The Final Hour

by London Miller

  “And why are you dressed like that?”

  He shrugged, smirking down at the gun she held. “Who are you going to shoot? Never mind, just go get dressed. I’m hungry.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said dryly, “but I can’t cook.”

  “No shit? Didn’t you hear the part about getting dressed? I mean, unless you want to wear that. Not my problem.”

  “Do I have a choice?” She asked, not really feeling like leaving home.

  “No.” He pointed back at the bedroom, signaling for her to get a move on.

  She liked him better when he was angry and brooding.

  Le Bleu was a steakhouse in the heart of the city, one that charged more for its ambiance than for the actual food itself. Apparently, Klaus had already made a reservation for two so when they arrived, they were immediately led to a cozy table that had too much of an intimate feel, in Lauren’s opinion, for present company.

  She sat anyway, folding her napkin in her lap, gazing at the retreating back of the waiter that was giving them time to look over the menu.

  “Is there a reason for all of this?” She asked gesturing between the two of them—mainly indicating him.

  He picked up his own menu, scanning over the items listed there before finally answering her question. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You hate suits, and yet you’re wearing one. I’m pretty sure you are a regular burger and fries kind of guy, but here we are. Why are you pretending to be Mish?”

  Closing the little booklet, he dropped it back onto the table. “Has the Russian ever told you you ask too many questions?”

  Unfazed by his taunt, she smiled. “Maybe once or twice.”

  “Yea, right. Anyway, I need an alibi.”

  “You mean Mishca needs an alibi. Is that his wedding ring?”

  She had just noticed the wide band across Klaus’ ring finger, and she couldn’t describe how she felt about Mishca taking it off, and what he must have been doing that would warrant that.

  “Oh calm your shit. It’s not, just looks like it. Jesus, how do people get married? That constant fear of cheating, lying, a secret lovechild—not to mention if the person you shackle yourself to turns out to bat for the other team—why even put yourself through that?”

  Before Lauren could answer, their waiter returned to set down their drink orders—Klaus ordering a bottle of beer, Lauren just getting a wine spritzer—and was off again in less than a minute.

  “Because when you love someone enough, despite all the obstacles and shit you have to deal with, it’s worth it.”

  “Is it really?” He asked, his tone oddly serious. “Despite everything that’s happened?”

  Lauren looked down at her glass, thinking over what she would say before answering. “Yes. It’s been worth it.”

  Raising his bottle to her, he said solemnly, “Good luck with that.”

  “So since it seems like you aren’t going to tell me why we’re really here, will you at least tell me why you chose to stay? I figured after you found the mercenary that was sent after me you would go back…well wherever it is you’ve been.”

  “Got an offer I couldn’t refuse…and I have to find something before I leave again.”

  Their food arrived, and for a while they just ate in silence, at least until Klaus paused, taking out a phone Lauren had thought she’d seen Mishca carrying.

  “Smile for the camera.”

  He flipped it around, taking a picture of them both, then pocketing it.

  “Definitely a reason you brought me here and not Mish. Are you going to tell me?”

  “I suspect,” he said after swallowing a bite of steak, “that you’ll know more than you want to soon enough.”

  After dinner—that lasted for far longer than Lauren thought necessary, but she knew it was probably necessary for whatever Mishca was doing—Klaus dropped her off back at home, promising to see her in the near future. Mishca still wasn’t back yet, and she didn’t have any missed calls from him.

  By the time she undressed and pulled on her pajamas, it was going on eleven o’ clock. She was just reaching for her phone when it vibrated. She glanced down at it, surprised to see Luka’s name there.

  “Hello?”

  “Mishca is on his way to you.”

  “Why—”

  She was going to ask why he was calling to tell her that, but he’d already hung up.

  Some time later, she heard the front door open and slam, Mishca’s heavy footsteps echoing, before she heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing against the wall. Jumping to her feet, she hurried out of the room, pulling her sweater closed around her as she hovered in the doorway, eyes wide as she watched Mishca destroy their apartment.

  She tried calling to him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Lauren didn’t want to try and stop him, knowing that whatever it was he was going through, he needed to work it out on his own, then he would tell her.

  His chest heaving, sweat glistening on his brow, he rummaged through the kitchen, disappearing behind the island.

  After grabbing what sounded like a bottle from a bottom cabinet, all the noise stopped. By the time Lauren made it to his side, he’s already finished a third of the bottle of Whiskey.

  Mishca was always so carefully composed, more often than not showing very little emotion, now he just looked devastated. He didn’t speak as she sat across from him, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees.

  He took a long swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rested his head on the cabinet behind him. One of his fingers was carefully wrapped, like it had been broken.

  “Mish, do you want to talk about it?”

  She waited until he lowered his arm, resting her hand on his wrist, trying to offer comfort while preventing him from drinking more.

  “We had a mole,” he said simply, his eyes on her though she doubted he actually saw her. It was like he was dead inside.

  She also didn’t miss that he referred to the mole in past tense. The mole had to have been what brought this on, but who could—Lauren’s heart stuttered as she looked away from Mishca.

  The only person that could elicit this type of response out of him was Vlad. Of course, she didn’t know the Bratva enforcer as well as Mishca did, but from the little time she spent with him, she liked him and she knew Mishca loved him.

  “I was going to let him go,” he said after a while, his gaze falling to a spot on the floor. “I would have lost everything, including you, the most important thing in my life. I-I’m sorry for that.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me, Mish.”

  “I just couldn’t do it, end his life. I didn’t do it.”

  At least that would explain, she thought, why Luka had called her.

  Lauren understood what he was saying to her, between the lines, and while it might have upset someone else, she wasn’t upset that he hadn’t wanted to kill Vlad. She couldn’t fathom the idea of having to kill Ross to protect Mishca.

  He didn’t say anything more, just sitting there, tapping his finger against the side of the bottle. She thought he wanted space, was ready to get up and leave him alone for a while, but he grabbed her before she could go far, pulling her onto his lap.

  She wrapped her legs around him, then her arms, hugging him to her just as he did to her. She didn’t complain as he held her though it felt like he was almost crushing her. If this was what he needed, she would happily give this to him.

  The sacrifice he’d had to make tonight had broken him in a way she could have never imagined.

  He buried his face in her neck and before long,she felt cool droplets hit her skin, making her own eyes tear up in response.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, silently wondering if their lives of pain would ever end.

  Mishca was losing everything, everyone he cared about, one by one.

  Things between them hadn’t gotten any worse, but Lauren couldn’t say they had gotten any bett
er. She was back in the master bedroom with Mishca—if only because when she tried to sleep in the guest room again, he promptly came in there and carried her back to bed.

  Those nights, she was able to sleep.

  Some days had passed quickly since he had had to leave Vlad in that motel room.

  Something was building inside of Mishca, what it was, she couldn’t put a name to, but it felt like he was unraveling more than he already had. He stayed out most hours of the day, and normally didn’t come home until the wee hours of the morning. And when he finally crawled into bed beside her, he wouldn’t settle down until she was curled beside him, his arm around her waist like he was afraid she was going to leave.

  It didn’t matter how many times she questioned him about his odd behavior, he found a way to change the subject, or distract her long enough that she forgot about it.

  But more and more, he was pulling away from her, and she knew without having to ask that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with the case or Naomi. Whatever it was, she didn’t like what it was doing to him.

  Currently, he was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, another bottle of vodka loosely held in one hand. Despite him deterring her, she wasn’t going to walk away this time until she knew what was bothering him.

  “Mish…”

  He turned his head to look at her, a lazy smile curling his lips as he waved her over. When she got to his side, she took the bottle from his hand, placing it on the table.

  “What’s going on with you, Mish?”

  Mishca reached for her, pulling her down onto his lap, his gaze already drifting down the front of the loosely buttoned shirt she was wearing.

  He cupped her face, his skin feeling feverish. Everything about him seemed so still that it was almost uncanny.

  “I need you.”

  His eyes searched her face, looking for an answer.

  Whatever he saw there had him cupping the nape of her neck, drawing her down for a kiss. He tasted of alcohol, but he was still himself and she couldn’t deny herself this small piece of him.

  Especially if it would help him.

  If they were going to do this, she needed to connect with him, get him to actually see her. Before she could say anything to him, he fisted her shirt, ripping it in two. She sucked in a startled breath, grabbing his hands before he could reach for her panties.

  “Let me.”

  She eased his shirt up, a small smile curling her lips as he raised his arms to help her. His legs were moving beneath her as he toed off his shoes, lifting up to shove his jeans and briefs down his thighs.

  “Will you look at me?” Lauren asked softly, resting her palms on his shoulders.

  His gaze was pointedly focused downward as his hands made quick work of her bra. There was something detached about the way he was acting then. It wasn’t because she didn’t think he wanted her—she could feel the evidence of that pressed against her—but she needed more from him.

  Instead of waiting for him to act on her demand, she forced his face up with her hands on either side of his face. In his eyes, she saw an agony that resonated through her, and she wished with every part of her that she could take that pain away from him.

  She knew where it stemmed from, and could see the truth of it eating away at him, but she wasn’t willing to lose him to his grief.

  “Kiss me.”

  It was plea as much as command. Whatever he heard in her voice made him frown, his brows drawing together as he focused on her. He had made a promise to her once, that in their darkest hour, he would find his way back to her, no matter the cost.

  She wanted him back.

  Drawing her forward by the nape of her neck, Mishca pulled her into him, and she fell willingly, tasting the sharp bite of whiskey on his tongue. The arm banded around around her waist grew tighter as she slipped a hand between their bodies, sliding it down his chest until she held his erection, slowing sliding her fist over him.

  He groaned brokenly, the sound sending a thrill through her, but it still wasn’t enough. She needed that passion from him that he only got when he let his guard down for her.

  Even with her sitting on top of him, they managed to get his jeans unzipped and shoved down his legs, but he didn’t bother trying to take them all the way off. She did the honors herself, reaching to position him in just the right place before slowly sinking down.

  His hands dropped from her face to her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as he kept her seated on him. Lauren waited for his grip to loosen, rolling her hips, but he wasn’t content with her steady pace.

  He needed faster. Harder. Something that would combat with the raging storm inside of him.

  Lauren couldn’t scream, could barely make a sound as she tried to do just that as she held onto him tightly, accepting everything he was giving her, responding in kind.

  But she still felt like he was holding back, resisting letting go of what was eating at him.

  She wanted him to come alive, to show her that he was still lurking inside of the shell of a man he had been.

  Lauren grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze, wanting him to see and hear the sincerity of her words. “Give me your pain, Mish. Just let it go.”

  It took a second of him just staring at her before he gave her exactly what she’d asked for.

  He whispered guttural words in Russian that she didn’t understand, but his intent was clear, the way his thrusts sped up, the sting of his teeth as he bit her neck not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that it would leave a mark, sucking roughly.

  Lauren tried to breathe through it all, accept everything he was giving her, but the air wouldn’t, or couldn’t, fill her lungs, not even when he released the spot where he had undoubtedly left a hickey, her head falling back. She had been sure that he was close, was ready to feel him come apart, but he lifted her off him, carrying her into their bedroom, the first time they would be in there together for weeks.

  He crawled onto the bed after her, slowly entering her again as he hooked her legs around his waist.

  The pain he felt, that agony that had been consuming him for so long, he let it all out, taking it out on her body. But she really couldn’t complain, not with the way that the stress in his eyes was fading, and the way it made her feel in the process.

  By the time they were coming together, Lauren felt breathless, unable to do anything more than rub her hand down Mishca’s back.

  After several moments, he lifted his weight from her, rolling over to his side. He didn’t pause in pulling her closer, his hold still insistently strong, but at least the tension in his body was dwindling as he kept her in that spot.

  “Thank you.” His voice was gruff, tired.

  “There’s no need to thank me, Mish. I’d do anything for you. Is there anything else I can do?” she asked quietly, still clinging to him.

  Mishca’s eyes were still haunted, still dark with emotion, but he was at least looking at her now with a ghost of a smile. “All I need is you.”

  There was a different atmosphere about Mishca as he got dressed that morning for court. He knew there was nothing further the prosecution could present that would continue the case, and while he was happy with this fact, the consequences of the life he led weighed on him.

  It was much easier for everyone else to pretend like Vlad wasn’t one of their own, to act like he was nothing more than a fraud and a blight in their inner workings, but to Mishca, he had been one of the closest people he’d had. Even though he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, Vlad’s death was still on his hands.

  Lauren appeared in the doorway to the closet, already dressed and ready to go. She looked far better than he felt, and he wished he could feel that peace.

  Without him having to ask, she reached to straighten his tie. Brazil had been left in the past, and she rarely spoke of it—much—because of the emotional toll Vlad’s death had on him.

  Lucky for him, he didn’t foresee anything like this in
the future.

  “Are you okay?” She asked dropping her hands to hold his.

  He almost smiled. He couldn’t think of the number of times he had asked her that exact question over the last two years. Mishca definitely didn’t want her to worry about him now, especially when this was nothing compared to what he would be facing once he met with the others in a few days.

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  Together, they headed to the courthouse, used to the cameras now. This was the day they had all been waiting for. It was the last day for the People to present a case that was worthy of going to trial. Few people knew that the decision wasn’t going to be in the favor of the prosecution.

  “Where’s Luka?” Lauren asked looking around, completely oblivious to what had happened between him and Mishca.

  Truthfully, Mishca hadn’t seen the enforcer since the night at Vlad’s hotel room, and he was glad of it. At the moment, he didn’t know what to say to him, and despite his temperament, Mishca didn’t want to say something to him out of anger.

  “He’ll be here soon, I’m sure.”

  Sure enough, Luka appeared right behind the State’s Attorney. His face was impassive, but he did wink at Lauren as he headed to the defense’s table. When he met Mishca’s gaze, he only inclined his head in a show of respect.

  Eventually, Mishca would get past his anger towards him, but he wasn’t sure when that day would be. Until then, he would keep his distance.

  Agent Green wasn’t far behind, and if her expression was anything to judge by, she knew that this was about to end, and not in her favor. The State’s Attorney didn’t look particularly happy either, but she had a better poker face.

  Jessica looked to Mishca, her voice low as she asked, “Is everything in order?”

  She had worked for Mishca for years, and just like so many that took an oath to obey the law in all ways, she’d succumbed to their side long before she had ever come to work for him. As long as she received her money, she kept his secrets.

  By the time the judge claimed his chair, looking less than impressed when the State’s Attorney very obviously tried to buy time, Jessica interrupted her, wanting to end this.