Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(46)

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 f*cking 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 thoughts, 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.”