The Final Hour

by London Miller

  Contents

  Cover

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part One

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  Part Two

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Part Three

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  E

  Author’s Note

  Stay Tuned

  Excerpt

  Red.

  The Final Hour

  Copyright © 2014

  London Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  Cover Image Copyright © Wolfgang Lienbacher

  Used under license from istockphoto.com

  To Mrs. Gardner,

  The greatest AP Literature teacher anyone could ask for.

  The course of true love never did run smooth

  -William Shakespeare

  She nodded, but before he could call Luka and Vlad to him, loud footsteps on the stairwell stopped him.

  They were deliberate, meant to call attention to whoever was arriving, and as Mishca looked from the window, to the corpse, and back to the hallway, he stiffened.

  He knew who was coming.

  Twelve more steps brought the stranger to the entryway.

  He was distinctly male, with a sniper rifle across his back, throwing knives strapped to his thighs, and was decked out in full tactical gear that was as dark as the man’s soul. His face was concealed by a black mask, the design rather plain with only the eyes cut out and a space for the nose and mouth.

  He wasn’t just a man with a gun, Mishca knew, but a brutal mercenary, one that lived and breathed his occupation, all to feed his vendetta. He was just as much a mystery as he was a legend.

  For the last few years, after using multiple contacts he had around the world, and abusing every resource he possessed, Mishca had tracked this particular individual, one that he knew had become a lethal weapon.

  Especially known for shots like the one that had taken the life of the dead Albanian on the floor.

  The mercenary stopped, his head cocked to the side as he surveyed them with casual disinterest, unconcerned with the guns trained on him.

  Not that he needed to be. Undoubtedly, he was the best shot there, even outnumbered.

  Knowing the man’s skills and the lack of exits, Mishca chose instead to push Lauren behind him, making sure every part of her was shielded by him.

  She was trying to see past him, but he wouldn’t allow it, because at the moment, there was no explanation he could give her that would help her understand the delicate situation they were in now. Not one short enough, at least.

  Sensing Mishca’s dilemma, the mercenary canted his head in the other direction, sighing heavily behind his mask.

  Mishca couldn’t see the expression the mercenary wore behind his mask, but he could guess that he was amused.

  Finding his voice, Mishca asked, “Where are my men?”

  “Alive.”

  Already, despite the danger he posed, Mishca felt his temper flaring, in a way that only this man could cause. “Why are you here?”

  “I made a promise to you,” the mercenary said in a flat tone, his words distorted. “When you die, it’ll be by my hand.”

  Luka, having a particular disdain for mercenaries and authority, didn’t appreciate the mercenary’s words, but Mishca couldn’t allow him to draw his weapon, not against the man in front of them.

  “Ostavit’ yego—Leave it,” he said harshly. “He’s not here to kill me.”

  Lauren’s hands tightened on the back of his shirt, her fear for him making this that much harder.

  “No?” The mercenary asked looking around, drawing a pistol from the back of his pants. “It kind of feels that way.”

  “You don’t play with your targets,” Mishca responded evenly, though he had never been sure of that fact.

  He had always assumed—because of the precision in which all of the marks were hit without any evidence left behind—that when the mercenary got a job, he completed it quickly and efficiently.

  “Don’t be so sure about that, Russian,” the mercenary said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

  Mishca stared at him, trying to see through the black mesh that shielded the man’s eyes though it was impossible from that difference. He knew all too well what eyes hid behind it.

  “Not while she’s here to watch,” Mishca reiterated, gesturing to Lauren. “Especially not in this place.”

  That seemed to break the mercenary’s resolve. No longer did he appear casual. His body grew taut with tension, his fingers tightening around the gun he held.

  Mishca had never been back here since that day, but he could still remember it like it had happened just hours before.

  Where there was a hole in the floor was where he, himself, had found the mercenary broken and bloody.

  A time he hated to think about.

  It seemed years worth of anger broke out of the mercenary, his attention now focused solely on Mishca. Not waiting for a command from Mishca—though one was not coming—Luka swung at him, but effortlessly, the mercenary spun out of the way, the heel of his palm swinging out at the same time, landing a well placed hit to his jugular, sending Luka to the floor wheezing for air.

  Vlad, wisely, stood where he was. After all, he knew the man behind the mask.

  Mishca reached behind him, trying to pull Lauren forward and away from him, not wanting her to get accidentally hurt if anything happened, but she clung to him, refusing to let go.

  She didn’t realize they were now facing the one person that hated Mishca the most in the world.

  Up close, the mercenary was only an inch taller, if that, but his presence made him seem bigger, though at times he could appear smaller as well, a good trait to have in his line of work.

  “Careful,” he said with barely restrained fury. He didn’t bother pointing the gun at him because he knew twenty-three ways to kill Mishca without it, and those were just the few that wouldn’t get blood on him.

  There were men that cowered in Mishca’s presence, but this one, no, he didn’t fear anything.

  He couldn’t know for sure, but Mishca thought the mercenary’s gaze slipped past him to where Lauren was standing at his back, making his arm tighten with awareness.

  He might have thought he knew the mercenary’s plan, but he could never be sure.

  “It would only be fair, would it not, if I took your love from you,” the mercenary said though there wasn’t any real threat in his tone. Now, just that quickly, he sounded bored. “Except, I only kill those that wrong me.”

  “I didn’t,” Mishca said, remembering when he had said something similar all those years ago.

  “Guilty by association.”

  He felt Lauren stiffen behind him and Mishca nearly cursed. He needed to end this.

  “We don’t have time
for this,” Mishca said. “Do you not realize what you’ve done? The Albanians are going to want blood for this.”

  The mercenary shrugged. “Personal problem.”

  “And you think they won’t find out it was you?” Mishca retorted, trying to get him to see reason. “Someone, somewhere has seen your face.”

  Laughing, the mercenary pushed his mask up, over the beanie he wore to cover his hair, revealing his face for the first time.

  Lauren’s gasp was audible in the decrepit building.

  The mercenary looked at Mishca, a burning fury in the identical set of blue eyes they shared, so different from the broken spirit Mishca had seen before.

  “I’m not the boy you used to know,” the mercenary said echoing Mishca’s thoughts. “If anyone can identify me, good. I’m counting on it.”

  “Klaus—”

  It was the first time Mishca had said his name in what felt like ages and it had the desired effect as he lost his maniacal smile.

  “Never speak my name.”

  “And how will they differentiate between us?” Mishca asked solemnly. No one had ever been able to tell the difference between them until they were side by side, and even then, it was still a guessing game.

  “I could always kill you, then continue my mission.”

  “You’re not going to kill me,” Mishca repeated.

  “Why not?” Klaus asked with genuine confusion on his face like that had always been a part of his plan.

  “Because despite your hatred for me, brother, it would be like killing yourself.”

  Mishca had thought he’d made his point and finally gotten the upper hand, but he was mistaken.

  “Maybe, but you’re not me,” Klaus said calmly.

  Mishca hadn’t noticed the blade hidden in his palm.

  Lauren Thompson thought she knew everything about Mishca after being with him for a year and a half, but there were far more secrets than she knew.

  One, in particular, was standing before her.

  When Mishca had stiffened in front of her, Lauren hadn’t known why he’d had that reaction to the man walking towards them, more confused since they were having a heated discussion while the man wore a mask. It was obvious they knew each other, but she didn’t know whether he was a friend or foe.

  As he shoved his mask up to rest at the top of her head, Lauren sucked in a startled breath, seeing his face for the first time.

  It was Mishca, but an angrier version.

  Lauren watched in horror as Mishca’s twin flipped the blade end over end, catching it in one swift movement, holding it to Mishca’s neck. Only five minutes ago, she had learned that the man she loved had a twin brother—a homicidal twin brother if his actions were anything to judge by.

  Not only that, but he also hated Mishca with a burning passion that Lauren couldn’t begin to understand.

  “P-Please,” Lauren stammered, drawing Klaus’ attention from Mishca to her.

  There was a burning fury in those blue eyes of his, but she couldn’t back down no matter how much she feared him. Mishca’s arm came around her, holding her to his back, a clear message that if he thought to make a move against her, Klaus would have to go through him.

  Klaus spat something at her in another language, definitely wasn’t Russian because she was used to that, and she could see from the confusion on Luka’s face that he didn’t understand either.

  “They know of us,” Mishca said gaining back Klaus’ attention. “I suggest you leave. Now.”

  “You think I fear the Albanians?” Laughing, Klaus said, “You doubt my abilities, Russian.”

  “Doesn’t matter what I think, but it is pointless to continue to stand here and argue a moot point. We both know the Albanians will want retribution for this and standing here waiting for them is not in our best interest. Save your rage for another day.”

  Lauren didn’t think he would leave, despite Mishca’s plea, but he did. Sheathing his blade, he made a gesture that had Luka lurching towards him, only held back by Vlad’s arm like a band across his chest.

  In seconds, Klaus was gone, but Lauren didn’t doubt she would see him again.

  “I could have taken him,” Luka spoke up, glaring.

  “Because he did not take you down with one hit?” Vlad asked dryly, surprising them all with his humor.

  Lauren could count on one hand the number of times she heard Vlad make a joke.

  “I owed him a debt,” Mishca said by way of explanation, turning to face Lauren, his eyes searching hers.

  Despite what was between them, Klaus had saved her life, even if he didn’t mean to.

  “What do you want to do about him?” Luka asked gesturing over to Brahim.

  Mishca looked at him for a second before saying, “Leave him.”

  As they left the warehouse, Lauren took one last look back at Brahim, wishing she could forget his lifeless eyes.

  As the building faded away behind them, Lauren tried her hardest to put it to the back of her mind, wanting to compartmentalize the entire experience. Now that she was out of that environment, she felt every ache in her body.

  She closed her eyes for one blissful second, happy that she was safe with him…if only for a moment. As she reopened them, his thumb swept across her cheek, the look of relief in his eyes making her feel at ease.

  She could see the question in his eyes, the one he was too afraid to ask though it seemed he had asked it plenty of times over the last couple of weeks.

  “I’m fine,” she answered anyway, trying to put enough truth into that statement to convince him.

  Reassured, at least for the moment, he reached into his pocket for his phone, handing it over to her. “I promised Amber you would call.”

  And for the next twenty minutes of their ride, she did. Despite the circumstances, Lauren found herself smiling, trying to reassure her friend that she was fine. And surprisingly, she was. She had just seen a man murdered, learned that Mishca had a rather hostile twin brother, and there was going to be a new problem with the Albanians, but she was refusing to think about it all, pushing it all to the back of her mind.

  For now, she could only be grateful she made it out with just a few bruises.

  By the time the brownstone came into view, Lauren was back on her side of the car, quietly enjoying the sun on her face as she leaned against the window. This time, as she stepped out of the car, Mishca and the others following close behind, she didn’t try to go up alone, letting Vlad go first, Mishca and Luka taking up the rear.

  The door to her apartment was splintered, and the landlord was standing in the entryway, scratching his head as he assessed the damage. Lauren had only ever met the man on a couple of occasions, and both had been rather uneventful—in part because the man rarely left his own apartment.

  Tucker, Lauren thought his name was, didn’t look too happy about the damage he saw. “This is coming out of your security deposit.”

  “I got that the first ten times you said that,” Amber snapped from inside the apartment.”

  “I’ll take care of this,” Mishca interrupted.

  Lauren moved past him, into the apartment. Amber had her phone in hand, talking quietly, at least until she caught sight of Lauren in the doorway. Without a goodbye, Amber hung up the phone, dropping it on the couch as she hurried over.

  “Could you not do that again!” Amber shouted as she swept Lauren into a hug, nearly cutting off her oxygen as she squeezed, but she couldn’t complain, not when she was glad to be back in the apartment.

  Amber looked her over, making sure Lauren wasn’t hurt more than what she had already seen.

  “I came home and the apartment was a wreck, you weren’t here—do you know what that was like for me?”

  Lauren laughed, sniffing back tears as she tried to keep it together. It was easy to be strong with Mishca around, he made her feel that way, but when he was gone and it was just her, sometimes it became too much.

  “Don’t ever do that to me again. I almost h
ad to stab Mishca in the thigh.”

  Mishca coughed, hiding a smile behind his fist.

  “With one of your paintbrushes, no doubt,” Lauren said pulling back.

  Amber scoffed. “Don’t mock the brushes, my friend. They can do some serious damage.” But her expression grew serious as she took in one of the bruises on Lauren’s face. “Can I ask, or is those one of those, ‘don’t ask, don’t tell,’ situations?”

  They both looked over at Mishca.

  “If that’s what you want, but it will need to be later once I bring you home.”

  “Wait, you’re leaving again?” Amber asked alarmed.

  Lauren looked back at Mishca, not sure what he was talking about, but didn’t question him. “We have to talk, but I promise I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Nodding, Amber looked at Mishca. “Mish?”

  He inclined his head to her. “You have my word.”

  Lauren was quiet beside him, lost in her own thoughts as she stared out the passenger window. She was almost too calm, no fidgeting, just still, but with Luka and Vlad in the car, he wanted to wait until they were alone before he tried talking to her.

  Mishca’s phone buzzed, the only time Lauren looked over at him. He didn’t have to look down to know that it was Mikhail calling, but he wasn’t leaving Lauren, no matter how angry Mikhail would be that he wasn’t answering right away.

  Letting it go to voicemail, he turned the vibration off entirely, pocketing the device without a second thought. When they arrived at Mishca’s apartment building, he glanced over at Lauren, then up to Vlad and Luka.

  In Russian, he said, “Vlad, I need you to go stall for me with Mikhail. Luka, you’re with me.”

  He would have sent Luka to run it, but he doubted Mikhail was in the mood for him. Climbing out of the car, Mishca helped Lauren out, keeping his arm around her as they entered the building. Tossing Luka a key, he sent the enforcer around the rear, not wanting to draw any more attention than they needed, especially with Luka covered in dried blood.

  On the ride up, Mishca drew Lauren to him, tilting her face up so he could better see the bruise on her face. Seeing it, he could almost feel the echoing pain in his own face.