In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(41)

“Are you one of the girls?” He asked when she didn’t respond.

“Girls? What girls?”

He narrowed his eyes on her, reaching out to grab her, but Mishca’s voice and sudden appearance made him draw back. He was carrying a plastic bag full of food and a cup holder, more importantly, he didn’t look pleased to see the man.

***

Mishca was stepping out of the elevator when he saw Gerard, one of his father’s men, reaching for Lauren. Her fear was tangible to him and he couldn’t blame her. Gerard was a big man, and unknown to her, an experienced killer with zero remorse.

“Ostanovit’!”

He dropped his hand without question, moving back when Mishca moved to stand in front of her. “What are you doing here?” He asked in Russian, conscious of Lauren still waiting behind him.

“The Pakhan wants to see you at his place on 43rd.”

Mishca’s jaw tightened as he turned and handed the food and drinks to Lauren, saying softly, “Could you give me a minute please?”

As far as dismissals went, this one was clear. She eyed him oddly looking past him to where Gerard was standing. She needed no other convincing, turning on her heel and heading into the kitchen.

“I did not know you ordered a suka. She is rude, no? Shall I teach her rules?”

Mishca pulled the door up behind him. Fisting the man’s shirt, he jerked him forward until they were inches apart. “Call her that again and I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

He shoved him back, reeling in his temper. Gerard had at least a hundred pounds on him and was known for his fighting skills, but Mishca had rank, and in their world, position held precedence.

“Izvini, Captain.”

Nothing annoyed Mishca more than being summoned for a meeting like one of Mikhail’s well trained dogs. He knew his father kept him under constant surveillance—as he did most of the men under his rule—but he should have known better than to send one of his enforcers to his door, especially when he wasn’t around…Unless that was his intention after all.

Sending Gerard on his way, with a quick message to the Pakhan, Mishca entered his apartment, thinking of the best lie to tell Lauren.

He wasn’t na?ve, he knew anyone in their right mind would not just let this roll off their shoulders, and judging from the look Lauren had given him before leaving, he knew she would have questions.

She was sitting at the bar, dressed in his shirt and pants, the sight of her like this making him smile for reasons he wasn’t ready to contemplate.

He shouldn’t care about her. His world didn’t afford him the luxury of staying monogamous with a single girl. Most of the Vors chose women that already knew the lifestyle, the ones that hung around and got off on it, or they didn’t take a woman at all, instead spending their time in one of their many stables where the women were a lot less willing, but had no choice but to comply. It led for fewer questions and less mess to clean up in the long run.

Mishca was happy with his current arrangement. Most girls happily climbed into his bed, his reputation preceded him. He f*cked, he moved on. That was how it worked.

Until Lauren. He wasn’t ready to walk away from her, not until he got more from her. It wasn’t lust, it was deeper than that. He wanted to see where it would go, despite knowing the consequences his actions might bring. Yea, he was f*cked.

“Who was that?” Lauren asked turning golden eyes to him. He had always found the color peculiar, the shade nagging at a memory that wouldn’t quite form.

He thought it might have been another occasion that he’d seen eyes like hers, but it was so long ago that he could be mistaken.

“My…uncle,” he said simply, pulling the containers from the bag. It was the closest to the truth as he could get. Gerard was family, just not in the classical sense. “Sometimes my father forgets that cell phones exist and he sends him over to remind me of our lunch meetings.”

She smiled absently at his attempt at humor, but he could see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of hers. She was too damn inquisitive.

“How did you sleep last night?” He asked in a ploy to change the subject.

This time she had a genuine smile. “Good.” More silence. “I didn’t know what you would like.”

“I’m not a picky eater. Thanks, Mish.”

He stepped around her to grab a couple plates, forks and knives, setting them out. An awkward silence fell on them as they fixed the food and by the time they were seated, he was trying to think of anything to say to lessen the tension.

She took a bite of pancakes and he gestured to them with his fork, asking, “Are they good?”

“You can never go wrong with breakfast, Mish,” she said smiling sweetly. She waited a beat, then asked, “Do you have a lot of family?”

One rule of the Vory v Zakone, forsake all family. The Vors became your new one. “You could say that.”

She looked wistful as she sipped her orange juice. “I wish I had a big family. It’s just been me, my mom, and Ross.”

“No grandparents?”

“As surprising as it sounds, both sets of my grandparents died when I was younger, and I have like one aunt on my mom’s side who lives over in England.”

“Then you must be pretty close with your parents.”

A pained look crossed her face, but she nodded, staring down at her plate. “Yea, I am.”