Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(30)

But after the deed was done, whenever he had to kill someone for a job, he needed his time to unwind or else everything came bubbling to the surface, and he was afraid that once that part of him ran loose again, he wouldn’t be able to contain it. That was why when Mishca had struck out against him, just moments after he’d done him a favor, Luka had reacted the way he had, breaking the former Bratva captain’s finger. His rage had been sudden and overwhelming, but before he could act on it any further—though the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his hand had made him miss the Pit—he’d walked away, using Natasha to work through the darker urges that were consuming him.

For the moment, he pushed it back, ignoring his baser needs. Mishca was his friend, the closest thing he had to a brother. He wouldn’t hurt him. At least not intentionally, but the only thing on his mind at present was tracking down Alex and getting to the bottom of whatever was up with her.

Last night…

He didn’t think he had ever seen her so broken down.

There’s no place for me here anymore.

Those words haunted him because if that was the way she truly felt, then he hadn’t been doing a good job of showing her exactly how important she was to him.

Did she not know he lived for the way she used to smile at him just because it was him?

Did she not know that making her laugh, seeing the way she used to light up around him, was one of the reasons he loved being around her?

Because it made him feel like he was something more than a killer.

“We done?”

But he didn’t bother to stick around for Mishca’s answer, leaving his office.

Tossing the duffel over his shoulder, Luka headed out into the night, his step faltering as he caught sight of the one person he really didn’t feel like encountering. He was an unwelcome sight, not just because of the resentment the guy held toward Luka, but because he was a reminder of a past better left forgotten.

Klaus Volkov, or Red, if you were unfortunate enough to become one of his marks, was the brother of Mishca, though that was abundantly clear since the pair were twins. But while they looked alike, their personalities were polar opposites.

Not that Luka could blame him for this. They were both a product of the men who made them.

It just so happened that Luka was to blame for the anger Klaus carried around. At least partially to blame. There were others he’d made a target of first.

In comparison, Luka had gotten off light, but whenever Luka and Klaus crossed paths there was always a considerable tension between the pair, one that most ignored. No one really wondered why, especially with Luka’s personality and Klaus’ predilection for anger, but only known to the pair of them was why exactly there was that tension.

A few weeks ago, Klaus had asked him to come out and meet him, and not seeing much of a choice, Luka had obeyed, but it hadn’t been as innocent as he had hoped.





Luka approached him, hands in his pockets, his eyebrows drawing together. “Having a bad day?”

The look he shot him would have quelled a lesser man, but Luka was immune. Klaus, who had the look of a man who had come to this place on a mission, didn’t bother speaking. He just marched toward Luka, landing a solid punch to his face and knocking him back a step though the motion didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. His gaze intent on Luka, there was a fire in his eyes that was usually kept hidden, but tonight it was out in full force.

A solid punch to the face knocked Luka off balance, but the force behind it might have thrown a lesser man. He’d grown up fighting, battling in enough grisly matches that he hardly felt the pain of it. That wasn’t to say he was unaffected. He did feel it, but it didn’t process the same, and for most people, that was unfathomable.

But Klaus knew Luka better than anyone else. Maybe because of the information he’d dug up on him…Maybe because they were cut from the same cloth, forced into a life neither had chosen, and for that reason, Klaus wouldn’t be able to quell his rage by simply beating the shit out of him.

No, Klaus needed to best him, to prove to himself—because he couldn’t give a shit what Luka thought of him—that he was no longer that weak.

Klaus stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. For all appearances, he might have looked unguarded, but Luka knew that stance for the deception it was.

“Fight back.” The command was said slowly, carefully, as if it was as much of a request as it was plea.

When he’d first returned and Luka had shown him the branding on his side, one of two that he’d actually didn’t try to cover, there was an understanding between them. But there was only so much that Klaus could do. If he was anything like Luka, then he was constantly bombarded by memories of a time he’d rather forget, and the only way to purge it was to retaliate against those that had wronged him.

Getting hit in the face, not to mention the taunt, made the age old need for violence flicker to life inside of him, but he tamped it down, keeping his hands at his sides even as they twitched. Whether or not Klaus would agree, Luka owed this to him.

A blood debt could only be resolved by answering in blood.

Luka, who’d straightened, shrugged a shoulder, still not making a move against him, not ready to retaliate. There would come a point when he would, so long as Klaus kept hitting him, but he wasn’t at that point yet.

Klaus looked mildly annoyed but didn’t stay that way for long before he was launching his fists again, one to Luka’s face, the other to his body, but instead of pulling back as he’d done before, he kept hitting, landing blow after blow, faster than even Luka had realized.