Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(34)

PART TWO





Secrets never die.

We bury them alive,

And pray they don’t

Come back to haunt us.





-Mia Hollow





16

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Past

November 22

Luka stepped off the elevator, hands in his pockets as he walked toward the door listed on the paper his former boss had given him. After three months of working underneath Mikhail Volkov, Luka was now being sent to work for his son, the very person who Luka had made a point to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the new assignment without suspicion.

It had helped that he told partial truths, enough that no one questioned his origins and that he was able to keep it all straight in his head. While he still had his accent from the old country, it was now muddled by his time here in the States, along with his pronunciation of his mother’s accent. Considering he did the dirty work—and the way he went about it—no one wanted to spend any extended time with him, which worked for his cover.

He didn’t doubt that the son of Mikhail had heard the rumors about who he was and what he did, but he only hoped that the attitude he portrayed would be enough to keep him from being questioned.

Raising his fist, he knocked it against the heavy wood, standing back so that the person on the other side would be able to see him clearly. It took a few moments, but when the door swung wide, Luka wasn’t expecting who he saw on the other side.

A girl, with big green eyes and long blond hair. Despite her small stature, she didn’t look much like a child. There was not an abundance of curves, but just enough for him to take notice.

“Who are you?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he didn’t regret asking.

A smile crossed her face, one of sly amusement, one without any hint of an ulterior motive. It was different, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with something other than contempt.

No…he could, he just didn’t like thinking about her.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she asked, the light lilting quality of her voice drawing him in.

French? “Maybe. I’m looking for Volkov.”

“That would be me—or Volkova if you want to be technical—what can I do for you?”

No one had ever mentioned to him that the Pakhan had a daughter, nor one that looked like this girl, but now as Luka really looked at her, he realized just how much she looked like Anya. And if she were her daughter, she couldn’t be much older than fifteen.

Realizing this, Luka took a step back, clearing his throat. “The other Volkov then.”

She looked at him curiously, as if just from the short time they had been standing there together, she found him interesting.

Opening her mouth, Alex meant to say something more to him, but a voice inside the apartment cut her off.

“What did I tell you about answering my door?”

It was no question that the boy who’d appeared behind his sister was Mishca Volkov. Luka was hauntingly familiar with that face, but unlike the one that Luka had tortured a few months ago, there was no fear in this man’s eyes. Only a coldness, an anger that Luka could relate to.

“Who are you?”

He thought of putting his guard back up, but he thought of something better, a cover that would make him less likely to be liked.

“Luka,” he answered with a broad grin. “The help.”

It had the desired reaction.

Mishca didn’t seem to know what to think of him, his eyes narrowing as he tried to determine whether Luka was trying to purposefully be disrespectful.

“Come in and I’ll update you with everything you need to know.”

Mishca stepped to the side, allowing Luka to walk in front of him, careful not to have his back to him. Smart. But Luka didn’t trust him either, no matter how long he had been working for the family and no one had seemed any the wiser, but he was less conspicuous about it.

He was led to an office, one that was the same muted gray tones as the rest of the apartment seemed to be. Before heading in, however, Luka found himself looking back over his shoulder at the youngest Volkov, an unexpected addition that he hadn’t counted on.

Barely ten minutes in her presence and he knew, knew it in a way that surprised him that she was going to be a problem.

Whether good or bad, he still didn’t know.





17

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Locked In





Stars blanketed the midnight sky, peeking through the sparse covering of clouds. The moon hung heavy, muted light spilling in through the window of the darkened room.

Alex was groggy as she came awake, trying to get her bearings, pushing her hair out of her face as she sat up. She wasn’t at home, that much was apparent, since she didn’t recognize her surroundings. But that was hardly out of the ordinary since most nights she found herself not remembering what she had done. It was also clear that she wasn’t at Snow’s since wherever she was was far too clean.

Though she still felt a little off, she was careful as she moved—remembering the last time she had woken up like this—climbing to her feet, frowning down at the mattress in the middle of the floor at her feet. Sheets covered it, clean from the looks of them, but besides the mattress, there was nothing else in the room.