In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(17)

“There’s a hair in my food.”

Jonathan was rubbing his eyes, Tiffany was glaring down at her phone, but Mishca was frowning, his lips pressed in a firm line. He no longer looked amused as he regarded Rebecca.

Lauren was polite, though reluctant, to believe her since all the chefs wore hairnets and bandannas. “I’m sure we can get you something fresh, on the house of course.”

Rebecca grabbed the plate, thrusting it towards Lauren, not giving her enough time to reach for it, effectively sending the potatoes and sauce all over the front of Lauren’s dress, dripping down the front onto the floor.

This time, Lauren did lose her smile and she knew she had to be the shade of a tomato since her face was so hot. She was glad that the other diners had returned to their meals so they wouldn’t witness one of the most embarrassing moment in her life.

She couldn’t think of what to do. She’d never had a tendency towards violence, though in this moment, she was tempted. Lauren was just rooted in place, trying to wrap her mind around what had just happened. When she heard the wet slap of potatoes hitting the floor, her anger mounted, her hands curling into fists.

Tara and Diego appeared, Diego standing with his chest out as he pointed at the lot of them. Tara grabbed Lauren’s arm, pulling her back before she could do something she would regret.

“I think it’s time for you all to leave. Don’t ever come to my restaurant again.” Diego’s voice was hard and laced with authority.

Tiffany looked embarrassed, shooting Lauren a sympathetic glance and as she and Jonathan hurried out, Rebecca grabbing her purse and trailing happily behind them.

Mishca stood, taking his time as he pulled out a number of bills from his wallet, placing them on the table. As he passed Lauren, not caring that Diego now had his arms folded across his chest, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone.

Diego sighed. “You can go home early. Money on the table is yours.”

“That’s not—”

“Trust me,” he said with a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You deserve it.”

Lauren didn’t care about the money. She didn’t even want it, but she pocketed it anyway, heading back into the break room to grab her things.

The next time she saw Mishca, he would be getting his money back and a piece of her mind.





Chapter six:


Club 221


“He apologized, but she still ruined my dress,” Lauren finished, recounting her horrific evening at work to Amber as they lounged in the living room.

Since that night, she hadn’t seen Mishca at the coffee shop, but the money she kept in her wallet was starting to burn a hole in it.

“Bitches. I would’ve hit her in the face with a paint brush.”

Lauren laughed as Amber held out one of her largest brushes, wielding it like a weapon as she jabbed it at the air. Trust Amber to make light of the situation to make her feel better.

“Yea, I’m past it now…”

She trailed off as Amber’s phone blared to life, playing catchy song that she had programmed for Piper.

Amber listened intently after answering, then covered the bottom half of the phone as she turned to smile at Lauren. “Want to go out tonight? There’s a new club that the guys want to go to.”

“Count me in.”

***

Lauren and Amber met Rob, Piper, and Matt around the corner from Club 221, wanting to go in together—Tristan surprisingly absent because of band practice. A long line wrapped itself around the giant building, a black carpet leading to the frosted doors at the front.

Two bouncers in dark suits stood at the entrance, formidable and unmoving as people clamored around them, begging to be let inside. With the sizable crowd, Lauren doubted they would be able to get in for at least a few hours, but Piper didn’t hesitate, sauntering in her high heels to the front of the line, giving her name to one of the guards. He looked her up and down, with a calculating gleam in his eye, muttering something in her ear that made her smile coyly. With a laugh, he allowed them in.

From the outside, you could just see the strobing lights flicking through the shaded windows, but inside, the heavy bass pounded the speakers, the place nearly filled to capacity. It took careful maneuvering to get through the people on the dance floor. It was an exclusive spot, that much Lauren could tell from the way it was designed.

Track lights beamed down from the ceiling, bathing the walls and white furniture with a blue glow. In intervals, the color changed, flickering to red, green, yellow, then back to blue. Bottle girls dressed in barely there white skirts and midriff tops breezed by in a flurry, carrying sparkling bottles of champagne and trays of shots.

The DJ was up in his booth overlooking the dance floor wearing giant headphones, his hands busy with his laptop. To the right of him was an office. No one was inside, but when the door swung open, the glass frosted, creating privacy.

They found an empty booth near the bar and got comfortable, but Piper remained standing, shouting over the pounding music, “I’ve got the first round.”

As the throngs of people parted for her, it became perfectly clear how she was able to get them all in. She wore a skin tight red dress with crisscrossing panels across the back, and another set just barely concealing her chest. That, coupled with her heels made her look like any man’s wet dream.