The Final Hour

by London Miller

  “Who?” Klaus said.

  “Bastian.”

  Luka half expected him to demand he turn around to see if the scars were there, evidence of his claims, but from the way Klaus’ eyes clouded with fury, Luka knew that he was remembering the exact pattern in his own back.

  The one’s that Luka had put there.

  “And the Russian doesn’t know this?”

  No, he didn’t and Luka wanted to keep it that way.

  It was left unspoken, but they both knew Mishca would see Luka killed than standing at his side.

  “You suicidal?” Klaus asked the most obvious question. Most would come up with that conclusion if they knew Luka had willingly walked into this den of wolves, knowing what he had done.

  “I like to think I’m a masochist,” Luka said with a shrug.

  “This isn’t over between us, but I’ll not tell your little secret to your Captain,” Klaus said, “but you’re in debt to me.”

  “And when will it come due?”

  “Whenever I call for you.”

  Luka agreed, not that he had any other choice. He already considered killing him, but he doubted that it would be easy, and it would damn well be bloody.

  “You might wanna go ahead and give me your number since, ya know,”—Luka took out his phone, looking at Klaus’ expectedly—“you’re going to be calling me.”

  Klaus’ mouth twitched but he refused to smile. “Are you really as mad as they say?”

  Luka looked around, a smile on his face as he gestured to their surroundings with his arms. “We’re all mad here.”

  Shaking his head, Klaus turned his back—arrogant bastard—jerking his thumb back at Luka. “You might want to get up there soon, I told the Russian you were back.”

  So he hadn’t planned on killing Luka.

  He watched after him, seeing the familiarity between Mishca and Klaus. They both were arrogant and thought themselves at the top of the food chain, but they could never rule together. Especially not when they couldn’t be in a room together longer than a few minutes without going for each other’s throats.

  Luka took a breath, shoving his hands in his pockets as he boarded the elevator, ignoring the way Turner eyed the blood on his clothes.

  Not much he could have really done to help that.

  And as he readied to enter the apartment, Luka let his mind drift back to the past, where he had been the victim, begging for a life he wasn’t really sure he wanted.

  There, the chaotic rhythm of jumbled pieces of images flashed in his mind, the torture, the training, the fear. Then his mind finally calmed to a blank space.

  Alex didn’t need any confirmation from Luka to affirm what she already knew. It was blatantly obvious that Anya was setting her up. Alex was sure Anya had been counting on Mishca’s love for Lauren to set him off prematurely, but had she really thought Mishca would have killed her outright?

  He could be temperamental sometimes, sure, but he had never in his life raised a hand to her.

  Even now as they argued back and forth, oblivious to the storm that was raging inside of her, Mishca was trying to refrain from saying outright what she already knew was going to happen. Anya was going to die. Since she had come back to the penthouse, a while after Luka had already come up and announced what he had already told her, she had only caught the tail end of the argument.

  Anya had been given a chance once already. While her living arrangements hadn’t been ideal for a person like her, Alex had always thought that living would have been enough.

  The crazy thing was, she hadn’t thought about her visit with Anya since she left her place that day. A few days after, she hadn’t been able to find her wallet, but she had chalked it up to her own habit of losing things. Even weeks later, when Mikhail had informed Mishca—he still didn’t talk to Alex—that Anya had disappeared, Alex had been worried, but she figured either Anya had escaped, or Mikhail had something with her.

  Now, she was almost one-hundred percent sure it wasn’t Mikhail.

  A she gazed around the room, at the only people she truly cared about, she only had one real option to end this. She knew Mishca would feel guilty, not because Anya would be dead, but because of what it would do to her. And a part of her wanted to be the one to take care of this, and that part was destructive.

  Because of her life, it was imperative that she was careful with how she acted no matter where she was. She had never really been able to have a normal life, going out with friends, drinking to excess, so for years that free spirit of hers was tempered, but not in a good way.

  While she wouldn’t admit it, there was something dark in her, very much like her mother. For years, Mishca thought he had been shielding her from the life, while in fact, he had taught her everything she knew.

  And to move this along without bringing suspicion on herself, she needed to get out of there and make a phone call.

  She slipped out easy enough since Mishca was too busy arguing with Klaus, and Lauren was trying to be the median between them. For reasons Alex didn’t care to contemplate, Vlad was acting strange, distancing himself rather than his usual hovering.

  As she walked around the corner and down the hallway, she went over what she was going to say in her head, trying to think of the best strategy to work against her own mother. No one knew her the way Alex did, including the way her mind worked.

  “What are you doing?”

  Alex was so used to Mishca sneaking around that she wasn’t startled by Luka’s sudden appearance behind her. She was careful though, keeping her phone out of sight as she kept her arm behind her back, turning to face him. Luka didn’t care much for personal space, and it was more than hard for her just being in his presence alone.

  Forcing a smile, she shrugged, blinking up at him. “Minding my own. What about you?”

  “You look like you’re planning something stupid.”

  Luka was always so careful and guarded when he was around her that she couldn’t be sure whether or not he was acting so concerned because it was his job, or because he thought of her like a sister, or…something different.

  She had never hid her feelings from him, even if they were unrequited, but until recently, nothing she had ever done had ever gotten him to even take a second glance at her. Now? She couldn’t get rid of him and she had no idea how she had snared his attention, though she didn’t regret that she had.

  “You worry too much about me,” she said flippantly, hoping he would leave it at that.

  For a second, if it could even be considered that, she thought she saw him smile, not one of the fake, sarcastic smiles that she was used to, but one that was genuine and made her heart flutter.

  “Someone has to.” He said it so casually as he leaned against the doorframe that she didn’t doubt his words.

  “And you? Who worries about you?”

  “I worry about myself.”

  “Is that enough though?” She asked, truly curious. “Doesn’t that ever get lonely?”

  He shrugged, looking just past her.

  But that didn’t stop her from saying, “I care about you, Luka.”

  He canted his head to the side, reaching up with those scarred, tattooed fingers to brush her hair behind her ear. His hand lingered there, barely touching her, but it was enough for her to feel the heat of his palm. If possible, the space between them grew smaller as he stood straight though it didn’t appear he had moved at all.

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “Tell me.” It was almost a plea…almost. “Something, anything. I don’t care.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Alex,” he commanded, effectively changing the subject. “Boss wouldn’t want you doing anything reckless.”

  And just like that, he pulled away from her, closing himself of to her, just as she closed herself off to him. He turned to walk back down the hall to the living room where everyone was still talking, but before he could go far, she called out after him.

  “Do you even car
e, Luka?”

  He spun on his heel, still walking backwards though he was now facing her. He drew an X over his heart, then placed the flat of his palm against the spot. She couldn’t say what that meant, could only hope that he might feel for her what she felt for him, but knew that the possibility of that was far more complicated than she really wanted to think about right now.

  He thought he knew her, but he should have known that just because he told her not to do something, didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do it. She still had to make that call.

  Anya was too arrogant to believe she could ever make a mistake—even with the catastrophe with Lauren and her family—and for that reason, Alex knew Anya would still be carrying the phone Alex had stashed in the gift basket she’d brought for her.

  Knowing she didn’t have much time until Luka came back when she didn’t follow him, Alex punched in the number, bringing the phone up to her ear, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest as the ringing started.

  It rang once, twice, before the call was forwarded to voicemail.

  She was right.

  Despite the fact that Anya couldn’t see her, Alex held her head high, needing the sense of bravado it brought her. If she wanted this to work, she had to make it sound believable.

  When it was time to leave a message, Alex spoke clearly, and precisely into the phone.

  “I know where you are and who you’re with. I also know about the assassin you hired. I know the truth, but if you want me to keep your secret, you will meet with me with two-hundred thousand dollars, cash. If you don’t have it, ask the Albanian you’re fucking. When you call, and you will, I’ll give you a time and location.”

  Ending the call, Alex dropped the phone back into her pure, clearing her expression before she could reenter the room. Hopefully, time was on her side. If Anya didn’t know that the assassin had failed, then she would be more willing to bargain, especially since she had set Alex up to take the fall for it.

  Now, all she had to do was wait.

  Anya hadn’t disappointed.

  About a week after Alex left the message, Anya contacted her wanting to negotiate. For all intents and purposes, she had no reason to worry about what Alex might do because she still believed her plan was still in affect. Anya clearly didn’t know what she was doing if she hadn’t realized that the mercenary had botched it long ago, but Klaus was their ace in the hole.

  In the time between her call with Anya and the date they’d set to meet, Alex had gotten everything she needed for it.

  First, she paid a visit to one of her friends out in Brighton Beach, the same one she had been visiting when she’d needed a ride. Truthfully, she had been glad Mishca had sent Lauren and Luka instead of coming himself. He practically knew every corner of Brighton Beach and could have guessed where she had been, but it was easy enough to distract them before they could question her about what she was doing there.

  The drug she had bought hadn’t come cheap, Clint nearly charging her a pound of flesh to get it for her. For a dealer, he was a scary bastard, more afraid of jail time than actually moving his product.

  She knew how to use it effectively though, and for that, she was thankful she had her own connections within the Bratva.

  Everything was set before Anya stepped into the apartment that evening. It wasn’t that Alex had been planning for the events that would take place, but she knew she needed to be prepared nonetheless.

  Anya entered the apartment with a large, silver briefcase, dressed as she used to before Mikhail had sent her away. This was the woman Alex remembered, and for a split moment, when she didn’t see the cold fury in Anya’s eyes, Alex could imagine that this was just another day of them spending time together before one of them had to go off.

  “Please, have a seat,” Alex offered, taking her own as she folded her hands in her lap, never once looking away from her mother. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Anya looked around at the apartment, jealousy in her eyes. “You are his daughter, yet only I suffer for it.”

  Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, but Alex was the picture of calm as she crossed her legs, tapping her fingers against her knee. “Did you bring the money?”

  “And what makes you think I just won’t kill you?”

  “Because you know as well as I do that if I die, Mishca will know it was you, and he won’t stop until you’re dead.”

  “Possibly, but there’s no guarantee that there will be any body left for him to discover.”

  Alex watched silently as Anya reached for the sealed water bottle on the table, inspecting to see if it had been tampered with before she unscrewed the cap, drinking deeply.

  There was a stab of guilt in her chest as Alex watched her, and she once again wished that she had come from a normal family without all the betrayals, the deaths, the fights, but she knew wishing wouldn’t change a thing, and it was far too late now to turn back.

  She had about seven minutes before the drug kicked in and did its damage, and before that could happen, she wanted to say her piece.

  “I’ve always had your back, in everything. Why would you do this to me? If you wanted your revenge, why did you have to bring me in it? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You’ve taken everything from me!” Anya accused, venom dripping from her voice.

  “I did nothing wrong,” Alex shouted back.

  “You were born!”

  This much anger and hostility coming from her, Alex realized that despite what she thought was a brilliant, flawless plan, she might not have been the only one trying to get one over.

  “You never intended to pay me, did you?” Alex asked softly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice as Anya placed the bottle back on the table, her eyes going to the briefcase that was still resting at her feet.

  With a rather joyful expression, Anya picked it up, opening it to show Alex the empty interior.

  Shaking her head, Alex said, “You set me up.”

  “And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

  Anya’s brow furrowed for a moment as she blinked rapidly, clearing her throat repeatedly, but she couldn’t know that she was slowly dying from a drug that was both odorless and tasteless that wouldn’t show up on a normal tox screen. Even if they ran one, Alex had been told, it would be out of her system within twenty-four hours.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Alex whispered. “It’s already done.”

  Alex wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t gloating at what she had been able to accomplish. She felt absolutely nothing.

  “What does that mean?” Anya turned her head to look back at the water she had drunk, turning accusing eyes on Alex. “What have you given me?”

  “I’m sorry, but you didn’t leave me a choice.”

  Seven and a half minutes. That was all it took before Anya’s eyes fluttered, her body going lax as she stumbled back into the couch, her eyes slowly losing their focus.

  “Your loyalty,” Anya gasped out on failing breaths. “Your l-loyalty was to me.”

  Alex could hardly speak as she heard Anya’s last words, her throat so tight from the unshed tears that she could do no more but watch as Anya took her last breath. Even in her last moments, Anya couldn’t take any of the blame.

  Anya was right about one thing, loyalty meant everything in their world, but she had lost sight of who was loyal to who. Alex was loyal to those who were loyal to her. Mishca would not have been as merciful, nor would any other member of the Volkov Bratva.

  That was why Alex knew she had to be the one to do the job.

  It was the last gift she could give her mother.

  It was the only mercy she would ever get.

  Once it was done, she knew that she would have to call them, knowing Mishca had people to clean this up, or fix it to look however they wanted. She hesitated as she typed in Mishca’s number, wondering whether he was still with Lauren and the long lost bother she knew fuck-all about. More importantly, she wondered
if Luka would come.

  Everyday it felt like she lost another piece of Mishca, and soon she feared that she wouldn’t have him at all, especially now that he was married.

  Once she made the call, hearing the irateness in Mishca’s voice, she focused only on Anya. Despite her family, Alex had never seen a dead body before, not for the lack of killings that she knew Mishca and the others had committed. For a while, she could only stare at Anya’s body for the longest time. It had been over quickly, and if Alex hadn’t witnessed it herself, she would think Anya was sleeping.

  Before long, she heard them outside, using the key to let themselves in. Alex only saw Mishca and Luka enter first before she dropped her gaze again, but she knew Vlad wasn’t far behind.

  “Want me to take care of it?” Luka asked quietly to Mishca, lacking that spark of emotion she had heard the last time she saw him.

  “Give me a minute.”

  She expected Mishca to be angry with her for going behind his back, but if his actions were any indication, he wasn’t upset with her at all. He pulled her out of the room, his hand gentle on her. When he finally stopped, he kept both hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him while using his body as a block from what they were doing back in the den.

  “What happened?”

  She opened her mouth, ready to tell him everything, but it was the look on his face that made her pause. She was so used to his stern look, the way he addressed the men under his charge, but it had been a while since she felt her age around him.

  There was so much sadness there, and fear, that despite her efforts, she began tearing up. It was like his words snapped her back to reality. A reality where she had killed her own mother.

  “She would have killed us all,” Alex said, hating that her voice was shaking when she talked to him. She didn’t want to seem weak. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop.”

  She expected him to tell her how badly she had fucked up, but he pulled her into a hug, her head tucked beneath his chin, the way he always did since she was a little girl.