Luka didn’t make a joke, nor did he make any playful remark to Mishca’s words. The person he was seeing now reminded Mishca of the one that broke his finger.
“I’m not good enough for your sister, got it. We done here, Boss?”
That wasn’t actually what Mishca had meant, but it didn’t look like Luka would believe him even if he explained that.
Looking up at the set of monitors mounted to the wall behind Luka, Mishca saw Lauren—and Klaus?—coming through the entrance.
“You—”
“We done?”
Deciding it was best to let him go, Mishca nodded. Before he was out the door though, Lauren and Klaus entered. Her smile was big and warm, as it always was, at least until she looked between Luka and Mishca.
“What’s happened?”
Luka, at least for her sake, tried to wipe away the tension on his face, giving her a smile as he mussed her hair, though he didn’t offer a response. Even if he was upset with Mishca, he wasn’t going to take it out on her.
“All’s good.”
He opened his arms to Klaus next who scowled and took a step back. “Touch me and—”
“How many times have you threatened to kill me already?” Luka asked, and that playful tone to his voice was back as he forced his arms around the mercenary. In a stage-whisper, Luka asked, “Can you feel it, Red?”
Klaus grumbled something beneath his breath as Luka rested his head on his shoulder. “Get the fuck off of me.”
“I feel a bromance coming on.”
“I thought you two didn’t like each other,” Lauren said with a frown. “You said Klaus was a bully and he was the reason your face was so beat up a couple of weeks ago.”
Apparently, Luka had disappeared for a night and when he returned the following morning, he’d had a black eye, a bruised face, and bloody knuckles. By the time they saw Klaus again, his hands were mostly healed, but didn’t deny that he and Luka had gotten into an altercation though neither was willing to confess as to why it happened.
“He was a bit resistant, but he’s come around. Right, Red?”
Klaus looked to the ceiling as though it might be able to provide him with an escape. “Sure. Now, get the hell off me.”
Luka did, finally, let him go, but he kept one arm slung around his shoulders. “Red will walk me out.”
They left with very little fuss, leaving Lauren shaking her head in their wake. Mishca went back to his desk, picking up the pen he’d thrown down earlier.
“How was your meeting with Roman?” She asked, coming around his desk, mindful of the papers there before she sat on it.
“He’ll more than likely move on it within the week.”
She was silent after his response, prompting him to look up at her. Reaching out to him, she twined her fingers with his, pulling him to his feet, spreading her legs slightly to bring him closer.
“I missed you today.”
She kissed the underside of his jaw, his own arms going around her to pull her flush against him. Mishca tilted her face up, intending to only kiss her briefly, but as his lips touched hers, he delved deeper, wanting the contact.
His hand slid down her spin, spanning over the curve of her hip, resting there.
In this moment, he enjoyed being lost in her because he finally had her exactly where he wanted her without interference.
…At least until his phone rang.
Sighing, he pulled away, just far enough that he could get his phone from his pocket, checking to see who was calling.
He looked to Lauren.
“Need to take that?”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
Kissing his cheek, she hopped down from his desk, smoothing the front of her dress. “Take your time.”
***
Since it was still early, and Mishca wouldn’t be needed back at the club until later that night, Lauren ordered takeout from one of their favorite restaurants, waiting for Mishca out at the bar. Luka and Alex were already gone from what she could see, leaving only the bartenders and a number of the bottle girls preparing for the night.
Not only them, but there were a few of Mishca’s new security trying to look unassuming as they stood near majority of the entrances.
It was turning out to be a rather unassuming night, at least until there was a commotion near the entrance. Lauren spun around, trying to see what it was all about, but couldn’t see through the crowd forming.
Sliding off the barstool she’d been perched on for the last ten minutes or so, Lauren headed in that direction, a figure immediately appearing in her peripheral. She knew, without having to look, that it was probably Alik.
He was new and older than Lauren—probably around Mishca’s age—and worked for Roman. Only when Luka was preoccupied, and he happened to be in the area did he stay around Lauren for any length of time. Unlike most of the others that Lauren had come across, Alik didn’t have the Russian accent. In fact, he sounded like he was born and raised in the heart of Brooklyn. She couldn’t explain it, but he reminded her of Luka. Maybe it was the blond hair, or the way an air of menace seemed to surround him—or just the fact that while the others made a point to dress impeccably, he and Luka were the only two in street clothes. Except, while Luka had a long mane of curling hair, he had nothing on Alik’s. He always kept his hair out of his face, pulled back into a man bun that worked for him.
Alik seemed nice enough, though he didn’t talk much, and seemed to have a rather quiet intensity about him.
“Shouldn’t you be letting them handle this?” He asked casually, still trailing her.
Lauren didn’t see Roman in the near vicinity, so she wasn’t quite sure why he was still there. “I’m sure you’ve already sent Mishca a message or something by now,” she said with a small smile.
He shrugged because they both knew she was right. “Can you at least let me handle it? Your Boss wouldn’t like anything happening to you, right?”
And that was another peculiar thing about him. He either referred to Mishca by name, but when he was talking to her, he always referred to Mishca as “her Boss.”
“Of course.”
When they got closer, it was much easier for them to get to the front since the crowd parted easily for her. A man with a face reddened by anger, his hands in fists, tendons sticking out in his arms, looked like he was ready to shove through the bouncers.
Placing a hand on Steven’s shoulder as a silent stand down, Lauren smiled pleasantly, not deterred by the man’s anger.
“Can I help you?”
“Who the fuck are you?”
There was something particularly unthreatening by someone she knew wasn’t a part of the life she was now involved in. Was it still dangerous? Yes, but this man, whoever he was, had nothing on some of the few individuals she knew personally.
Seeming to not really care about the question he’d just asked, he went on. “Where is Christina?”
In just seconds, Lauren looked him over, assessing his mental state. His eyes were dilated, sweat beading at his brow, and considering the fact that he’d wiped his nose at least five times since she came upon him, he was more than likely high on something.
“Hold on.” Lauren made a show of looking around, not truly expecting to find someone by that name, but towards the back of the crowd, she saw a girl partially concealed by a number of people that were too busy observing the man to notice her.
The fear in her eyes was clear and even clearer was the fact that she was the girl that he was looking for.
“Considering I know everyone here by name, I can assure you there is no Stephanie here. If there is anything else…”
Wiping his brow with his shirt sleeve, he shook his head hard. “I saw that bitch run in here.”
He made the mistake of taking a step forward, like he meant to move Lauren out of the way, Alik had his hand against the man’s chest, shoving him back a few inches.
Shoving Alik back too—who barely moved an inch—the man was
clearly in the mood for a fight, even if he now had to fight someone of the same strength. Alik, who who was definitely reminding her of Luka as he readied for a fight, was ready to launch himself at the man until two things happened.
One, Lauren ordered him not to, if only because bailing him out for attacking a civilian would take a lot of time and unneeded attention—though if they were being honest, he really didn’t have to listen to her.
Second, Mishca and Roman were right behind her, both formidable in their own way, and if she were on the other end of that untapped rage, she would definitely be afraid.
Mishca’s hand went to the small of her back first, his way of telling her that he was handling it now. “Poyti—Go.”
Even though she knew of what he did and how he did it, he still didn’t like for her to see it.
Turning on her heel, Lauren headed back towards the bar, but stopped, whispering to Alik, “That girl in the corner, that’s who he’s looking for.”
She gestured with a tilt of her head, and as he scanned the crowd for who she indicated, nodding once.
Not waiting for him, she went back to her seat, glad for the cover that the crowd was providing though it was clearing up now that Mishca had taken the belligerent man from the entryway. Since the shooting—a night they would never forget—he was careful to keep the clubs as clean as possible, so however he had gotten this situation taken care of, Lauren probably didn’t think she wanted to know.
When Alik came over with the girl, tapped the bar with his hand before making himself scarce. She stood there stiffly, her arms folded across her chest, continuously looking over her shoulder.
“You’re safe for the moment. Christina, yes?”
Almost reluctantly, she nodded. “I’m sorry about this, I—”
“Oh, don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. Can I get you something?”
She shook her head vehemently, her shoulder length purple hair swaying. “No, thanks. A friend of mine is picking me up. The big guy at the door told me I could sit until she got here. My bags are still over there.”
Lauren couldn’t imagine that kind of struggle having only one real boyfriend who happened to now be her husband. Without Stephanie having to say anything, as she rubbed her hands over her arms, the hem of her shirt rose just slightly, displaying dark bruises. She could only imagine what the rest of her looked like.
“Thank you,” she whispered, peeking up at Lauren. “For not—”
“Please don’t thank me for that. Anybody would have done it. But will you be alright at your friend’s? Can he find you there?”
Lauren kind of felt like she was invading the girl’s privacy, but she wanted to help in any way she could.
“I don’t think so, but I don’t have a lot of options, ya know? She’s letting me crash until I can find a job and—”
“Have you ever been a server?”
“Huh?”
“Server, like have you ever served drinks?”
She looked confused, but nodded. “Most of my undergrad, yes, but—”
“We’ve got an opening.”
Her mouth dropped open, and was about to snap shut again when Mishca came back up, his hand sliding beneath the fall of Lauren’s hair, his thumb sweeping over the nape of her neck. He tended to have that reaction on most women. But she didn’t count on Roman being with him.
Tearing her eyes from him and looking back to Lauren, she still shook her head. “That’s nice of you, but—”
“Mish, this is Stephanie. I offered her one of the bottle girl positions.”
He looked between her and the girl, then said something to Roman in Russian, who didn’t look pleased by whatever he was told. He said no, but ultimately relented, finally agreeing to whatever Mishca had asked of him.
Roman grabbed a napkin from the set on the bar top, pulling out a pen to scribble something down.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh, Christina?”
“Full name.”
Clearly Roman only had two moods. Intense and really intense. He hadn’t even looked at the girl since he walked up.
“Christina Montana.”
He handed her that napkin. “Go that address next week Tuesday. Tell them Roman Pavlov sent you and they’ll take care of you. Understand?”
She could do no more than nod, her eyes skirting over each of them, probably trying to work out who the hell they thought they were, but upon seeing Lauren’s reassuring smile, she nodded once.
“You’ll be safe here for the time being.” Mishca looked to Lauren. “Ready?”
“Yea.”
As they were walking out, Christina called to them, “Thank you.”
When they were some distance away, Mishca was shaking his head, a smile on his lips. “I can never leave you alone, can I? Not even for a few minutes.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Mish. I’m just accepting the role you gave me.”
CHAPTER TWO
Lauren was up before Mishca, the sound of banging pans in the kitchen having woke him. Picking up his Blackberry, he scanned through the few messages he had, rolling his eyes to the one from Luka that asked, ‘What are you wearing?’ He briefly wondered why she was up so early—in the kitchen nonetheless—but since he was alone for the time being, he went ahead and altered their plane tickets, having already made the reservations for their hotel stay the night before.
Leaving his phone on the bedside table, he headed into the bathroom, relieving himself before washing his face, his thoughts already drifting to what he would need to get done before they left the state. The process went by surprisingly fast, especially since it was so last minute, but while he didn’t always rely on it, sometimes it was a bonus to have his last name.
Walking out of the bedroom, Mishca could only see Lauren’s back as she stood in front of the stove, her arms moving though he couldn’t see what she was making. Taking a seat at the bar, he watched her for a while, a small, contented smiled spreading over his face. He never expected it, couldn’t say he actually wanted it, but now that he had it, he cherished it.
Normality…or at least the closest to it that he would ever get. Since the time he’d become an integral part of the Bratva, he never expected to have a wife, or even to care enough about another person to make that kind of commitment.
But here she stood, through the chaos that was his life, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.
“What are you making?”
She startled, jumping slightly before glaring at him over her shoulder, spatula in hand. She turned back after a few seconds, she turned back, carefully flipping—an omelette if he had to guess—the mixture in the skillet.
“Breakfast for you, obviously. Even when I purposefully get up two hours early, you’re still up at the crack of dawn before I can finish.”
He smirked. “You’ve been up for two hours?”
She made a noise, not outright answering his question, her eyes skirting over to the trashcan in the corner. He didn’t doubt that if he looked, there would be a few failed attempts at her eggs.
Reaching into one of the nearby cabinets, she removed a plate, setting it on the counter. As she went about plating the food—only for him it seemed—grabbing the silverware, he wondered why she was going through this much trouble.
It was no secret that she wasn’t very good in a kitchen—not that he cared much about that—but he had to wonder about her motives now.
Placing the plate in front of him, she continued standing, smiling proudly as she gestured with a tilt of her head for him to eat. Though Mishca picked up his knife and fork, he made no move to actually cut into the omelette. Truthfully, he was working up the nerve to do so.
“I do love you,” he tried instead, glancing back down at her offering. “But I’m not sure about this.”
She didn’t look disappointed by his statement, just laughed instead. “It’s not like I poisoned you, Mish. Swear. I even got lessons.”
&
nbsp; As she talked, he did finally cut off a small piece, spearing it with his fork. “Oh? You never told me about this.”
It was almost to his mouth when she answered. “Yea…well, it was with Luka.”
This time, he put the fork down and pushed the plate away.
She shook with laughter, trying to explain. “You’d be surprised. Luka’s actually a great cook.”
“I have no viable proof of that.”
“But you trust me and that should be enough.”
He tried to keep the look of disdain off his face, but he didn’t know if he was successful as she pushed the plate back towards him. As he finally took his first bite, he figured there were worst ways to go out.
“There’s a few things I need to talk to you about while you’re here.”
“Is that why you’re buttering me up?” He asked, chewing slowly, surprised that he actually liked it.
With a satisfied smile, she turned her back, grabbing a rather large-sized envelope. “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”
With a shrug and a point of his fork to what she was holding, he asked, “What is that?”
She lost her smile, anxiety replacing the happiness in her eyes. Placing it face up between them, he read the letterhead. University of New York: School of Medicine. Had it been that long ago that she had applied? After her initial application, she’d gone for two separate interviews, and now tis envelope held their final decision.
He’d only placed his hand on it when she grabbed hold of his hand with both of hers, preventing him from moving it. “What if I wasn’t accepted?”
“Lauren—”
“I mean, my grades were good, right? I thought the interviews went well, but you never know.”
“Lauren. You’ll never know until you open it.”
Nodding, she pulled her hand away, but didn’t try to take the envelope from him. She looked so apprehensive that he didn’t bother asking her if she was ready just picked it up and tore it open, dumping out the documents inside.
Time Stood Still (Volkov Bratva #3.5) Page 2
