It was time.
Thankfully, there was no one there that Lauren knew since she had warned them all not to drop by the club, knowing that tonight might turn into something that she wasn’t prepared for.
Klaus led her to the bar, making a point to mingle along the way, just as Mishca had done so many times in the past. When they were finally there, Klaus pressed against her back, she could almost believe that it was him. She didn’t think much of it, not until he placed his hand on her hip, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“Relax.”
To all the world, they might have appeared to be sharing an intimate moment, instead of a mercenary and his accomplice awaiting a killer. She smiled up at him, going up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His body went ramrod stiff for a moment before he took his own advice.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the flash of a camera.
“Mish isn’t going to be happy about that,” she said to him as he signaled for the bartender.
“I’d pay to see his reaction.”
Shaking her head, even as a smile threatened, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Where’s your friend?”
“He can hear you.”
Her eyes widened. “Can he really?”
“Aye.”
Lauren nearly jumped at the new voice in her head, but kept her cool, trying to discretely look around her to see if he was near—not that she knew what he looked like.
“No point in that,” Klaus said passing her a glass with an umbrella and a pineapple slice inside it. “You’ll never see him, but he sees us.”
“Good to know, but what if he comes up to me? How will I know if he’s with you or…well you know who?”
“Besides that unbearable accent? Look for that awful facial hair.”
“Bastard. You’re lucky you earned me two-thousand pounds or I’d leave your arse here.”
Lauren couldn’t tell for sure, but he sounded Irish, maybe? “Does he have a name?”
“We call him Celt.”
Definitely Irish.
“Good to know.”
“Now, like I said. You’re covered, but just don’t do anything reckless.”
Rolling her eyes, Lauren nodded. “I won’t do anything stupid.”
Over the course of the night, Lauren’s feigned ease became more sincere as she mingled with people, sipping on her second cocktail. Since the bachelorette party, it had become her favorite drink.
She’d begun to think that the mercenary wouldn’t show, or at least whoever it was was waiting until she was away from Klaus to make a move. It would make sense since he was hovering over her, much like Mishca would if he had been there.
Klaus had already wandered off, promising to be back shortly after ordering her to stay near the bar, but Lauren had grown tired of just standing there. She figured she would be just as safe in the privacy of Mishca’s as she was in the middle of the crowd.
“I’m going to the office,” Lauren said into the earpiece.
“Stop touching your damn ear.” Klaus’ reply came in loud and clear, and she had to resist the urge to flip him off, just to see if he would see that just as clearly.
Lauren made her way through the crowd and back into the office. This one didn’t have the frosted glass like his other—probably because of the shooting—and was far more remote. It wasn’t completely set up yet, boxes stacked in corners, a lone butter colored sofa against a wall. She was more than happy to sit for a while to rest her aching feet, but more than that, she wanted to call Mishca just to hear his voice and let him know she was okay.
At least she was going to until a girl stumbled in, wobbling on her heels as she giggled uncontrollably, barely holding onto the sparkling clutch in her hands. Her hair was up in an elaborate top knot, pinned in place by two lengthy pins.
It was pretty clear that she was intoxicated—Lauren could almost smell the alcohol on her even at her distance—so Lauren relaxed her guard.
“Can I help you?”
“I’ve been looking for the restroom for like an hour.”
“Oh, I can show you,” Lauren offered, standing.
The girl stepped to the side, gesturing for Lauren to go ahead of her. That made her hesitate, only for a beat. Call her paranoid, but it didn’t make sense for her to need to go first when the girl was already at the door.
Where the hell was Klaus? They hadn’t even come up with a code just in case something like this happened.
Lauren decided to play it safe and stay where she was. “If you go out this room and to your left, you should see a sign that’ll point you in the right direction. Or just look for the sign Red.”
Of course the girl had no idea what Lauren meant by that, but she hoped Klaus caught her meaning. He had only ever told her his codename once, and she hoped that that would be enough.
“I don’t see it,” she said looking out the door though she was now standing on steady feet. She wasn’t dumb, and now that she knew Lauren wasn’t coming any closer, she had stopped feigning intoxication.
Klaus didn’t respond, and neither did Celt.
Since her phone was tucked away, Lauren tried to deftly pull it out, dialing the number Mishca had given her to contact Klaus.
“Oh no, there’s no need for that.”
Clearly, the girl had dropped the act, and at least now Lauren’s suspicions were confirmed. She was the mercenary.
Women were just as capable as men when it came to killing things, but it had never crossed Lauren’s mind that the person coming after her would be female. In her head, she expected someone much like Klaus.
But that was what she was, just not with the same equipment.
She wasn’t holding a gun, she hadn’t threatened Lauren in any way, but Lauren didn’t doubt that she had weapons within easy reach.
“It took a while, but you finally managed to go off alone. I’m surprised the Bratva Captain left you alone.”
So she really had no idea that Klaus was pretending to be Mishca? Lauren knew that they were twins, but how could she not know about him unless it was true what Klaus had said about always wearing a mask.
Lauren wasn’t about to give up his secret though. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is inconsequential. Besides, you’re going to die soon.”
“You shot my husband.”
The mercenary shrugged, dropping her bag at her feet. “Guilty.”
“Why?” She already knew why, she just needed to stall for some time. Surely if she didn’t check in with Klaus, he would come looking for her.
“Nothing personal,” she said as she pulled the pins from her hair, though they looked less like accessories and more like sharpened blades. “You’re just a job. Besides, I needed the practice. No worries though dear, I’ll make it quick for you.”
“Come on Rayne, can’t let you do that.”
While she was glad Klaus had finally made his appearance, Lauren didn’t breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of him. Instead, she stayed perfectly still. There was no guarantee that anything she did would help the situation, especially in a room full of trained killers.
The mercenary, Rayne, tilted her head in a way so that she could both see Klaus and Lauren. Clearly Klaus had forgotten to mention some pretty important details, like the fact that he actually knew the mercenary they were looking for, but she looked just as surprised to see him.
“I don’t know what you expect to accomplish here, Vor, but you should leave while you still have your life.”
“No choice. I live the trade of dead men, don’t I?”
Something passed between them, an unspoken message, but it was clearly enough for Rayne to get what he was saying to her. She turned away from Lauren, facing Klaus head on. Lauren was clearly no longer a threat in her eyes, at least not until Rayne dealt with Klaus. Trying not to be a distraction to Klaus, Lauren took slow steps in the opposite direction, backing into a corner, out of the way.
“You’re not the Russian despite the
nearly flawless accent. Who are you?”
Klaus shrugged, unperturbed by her demanding tone, dropping the fake accent. “I’m no one.”
“Is that why you never showed your face?” Rayne asked, palming one of her blades with an absent smile. “You’re smart, Red.”
“Take off, Rayne,” he said, straightening his stance. “Whoever hired you will die anyway, your contract will be void. While I’ve always respected our relationship, she’s my job, and I don’t want to kill you.”
“As if you could.”
With two fingers pointed in her direction, he waved her on.
In movies, they always ran at each other in a flurry of motion, but neither Klaus nor Rayne moved, still watching each other…at least until Lauren bumped into the edge of the desk, knocking a container full of pens to the floor.
For just a fraction of a second, Klaus’ gaze flickered to her, and then Rayne attacked. He reared back, just as the sharpened blade barely missed his jugular.
He swung, she parried. She kicked him in the gut, but he recovered quickly enough, grabbing hold of her foot and yanking her forward.
They went back and forth, the bass of the music covering up the sound of glass breaking.
Lauren didn’t think Rayne could make a mistake, that she and Klaus were evenly matched, but one mistake changed what was an equal battle. When she struck at him with one of her blades, he jerked back at the last second, spinning to move behind her.
Faster than either of them could process, he snapped her neck. She didn’t make a sound as she slumped forward, her head twisted at an awkward angle. It didn’t matter that it was not Lauren’s first dead body, she was still hyperventilating as the mercenary’s eyes stayed fixed on her.
She breathed deeply through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to calm her racing heart, but it didn’t seem to be working.
“She’s not going to freak out on us, is she?” Celt asking entering the room, barely giving the dead mercenary a glance before grinning at Klaus.
“If she does, throw something at her.”
“Hey you.” Klaus snapped in her face a couple of times, forcing her attention on him. “Don’t freak out, yea? Don’t need your damn Russian to make an ass out of himself because of it.”
Lauren nodded, but she didn’t really hear him. Clearing her throat, she focused on anything other than the body. “What are you going to do about her?”
There was nothing they could do until after the club closed and every last person had left. In that time, Lauren had stayed in the office with Celt, staying on the phone with Mishca until Luka arrived. Celt had been kind enough to stand in front of her, blocking the sight of the body.
Klaus came back in, pacing the floor, looking apprehensive. When he saw Lauren on the phone, he took the phone, putting it up to his ear. “You’ll see her within the hour, fuck off.” Then, proceeded to turn it off.
“Do you need to piss him off every time you talk to him?”
“I have family issues,” he said dryly.
“Clearly.”
Luka finally walked in, completely ignoring Klaus altogether. They seemed to avoid each other whenever they were in the same room together, probably because of their first meeting together.
“Why do I alway have to take care of the bodies?” Luka complained as he shrugged off his jacket. “Does no one care that the bitch’ll probably smell? I just bought these damn jeans!”
“How on earth do you put up with him?” Celt asked looking baffled, scratching at his beard.
“I don’t. Come on, princess. Time to go home.”
When they were back, and Klaus was forced to watch as Lauren ran to Mishca and he swept her off her feet, Klaus felt that old ache enter his chest, because the way Mishca looked at her was the way Klaus used to look at Sarah, at least until he met Reagan.
She had been the only beacon of light in years of darkness, but he’d had to let her go too after he signed another contract. Sometimes, he still felt guilty about the way he left.
Maybe, before he left New York again, he would pay her a visit.
Turning his back, Klaus entered the spare bedroom, hunting through various places in the room where he had stashed some of his weapons—just in case someone tried to pay him a visit while he slept. He might have agreed to help the Russian, but that didn’t mean he trusted him.
Reaching under the bed, he grabbed his duffel, unzipping it, and tossing it on the bed. It didn’t take long to pack, it wasn’t like he had brought much with him here, but he would have to head back to his hotel room to get the rest of his clothes. If he were lucky, he could get out of the city by nightfall.
He slung the duffle over his shoulder, ready to get out of there, but it seemed the Russian wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him.
“She doesn’t know you didn’t accept payment, does she?” Mishca asked, folding his arms across his chest, looking entirely too smug for Klaus’ taste.
He thought about saying something rash, just to get under the Russian’s skin, but after the few weeks he had spent in his company, Klaus had begrudgingly grew to find him okay. Of course, that would never repair everything that had happened between them, and one day he would get retribution for it, but for the time being, he was giving him a pass.
“No need to get sentimental, yea? Leave it.”
“That your plan the entire time? Try to stay disconnected?”Mishca went on as though he didn’t hear the warning in Klaus’ voice.
And now he remembered why he disliked him so much. The Russian never knew when to stop. “Poshyl ty—Fuck off.”
“What’ll be your penance?” Mishca asked, wisely changing the subject.
While Mishca thought he was stubborn, he didn’t know Klaus. He happily stood there, refusing to speak at all, and after once spending three days in solitary confinement, he could stand there far longer than the Russian could.
“Ignore me if you like, but I’m not leaving until you answer me.”
Annoying asshole. “What happens to me is none of your concern,” Klaus finally replied. “You got what you needed, right? So go on back to your lady.”
“Even in your world, there are rules,” Mishca went on, not caring even a little that he was starting to get on Klaus’ nerves. “Unless sanctioned, you can’t take the life of another mercenary. Not without consequences.”
Klaus laughed without any real humor behind it. “An eye for an eye.”
“Is there any way out of it? If I told your employer that I hired you?”
“Catch-22,” he said simply.
He didn’t want to feel anything for the Russian, but he had to admit that a part of him was surprised that Mishca wanted to at least try and help him…but that could also be because of his disaster of a fuck up years ago.
“You’re not under contract at the moment. Why don’t you work for me?”
“Not just no,” Klaus said dropping his bag, turning to face off with Mishca, “but fuck no. You think just because I offered my services to her that you and I are square? Kiss my ass, Russian. If I did work for you, you wouldn’t have to fear whether someone outside of your little army was trying to kill you, it’d be me.”
“There is only one left you hate more than me, no? Over the last five years you’ve killed every last one of them, even the workers that you happily left on that rooftop for me to find. But you left Jetmir for last.”
“What’s your point?”
“Jetmir will be gunning for me because he believed I killed Brahim.”
Klaus waved him on. “And?”
“And if you want him, it might be in your best interest to stick around.”
Now, despite his efforts, he was intrigued. “How exactly do you plan on luring him out?”
“Stay and find out.”
Klaus ruffled his hair, freeing it from the fixed style he’d been wearing for that last few hours. “You actually trust me to do this, don’t you? You’re not
stupid, Russian. You’re suicidal.”
“I don’t need to trust you, Klaus. I trust your rage.”
They faced off, brother to brother, enemy to enemy.
Then, Klaus dropped back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Don’t be so fucking melodramatic, Russian. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”
Lauren rested back against the tub, breathing a sigh of relief as steam billowed out from the water, causing a light sheen of sweat to coat her skin. She had felt like she’d been walking on eggshells for weeks since her wedding day, and now the only thing she wanted to do was relax.
Mishca getting shot, convincing Klaus to help, then trying to find a contract killer that was gunning for her…this was the least she could do to get her mind off of it all.
When she heard footsteps echoing on the tiles, she peeked open an eye to make sure it was Mishca. Luka meant well, but he had a habit of just barging into rooms without knocking.
“Is Klaus gone?”
He grabbed a foot stool, dragging it over to sit near her. It took him a while, trying to disperse the bubbles that shielded her nudity with his will alone, before he finally met her gaze. Mishca looked better, like all the stress he had been under was finally lifted from his shoulders, but they both knew that their troubles weren’t over, not with Jetmir still out there.
But at least for the night, they could let their guards down.
“He’ll be sticking around for a while.”
“Oh?” Lauren sat up a little straighter, nearly laughing when Mishca’s gaze dropped to her chest that was still moderately covered. “How did you convince him to do that?”
With a shrug, he reached for her, running the pad of his finger along her collarbone where stubborn bubbles still clung. “Made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. How are you though?” He asked changing the subject.
“Tired. Fighting off mercenaries is much harder than it seems in the movies.”
He laughed. “Undoubtedly, but I’m glad it was handled.”
“How are you?”
She lifted her hand from the water, meaning to touch his chest, but pulled back at the last moment, not wanting to get his shirt wet—not that he seemed to care as he touched her wrist to press her hand against his sternum.
The Final Hour Page 17
