In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(44)

“What the f*ck are you supposed to be?” He asked Tristan once they joined them at the bar.

“Blame her,” he said bumping fists with him. “Lauren, this is Uriah, singer, guitarist and the only sane one in our group.”

He stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, love.”

She blinked in surprise, taken aback by his accent. “Hi.”

Thing Two was not as tall as Uriah, but he was around Mishca’s height. He had a head full of brown hair that curled slightly at the ends and bright green eyes. When he talked, the silver bars in his tongue glinted in the light.

“That’s Phoenix and a pain in my ass!” The last bit was said loud enough to catch the other boy’s attention.

“Is that the one that tattooed the cupcake on your ass?”

Uriah barked out a laugh. “Brilliant.”

“Yea, remind me to repay that favor. And that egotistical bastard over there is Gabriel.”

Thing Three, Gabriel, was off to the side, a strawberry blonde sitting in his lap. She was scowling, gesturing at him, seeming to dislike his costume, but he was chugging down a bottle of Bud light, seeming oblivious to her distaste.

“Nice to meet you guys.”

“You’re here with Tristan?” Uriah asked her, picking up his drink.

“Nah, I wish,” Tristan said grinning at her. “There’s a Russian somewhere around here that’s waiting for her.”

“Why don’t you ever call him by his name?” Lauren asked.

“Where’s the fun in that? Oh, speak of the devil.”

Turning, she spotted Mishca coming towards her, but he wasn’t in costume. Reaching her, he kissed the top of her head.

“Hey.” She introduced him to Tristan’s friends.

“Nice to meet you. Order whatever you want, tell Jesse I sent you.”

“You,” Phoenix said pointing at Lauren, probably not realizing he was slightly swaying, “are my new best friend.”

They all stumbled off, heading to the dance floor, looking utterly ridiculous as they tied to dance with random girls in the crowd though they did a lot more falling over one another than actual dancing.

“I’m glad you could make it,” said Mishca guiding her towards an empty booth.

“You really do know how to throw apart. Why aren’t you dressed up?” She asked when he was seated beside her.

He pulled the walkie-talkie from his belt, setting it on the table. “Because this is work for me though I’m glad you did. I’m pleasantly surprised.”

“You could be my patient,” she whispered in his ear, thrilled when he stiffened.

She sat sideways on his lap, feeling his pulse, then his forehead, but his eyes were on her chest.

“Mouth to mouth?” He asked looking at her hopefully, making her laugh.

She obliged him. With the music blasting, and the low lighting, the intimate moment grew out of control, at least for Lauren as she tilted her head back, exposing her throat to Mishca as he skimmed his lips down her neck.

He pulled back after some time, just watching her watch him. In this moment, they were in sync, and she saw what he wanted and she was sure, the same feeling was reflected in her eyes.

Not today, but if the opportunity presented itself again, she would happily accept it.

***

Mishca very rarely, if ever, drank enough to become inebriated. Not only was it part of the mandate he followed, but in his line of work, if he ever lost focus for an instant, that would be his death.

For this reason alone, if the two men circling the vicinity thought he was too incoherent to notice them, they were sadly mistaken.

To their credit, Mishca hadn’t noticed them at first, caught up in the moment with Lauren sitting on his lap in the darkened corner of his club, but maybe that was a testament to their shoddy surveillance skills.

Wrapping an arm around Lauren’s waist, he held her steady as he dug in his pocket for his Blackberry, sending a quick message to Vlad and two of his men to meet him in the alley behind the club in ten minutes.

He couldn’t trust that the two wouldn’t try anything despite the crowd of people that surrounded them, they were young enough—and stupid enough—to think that going up against him would give them some kind of rank.

“Hey,” Mishca whispered in Lauren’s ear. Any other time, he would have enjoyed the thrill of feeling her shiver in response to him, but he had to handle this first. “I need to do rounds and get drinks. Wait for me here.”

She nodded once and he smiled, unable to resist the impulse to press a quick kiss just below her ear, inhaling the floral scent that clung to her skin, before allowing her to shimmy off his lap.

Maneuvering his way through the throngs of people that packed the dance floor, Mishca paused occasionally to speak with a few patrons that praised him for throwing another great party. He indulged each one with the same level of politeness, not wanting to let the two scoping him know they were spotted.

He reached the rear entrance with fair ease, slipping out the back door into the cool, night air. It was in the low sixties, a significant bite to the air as a breeze blew. Mishca leaned against the lone streetlamp in the alley, the lightbulb inside long since blown.

Withdrawing a silver engraved lighter from his pocket—a present from his father on his twentieth birthday. A front praecipitium a ergo lupin. A precipice in front, wolves behind. It was the same quote he had tattooed down his forearm, a sort of family motto. Since their last name literally meant wolf, Mikhail had always thought the Latin saying was appropriate, especially in regard to their enemies.