The silence between them was strained, and while Alex longed to break it, she didn’t know how. She was embarrassed, and now that her mind was clear enough for her to remember just how bad her actions were over the last few weeks—it was slowly coming back to her—she didn’t know how she would ever look at Luka again.
She had been so upset about him treating her like a child but hadn’t she been acting like one? Throwing tantrums when she didn’t get her way, acting reckless just because she could. She even doubted that Mishca would have been so forgiving—especially about his car—if Luka hadn’t covered everything up, but that brought into question why exactly he was helping her conceal this from someone who was essentially his boss.
When Luka’s phone began ringing, she jumped, looking down at it before looking to Luka. She couldn’t remember whether his phone had rung during their time in his bedroom, which was an oddity considering how often he was called out on jobs. Had he purposefully been ignoring it just so he could help her?
That only made her feel worse.
Luka abruptly stood up, circling the island until he was just beside her. His presence was every bit as overwhelming as it had always been, and even more so now that she could actually focus on it.
He reached out, as if he was powerless to stop himself, hooking a lock of her hair behind her ear, his touch lingering there even after he had pulled away.
There was no disappointment anymore, not even pity. Just a broken look that made her question how often she had been wrong when she’d thought he didn’t care for her.
When his phone rang again, this time he didn’t ignore it, instead picking it up and reading the caller id.
The disposable phone in his hand looked breakable, like it was just one squeeze away from being crumpled metal, but instead of crushing it, Luka finally took the call, holding up his finger as he left the room.
Alex stayed at the counter, letting him have his privacy as she finished her breakfast. She did wonder, as anyone would, what kind of call it was. Mishca was more careful now than he had been before. Not to say that he wasn’t careful before, but extra precautions had been put in place since Vlad had turned out to be an undercover FBI Agent.
He wasn’t gone for long, a few seconds at most, but in that short amount of time, the moment between them was broken.
“I’ve gotta run. I won’t be gone long, but you’ll be on your own for a bit.” Despite how tired he obviously was, his gaze was intense as he held her face in both of his large hands, forcing her to look up at him. “Promise me you’ll stay here until I get back.”
“Luka—”
“Promise me.”
She sighed, knowing that he wasn’t going to let her go until she did. “I promise.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed, but his eyes didn’t lose their intensity. Tilting her head down, he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
“Take it easy. I’ll be back soon.”
It was almost comforting in a way, watching him walk away, knowing that he believed in her enough that he didn’t think she would go out and try to find something. She had no intention of seeking out Snow, not after what Luka described, but knowing that he trusted her enough. No matter how small that trust was, it meant a lot to her.
He let her go, glancing over at Loki with a sharp look that obviously was a silent command. While he went upstairs to change clothes, she finished her breakfast in silence except for the occasional movement of Loki.
Alex was just rinsing her plate when Luka came back down, looking marginally better than he had before. He crossed the room, reaching to pull her toward him, surprising her as he enveloped her in his arms. He didn’t say anything, at least not with words, but the way he held her, his arms tight around her, told her everything that those words never could.
21
____
Dead Bodies
Luka couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so poorly…no, he could. The night he’d gone to the dive bar out in Brooklyn and had run into Bastian. That night had stuck with him for far longer than he expected because, while he’d thought to see any of them again—especially someone who had played such a big role in shaping who he was—would be easy since he wasn’t the same person he’d once been, that didn’t mean it didn’t have a residual effect on him.
But even then, it had been easy compared to the last few days. Worry ate at him while he was awake and because of it, when he did actually pass out for the few minutes that he did, he was too wired to fall under. It was no wonder he’d finally clocked out this last night considering he’d been up for nearly seventy-two hours. He hadn’t even felt when Alex had moved from his side, and he was usually a light sleeper. When he’d finally woken up and saw the door open, panic gripped him, and he’d went storming out of that room as fast as his feet could carry him.
He hadn’t meant to scare her when he’d kicked in the door, but her showering had been the last thing on his mind of possibilities of what she could be doing on the other side of that door.
And worse, when he finally got his eyes on her, water streaming over every naked inch of her, drugs had gone right out of his mind. It wasn’t like he had never seen her naked before—once accidental, the other because she just wanted to get a reaction out of him—but like each time before, he had to remind himself why pursuing anything with her was a bad idea. Now more than ever. She didn’t need him taking advantage of her when she was obviously going through some shit. Now that there was a possibility that Fatos was hanging around, that only made things more complicated. But for a moment, as he stood there and looked at every part of her, a strong need to take her to his bed filled him.
Even though he knew it was wrong, having those thoughts of her, he still couldn’t get the image out of his head and with it came a strong need.
Before now, he had been successful in his attempts to stay away from her with a hell of a lot of effort, not to mention Natasha, but even when she crossed his mind, he couldn’t imagine going to her.
How many nights had he lain awake thinking about what Alex was doing and who she was seeing. It plagued him constantly, but he had managed to be there for her without compromising her.
It just wasn’t enough, and he knew, even if they hadn’t discussed it, that this was going to happen. Whether he wanted it to or not, the question was how long was he going to continue to fight it.
“Get in here!”
Mishca was obviously in a mood, but Luka was far too tired to try to talk his way out of it. He’d stayed off the grid for the last four days or so, helping Alex through the worst of her detoxing, but he could only avoid his boss for so long, and judging from the pissed off expression aimed his way, there was no doubt that Mishca knew about what happened at the compound.
Luka stepped into the office, shoving a hand through his hair to push it back out of his face. The door was slammed and Mishca was in his face, fury bleeding out of him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
There was no point in trying to defend himself—not that he would have told Mishca the truth about what happened that night—because Mishca was on a roll.
“Have you forgotten how this business works? We’ve had no problems with the Angels over the last five years, and I don’t want to start now. Whatever the fuck was said to piss you off, I don’t give a shit. Get a handle on your temper and get your shit together.”
He guessed the prez of the Angels had told him about their little scuffle—or just made it clear he didn’t want to work with Luka again—but it was obvious he left out the reason behind it. Otherwise, he doubted they would be having this conversation.
He took a breath, his gaze narrowing on Luka, looking him over. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Had to work out a few things.” And that was the only thing he would say about that. “You made your point. What time are we leaving?”
That muscle in Mishca’s jaw was still working, and it was clear that he still wasn’t happy
, but they had work to do, so he was done for the moment.
“There’s a meeting in Las Vegas I need to attend.”
Luka followed behind Mishca as they left his office, glancing around at some of the new faces who were present. “Reason why you can’t bring one of the new muscle?”
“Because I asked you to do it.”
Luka felt a rush of irritation hit him, and before he could stop the impulse, he found himself saying, “I’m not a fucking child.”
Mishca quirked a brow but didn’t offer a response.
Biting his tongue, Luka said no more. This was going to be a long fucking trip.
___
Five hours on a hunk of flying metal was not how Luka wanted to spend his morning, and though a headache pounded away behind his eyes, he didn’t take anything for it. The idea of taking any kind of drug, harmless or not, didn’t appeal to him at the moment.
Mishca had calmed more during the flight, having talked to his wife earlier. Luka had remained silent, turning his phone over in his hands, both hoping and dreading his phone ringing.
He still couldn’t think of anything but Alex as he wondered whether she was okay. If he could have, he would have stayed with her, given her more time to adjust besides the last three days. Hell, that was only enough time to shock her into doing what he wanted, if only to get out of that room with him. But he took comfort in the fact that even after he had passed out, and she’d left the room without him realizing, she hadn’t gone any further than the bathroom on the first floor of his house.
That didn’t mean she was miraculously cured. The journey was still a long one, and there was the distinct possibility that it would never be over, but if there was one thing Luka knew, he would be there to help her through it.
“You going to tell me who we’re meeting?” Luka asked, focusing his attention on Mishca, trying his hardest to keep his irritation at bay as he’d thought of their conversation earlier. He didn’t know what had crawled up the Russian’s ass, but he was too tired to deal with it.
“Two syndicates, wanted to meet in neutral territory.”
Luka gave him a droll stare. “That’s still not telling me shit.”
Mishca, who looked to be grappling for patience, explained, “I have two nightclubs, Roman has a lounge, and you’ve probably heard of his tournaments that he holds every couple of months. Between the two of us—not to mention the sheer amount of land the Italians still have control over in Atlantic City—it’s more difficult to break ground without stepping on someone’s toes.”
“So how much are they paying you?”
“Why do you assume they’re paying me?”
Rolling his eyes, Luka turned back around. “I might not have gone to a fancy boarding school, but if we’re flying out to meet them because one or both is trying to open their own spot, then obviously they’re coming into our territory. The only way they can do that is to pay the rent. Tell me, when the fuck did you get so condescending? I’m not some fucking yuppie.”
“Just making sure you’ve been paying attention.”
“What the fuck? I—”
“You’re not always going to be the grunt,” Mishca snapped back at him, losing his own patience. “I won’t have anyone who can’t handle something as simple as an introduction standing at my side.”
“Never asked to be at your side, Russian,” Luka said, pulling a page out of Klaus’ book. It wasn’t truly an insult, considering Mishca’s nationality, but the way he said it made it sound like one.
“No? Then how exactly did you come to be here, Luka? Normally the Bratva chooses you, yet you sought it out. Why is that?”
Something about the way he asked that question made Luka’s eye twitch. As curious as he might have sounded, his tone had a challenging bite that didn’t sit well with Luka. He couldn’t know the truth, more than half of the Albanians who had been involved on that day were dead—he didn’t want to think about Fatos—and if Klaus had already told him, they wouldn’t be sitting on the plane together.
No, Mishca was probably just curious.
“I had nothing else.” And that was as close to the truth as he could ever admit.
Mishca was silent for a beat before he responded. “You’re smarter than most give you credit for. Learning a language just to impress a girl is a feat in itself—oh, don’t give me that look. Only a fucking idiot wouldn’t know why you learned French. I’m passable at best, but you can actually speak it,” Mishca said as he looked pointedly at him. “I know what you’re capable of. You’re crass, sure. Kto ne—Who isn’t? But you’re capable of more, and if you actually put forth an effort instead of trying to remain in the shadows, you’d make great captain material.”
Luka shook his head. “And what if that’s not what I want?”
“You’re content, then? Letting me boss you around?”
No, he hated that shit. Luka had always had a problem with authority, and while Mishca wasn’t as bad as most, it still felt grating whenever he was called like a well-trained dog.
Mishca smirked, already knowing the answer. “Whatever your reservations may be, it’s time for you to face whatever there is holding you back or I’ll do it for you.”
Apparently finished with his speech, Mishca pulled out his phone, checking the time. The seat belt light flashed on and the pilot came over the intercoms to let them know they would be landing.
Luka was glad. The plane was far too fucking small.
____
The hotel they arrived at was grand, as most were on the Strip. They passed through the crowds unnoticed. In part because there were dozens of others dressed in expensive suits, and also because they swept through security checkpoints with ease.
Mishca did most of the talking, Luka hovering just behind him, looking every bit like the muscle he was supposed to be.
Eventually, they reached a private room in the back of the casino where two heavily armed guards were waiting to check them for weapons. Mishca handed over the pearl-handled gun he always carried with him, but Luka shook his head before they ever bothered to reach for him.
One, bolder than his friend, made a move as if he was about to pat him down and physically remove any weapon he had on him.
“Touch me and you’ll lose your hand.”
The hired muscle glared, thinking he could break Luka that way, but when that didn’t work, he looked to his comrade who touched a finger to his ear. Seconds later, they got a new command.
Luka smirked as they moved out of his way.
The room’s decor was flashy, appealing more to the businessmen who were seated in stuffed armchairs, cigars in hand. They stood in recognition of Mishca’s status, but when their gazes fell on Luka, there was a touch of disapproval.
He could guess why. Though he and Mishca were both covered in tattoos, Luka’s were more blatant, and more than that was the fact that Luka was wearing jeans, and probably looked like he’d dressed in a hurry—which was true—and the three of them were in pressed suits that cost more than what Luka would pay for any item of clothing he owned.
Not much he could do about that now.
“Gentlemen,” Mishca greeted smoothly, taking one of the two seats available to them. “Let’s get started.”
Luka tuned out most of the conversation, tapping his thumb against his thigh for the majority of it. This was another reason why he didn’t think moving any higher in the Bratva would work for him. This, sitting across from men who could be either allies or enemies depending on how the wind blew that day, and talking through proposals and deals and other useless shit he didn’t care about. All of that bored him. He liked the more hands-on aspect of the job.
Maybe one day, a day very far in the future.
If he had been more focused on present company instead of letting his thoughts drift to other things, he might have noticed the odd glances he was getting from one of the muscles standing off to the side who’d entered the room some minutes earlier. Instead, he was lost in though
ts, now thinking of what Alex was doing by herself. The dutiful side of him knew that it would have been best to tell Mishca before they’d even boarded the jet, but his loyalty wouldn’t let him—not to mention he didn’t even want to contemplate when, exactly, he had become more loyal to Alex than he had his own boss.
Finally, once the meeting came to a close—the results of which were what Mishca had wanted—Luka was more than ready to leave and get home.
Nodding at the men, Luka headed out of the room first, more than a little annoyed. Sitting for hours on a plane just to have a twenty-minute meeting, only to get right back on another flight.
They could have hashed this out on a phone call.
Needing to take a leak, Luka excused himself, heading for the restrooms that were only a few feet away. He’d only been in there for a few minutes at best when he heard the door open, his head automatically turning in that direction, but the man, the guard who had been in the room with them toward the end of the meeting, stood by the door.
Luka zipped up, raising a brow as he went over to the sinks. “Whatever you’re into, I’m not. I’m flattered though…really.”
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Luka gave the man a drawl stare, though inside, he was panicking. Normally, his old organization never did business further than the East Coast, and even that was a stretch as most couldn’t get in the actual country.
But that was always his first instinct, if someone thought they knew him.
“I’ve never been to Vegas,” Luka said carefully. “And I always remember a face.”
“No, no,” the man said adamantly, narrowing his eyes on Luka. “I know I’ve—oh, shit. You’re an Ahmeti.”
Luka prided himself on not reacting, only the slightest twitch of his hands giving away his emotions. A corner of his mouth pulled up as he snatched a paper towel free, drying his hands and deftly moving closer to the man.
“You were amazing in the Pit, never lost a fight after the first, right?” he asked, not realizing the danger he was in. “But what else can you expect from one of Bastian’s boys? He always knew how to train ‘em. I guess that’s how you ended up working with the Russians, because of your skills? Unless…they don’t know that little detail.”
Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva Book 4) Page 14
