Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(3)

It was for this reason that Alex found herself wandering the streets of Brooklyn in the wee hours of the morning—or late hours of the night—restless, searching for something to take the edge off her frustration.

Dimly, she heard her phone chime, a series of staccato beeps that told her it was Mishca doing the calling. As his name continued to dance across the screen, she rejected the call, knowing that it would do her no good to answer in her current state. Despite his rather cool attitude toward everything, he worried more than he should, considering the life they’d been given. He was a good brother—she would never say otherwise—but some things he couldn’t fix despite his desire to try. Besides, he had a new wife to think about, not whether his little sister was coping well after killing her mother.

Sister.

The notion always brought with it a bittersweet pain because, while no one would acknowledge the truth, she was no more his sister than he was her brother. Actually, she had only met her brother on a few occasions.

There was a time when Alex had despised Lauren, Mishca’s wife, and all the problems she had brought with her just because of her name alone. When they had been introduced at the gala—it seemed like ages ago now—she had seemed so innocent, a far cry from the kind of women the men of the Bratva were drawn to. Alex had taken an instant liking to her, if only because of the sheer happiness she’d seen in Mishca’s face. It was only months later that Lauren had revealed a long kept secret that had proved deadly to a number of people involved.

On that day, Alex hadn’t just lost a mother, a birth father she had only known as an uncle all her life, but also the man who had raised her who was now too ashamed even to acknowledge her existence, but she’d also lost a brother because, despite his intentions, she and Mishca had fallen on opposing sides.

She knew he had tried to remain neutral for her sake, she believed, but it became rather clear that Mishca would always choose Lauren above all others. A part of her knew that neither she nor Lauren were really at fault because of her mother’s indiscretions, but as it seemed she was the only one suffering because of it, she’d needed to turn her anger somewhere.

With time, Alex had hardened herself against that, as well, and had learned to ignore it all again. She was genuinely happy when the pair tied the knot, but with their hard-earned happiness came the acknowledgment that she couldn’t confide in Mishca, not the way she wanted, because he would take that pain on himself. Lauren as well.

Alex wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that to them.

Lost in her thoughts, Alex found herself on the corner of Brisbane and Turner, the sound of thumping bass drawing her attention to the warehouse-style building where a dozen or so motorcycles were parked on the street in the front and a few men in black leather cuts hovered nearby. Besides a couple of streetlights illuminating the sidewalk, darkness shrouded the majority of the street.

In the time that it took Alex to reach the entrance, drawn in by the loud music and the rather obvious dangerous nature of the place, a few women had come stumbling out, all in short skirts and high heels, claiming the attention of the men standing guard over the bikes, giving Alex the opportunity to slip inside.

From the street, the warehouse had seemed rather narrow, but upon entry, it was far bigger than what she had imagined. There were at least four pool tables set up on the left side—though it was quite clear that they weren’t actually being used for the games, since one was currently occupied by a couple having sex, and a small but considerable crowd watching and cheering them on. The others seemed reserved for women in next to nothing putting on a show, one nearly toppling off as her foot slipped on the felt. On the other side were a cluster of tables and against the back wall was a rather impressive bar, a makeshift dance floor taking up the rest of the space.

As a man stumbled past her, his gaze intent on a woman who looked like she was close to passing out, Alex read his vest, and then eyed the patch on his back as he went by.

Bikers?

She had very little knowledge about the gangs herself, only that Mishca made the occasional business transaction with one, though she couldn’t be sure whether it was this particular one.

“Lost?”

Blinking, Alex looked at the person who had just joined her, but thanks to the number of peach infused vodka shots she’d taken earlier, it took a moment to focus on him.

He was muscular. His powerful arms were on display since the shirt he wore beneath it didn’t have sleeves. They were tan, probably from a life in the sun. He only had a few tattoos, all done in black ink—a crest on his left arm and a bull’s skull on the other. His hair was cut close to his scalp, considerably different from what she was used to since most of the men in the Bratva kept their hair long. A rugged jawline, clean of any facial hair, and dark, almost black eyes were staring down at her, waiting for an answer.

He was handsome in a rough biker kind of way. When he noticed her perusal of him, his lips kicked up into a grin, revealing rather pleasant looking teeth, his canines capped in gold.

Shrugging, Alex answered, “Not lost, no.”

He was holding a bottle of beer by the neck, condensation dripping from the brown glass. Bringing it up to his lips, he took a healthy swallow, the muscles in his throat working before he dropped it back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand. “I’m Snow.”

“Snow?” She had heard worst names. “Alex.”