Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(112)

He was aware of it, could practically feel the Irishman’s gaze on him as he got ready, but he hadn’t bothered to ask about it until now.

“What?”

Pushing off the wall, Celt asked, “You sure you can handle this?”

Glancing over at him, Klaus checked the chamber of his Glock before holstering it. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Even I know this isn’t a normal job for you.”

It wasn’t, but Klaus wasn’t going to confirm his words, not when he was using every bit of energy he possessed to keep from acting out. He wouldn’t pretend that over the last six months he hadn’t thought of Luka and what had happened to him, but he hadn’t had the resources to find him.

The Albanians had changed their location for operation and were practically working off the grid. Then, the moment he’d gone to Winter for assistance—a hacker who did work for them occasionally—the new handler had called in their team for a job.

Klaus hadn’t thought much of it at the time. They were good at what they did individually, but together they were nearly unstoppable, but he hadn’t been expecting the specifics of the job they’d been given.

The client, Mishca Volkov.

The assignment, track and retrieval, and a burn-out.

When given a burn-out, they were to kill anyone on sight and leave no evidence that a team had ever been there. It was rare that they did a burn-out, just because it was so hard to ensure that everyone was gone and finished, but with the deaths of Brahim and Jetmir, the two heads of the Organization, it was far easier to destroy an already crumbling infrastructure.

No, Klaus’ problem was the fact that he hadn’t known Mishca was going to his handler to make it an official job. He could have just as easily come to Klaus and let him handle it personally. Even if he’d thought the job would have been too much for him, Klaus was fully capable of calling up his team.

This was another reason Klaus wasn’t sure he could trust Mishca, not completely. This, everything that dealt with these particular Albanians should have been left for them to handle. This was practically all he had lived for.

Just another thing Mishca had taken away from him.

Klaus glanced back to his friend. “Let’s get this done.”

They were not the only two going on this mission.

There was also Calavera, the only female mercenary on their team. Her specialty was knives—something Luka would have enjoyed—but she was just as good with a gun. When she wasn’t being pulled off an assignment for special jobs like this one, she stayed over on the East Coast, living on The Strip in Las Vegas.

Then there was Payne, a name they all collectively hated, but he’d accepted it. After all, he was good at dishing it out. Out of all of them, he looked the most like a criminal, in part because of the raven tattooed on the side of his head, his mohawk sometimes covering it, and then because his canines were capped in silver for reasons only he knew.

And finally, offsite, there was Winter, comfortably seated safely behind a desk, already hacking into the Albanians’ mainframe to take control of their security system. She wasn’t officially part of the team, but if a job called for it, Payne called on her for help because otherwise, he feared she would get herself in trouble if he wasn’t watching out for her 24/7. It didn’t help that she was a hacker by trade. Fighting in person was one thing, fighting virtually was something Klaus couldn’t comprehend.

There were others who made up their little den of mercenaries, but for this, only a few were needed.

Chartering a jet from the U.S. to Russia, and then taking a smaller one into Albania, the trip was longer than Klaus would have liked, but he was working hard to quell his anxiousness.

After Fatos, there would be no one left. Every person who had contributed to the worst day of his life would be dead…everyone except Luka, but somehow, he had let all of the festering anger toward him go.

He still didn’t know why.

From the jet, they loaded into a Jeep, Klaus and Celt in the front, Payne and Calavera in the back. Transmitters were placed in their ears. Their gear was checked again, just to make sure nothing was forgotten. As they rounded the bend of the hill, Klaus pulled his mask free of his bag, staring at it for a few moments before pulling it on.

It was time.

____

The pain had finally faded to a dull ache, one that kept Luka on the fringe of consciousness. He’d long since wanted to pass out, to finally get a few seconds of peace from the endless agony, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t slip away.

About a foot away from him was large pieces of broken glass from the window Fatos had broken. One was long and jagged enough to have held Luka’s attention for the better part of the night. He wasn’t broken. That was something he had to remind himself of constantly the longer he remained in this place.

But…what else did he have to live for?

Escaping the Albanians once when they were unaware was one thing, but trying it again, especially without having any weapons and the sheer amount of men Fatos had here…and he would die trying. It wasn’t as if he could return to the life he’d left behind. The Russians would want him dead, and he didn’t for a second think that Mishca would stand at his side, not when he’d so happily offered him up.

At this point, what more did he had to live for?

Despite his shackled hand, Luka stretched as far as he could, ultimately using his foot to drag the piece of glass closer until he could grab it with his hand. It was thick and sturdy, and sharp enough that he knew once he dug it across his flesh, his skin would split.