Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(6)

Once he was in, Luka walked the length of the hallway until he reached a door, taking the stairs on the other side of it to an office above the floor of the club.

As usual, the Pakhan—the boss—Mishca Volkov sat behind a desk of mahogany wood, the office phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, speaking in rapid Russian as he asked for the results from one of his contractors across the city.

Unlike his predecessor, Mishca was directly involved with all of the new aspects of the job he’d been given not eight months ago.

Luka tossed the bag in a corner of the office, plopping down on the sofa as he kicked his feet up on the table, smiling broadly when he saw Mishca’s frown.

It was the little things in life.

He waited patiently for the boss to finish his call, his eyes drifting around the room until they landed on the one framed picture of two that he never failed to notice when he came in.

It was a rather candid photo of the one person who continuously plagued him, the one person who wrapped herself around him despite his desire to get her out of his head. He knew there was no way that he could have her the way he wanted, not when he was the way he was.

Then, of course, there was the conversation that he and Mishca had had earlier. Him warning Luka away from his sister.

He freely admitted there was a darkness inside of him. Some nights, he fed the hunger that could never truly be satisfied. Thrived in the pain he caused others. But when that same bloodlust wore off and he saw the result of what he’d done, he couldn’t stand the sight of himself, let alone what he had done to someone who, while deserving of punishment, hadn’t deserved what he had done.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

Hanging up, Mishca dropped the phone back into its cradle, turning in his chair so that he was better able to see him. Unlike his sister, who was blond and had the biggest green eyes Luka had ever seen, Mishca was cold. Dark hair, blue eyes that missed nothing, and the stature of a man who was used to getting his way.

Now having worked for him for the last five years, Luka admired him, even if he was a pain in the ass. “How’d it go?”

“Like you wanted.”

Luka gestured to the bag on the floor, not needing to open it. They both knew the money would be inside it or he wouldn’t be there. Neither of them addressed the blood staining his hands at the mention of Donnie.

“And Jefferson?”

Luka smirked, failing to hide his satisfaction. “Like I wanted.”

Mishca shook his head, knowing all too well what that meant. “Breathing?”

Shrugging, he answered, “Barely.”

“Good enough. The girls are spending the day in the city tomorrow. Keep your phone on.”

Though he nodded, Luka did wonder whether Alex would be going with Lauren and her friend, Amber. For the last five years, Luka had gotten used to his life in the shadows, completing more of the bloody jobs that others secretly coveted, but over the last couple of months, his role had begun to change. His work shifted from behind-the-scenes to more public as he played bodyguard some days. But more than that, he’d started attending meetings with Mishca and not just as the muscle.

He had never questioned why, though it was apparent that everyone was wondering the same thing. Luka didn’t do well with people in general, and he had the unfortunate habit of making enemies out of people within five minutes of meeting them, not that he minded. He would much rather be feared than be ridiculed.

____

On the long stretch of road, the thundering roar of his engine cut through the silence of the night, tall grass swaying as he sped by. This was not an uncommon occurrence when Luka was driving, music blasting through the speakers. Anyone at the other end of this dirt road could hear him a mile away.

Eventually, his headlights illuminated a Victorian-style house in the distance, only a few cars parked alongside it. A fat man by the name of Roger Pedenski was supposed to be standing guard, watching for anyone who drove up, but he was sitting on the top step, fast asleep, oblivious even to Luka’s music.

Not even when Luka revved the engine did the man stir, which told Luka one of two things. Either he had partaken in the stash of blue pills they kept around for the clients and had spent the last few hours inside with one of the girls and was now passed out, or the old bastard was dead.

He was inclined to believe the first.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Luka took his time walking over to the front of the house, peering closer at Roger to make sure that he was, in fact, still breathing. At this point, he hoped Roger wouldn’t wake up, just so he could have the opportunity to teach the man to never let his defenses down, especially considering their work.

Instead of taking the steps, he climbed over the side, walking over to the slumbering man. Luka had always been light on his feet, usually undetectable when dealing with someone of the average intelligence.

Sighing, Luka couldn’t fight his grin as he lifted his foot and kicked the man down the steps.

Roger yelped as he came awake, throwing his arms out to break his fall, but his momentum was too great and he ended up tumbling down each step until he landed in a heap in the dirt.

“What the f*ck was that?” he snarled, trying to climb to his feet, but his significant weight made it difficult.

Luka shrugged, walking backward to the house. “Alarm clock, you fat f*ck.”

When his back was to the door, Luka yanked it open and walked inside, but not before he heard Roger muttering about him being a lunatic. Yes, yes, he was, and he was proud of it.