaker from its place in the tray, unscrewing the top and setting it down on the table. For reasons only known to him, he began sprinkling the salt on the table.

His accent was far grittier than Mishca’s, but no less hard to understand. He had a rather roguish look to him, a pronounced jaw that was clean-shaven, and curly blonde hair that was in messy disarray as though he ran his fingers through it constantly, but he also had plenty of scar to take away from what could be considered ‘pretty’ features.

One was just beneath his jaw, another dissected his right eyebrow, and when he moved his hand, she could just see where burns warped the flesh of his palm and wrist.

“Your time is running out,” Jetmir said ominously, tapping the face of his expensive watch.

The newcomer smirked, shrugging one broad shoulder. “We’re working on it. There’s no need for threats.” Then his face grew serious, all humor wiped away. “You know how I respond to those.”

He lifted his chin just enough, holding up the peace sign before curling those fingers, pressing them against his neck. Whatever that gesture meant, it offended Brahim. He exploded out of his chair, lunging across the table, but Jetmir grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him back down, all while the boy laughed like this was the most amusing thing in the world.