Hidden Monsters (Volkov Bratva #4)(9)

He eventually relented—though he’d hardly put up much of a protest—heading back into his compound, and Alex continued on, hurrying across the street, just as an Army green Jeep Wrangler, mostly covered in mud, screeched to a stop beside her. She had only spared it a glance, not thinking much of it, but did a double-take when she saw who was inside it.

The one person who annoyed her the most in the world.

The one person who could get under her skin without effort.

Luka had long blond hair that curled to just above his shoulders. With a regal nose and lips that were normally turned up into a smile, he had to be the most attractive guy Alex knew. Not to mention the blue eyes that made him look even more innocent.

But for all his attractiveness, there was a darkness that radiated out of him. She might not have believed it had she not known him so well—no one with a face like that should have been capable of the things she knew he could do with a knife—but after seeing him covered in blood—for her, she always reminded herself—casually smoking a cigarette, she knew that beneath the crude humor and out-of-place jokes, there was something not completely right with him.

In one fluid move, he put the gear in park, climbing out and coming around to her side. He always seemed to be moving slow, calculated, as if he was conscious of everything happening around him. His eyes did a sweep over her as he yanked open the door, and from the way his mouth twitched, more of a frown than a smile, he wasn’t happy with what he saw.

“You look like shit.”

Trust him to be brutally honest with her. Luka was brutally honest to a fault, and normally, she liked him that way. Knowing that he rarely hid anything from her was rather nice since most of the men who worked under Mishca kept her in the dark about most things. But now, while she felt like she’d been run over by a car, Alex really wasn’t in the mood for it.

“I didn’t ask for a ride or a lecture,” she mumbled, grabbing hold of the top of his truck to climb in.

If she weren’t suffering from a hangover, she might have commented on his truck. Since he was usually driving Mishca around, she’d never given much thought to the kind of car Luka drove. While most of the men in his position drove sleek sports cars, it seemed almost fitting that Luka would drive something as rugged as a Jeep Wrangler.

She closed her eyes as he started the Jeep, her stomach churning as they started moving. The entire way to her apartment, Alex concentrated on not throwing up what little there was in her stomach. He was quiet, though this wasn’t much of a surprise since he rarely made idle conversation.

With Luka’s driving, they arrived in record time, heading up the elevator in silence. There was really no need for him to follow her up—not that she was complaining—though it might have taken very careful steps.

Digging the keys out of her clutch, she nearly dropped them when Luka’s hand reached out, his fingers brushing over hers when she’d made a grab for them as he took them, opening the door.

He trailed her inside, and while she didn’t want to notice, it was hard not to be aware of his presence behind her. Even when he wasn’t trying to overwhelm her, it was just who he was.

“I need to use your shower.”

Alex didn’t have to point him in the direction of the spare bedroom. He’d been in this apartment more times than she could count. Without looking at her, and shouldering the bookbag he’d gotten out of the back of his Jeep, he left her alone without another word.

Though she didn’t have much time, Alex went into her own room, taking a shower to wash the night away. After taking a couple Advil—not to mention the steam of the hot water—she felt moderately better.

Inside her closet, there were racks and rows of dresses, hung on special silk hangers that she’d found in a specialty boutique. There wasn’t much Alex had that she loved beside the people in her life, but her clothes were one of them. In her travels—and thanks to a rather over-indulgent mother when it came to pretty things, though it had been more about appearance than anything else which took up a wall of its own—she had a varied collection of designer dresses. This, however, had nothing on her shoe collection.

Choosing a powder blue one made of chiffon with darker panels that helped conceal her chest, Alex reached for her favorite pair of nude Louboutin heels. To some, heels were a pain, especially on the streets of New York, but if there was one thing Anya instilled in her, it was the idea that one needed to always look their best.

Dressed, Alex went back into the bathroom, wiping her hand along the mirror to clear away some of the moisture. She didn’t stare for long before starting to apply her makeup.

Now that she looked moderately human, she didn’t fear what she looked like anymore, but it was hard, always seeing the face of someone everyone hated.

By the time she finished—foundation, concealer, blush, and all the works—and was back out in the living room, Luka was just coming out, clad in a pair of black jeans and boots, a t-shirt thrown over his shoulder as he rubbed a towel through his curling hair. She didn’t want to, even mentally advised herself not to do it, but it was almost physically impossible not to drink him in.

He was toned and had the lean trim of a runner, but the majority of this was hidden beneath the colorful tattoos that covered him. Some significantly represented the Bratva, particularly the snarling tiger head in the very center of his chest. She’d seen others with similar artwork, men who just liked the design, but in the circles they ran in, it was a warning as much as it was a promise.