In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(46)

Grabbing his hand, he placed the gun in Blondie’s hand, wrapping his fingers around it. He didn’t seem to understand at first, staring first at the gun like it was foreign to him, then up at Mishca.

“Let him go.”

Vlad backed off, allowing his captive to rush to his brother’s aid. He apologized over and over again, draping the younger boy’s arm around his shoulders as he hauled him up and out of the alley without a backwards glance.

“How did you know he wouldn’t shoot you, Captain?” John asked as he holstered his own weapon, looking to Mishca with a calculating stare.

“His younger brother meant more to him than impressing Declan.” Mishca looked around, then over his clothes. “Clean up any evidence.”

With that brusque order, Mishca left his men in the alley, returning to the club, making his way over to the bar, ordering a vodka for himself and a club soda with lime for Lauren.

Mishca found her in their corner, chatting with Amber over the pounding bass of the music. When she saw him ,she lit up, tucking her hair behind her ear, and he couldn’t help but return her welcoming smile. She knew nothing about what he had just done, there wasn’t any evidence on him—even still, these clothes would be burned—and he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want to see any other expression on her face when she saw him besides the sweet smile that always greeted him.

“What took you so long?” She asked when he was close enough to hear her over the music.

He handed her the glass, taking a sip of his own. “Long line.”





Chapter fifteen:


New Memories


There was nothing like winter in New York. Though it snowed just as often in Michigan—perhaps even more—there was something about the snowy wonderland that New York turned into that made it special. The flashing lights, the reefs hanging from light posts, the slick ice that covered park benches.

But despite the beauty that was just outside Lauren’s window, she was too preoccupied in her thoughts to truly appreciate it. She would have loved to enjoy the weather, feel the icy snow between her fingers, but this particular day marked an event that had forever changed her life and although she was older, the pain never lessened, never commanded less than her full attention.

Lauren had woken up at six in the morning, asleep one minute, awake the next. It was like an internal alarm clock that went off every year, and it grew like a physical ache inside of her. So instead of going out and making snowmen, or touring the city like she had originally wanted to do once the snow had started falling, she resigned herself to laying in bed.

According to her psychology textbook, there were five stages of loss and grief: isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Every year, Lauren had experienced the first four consecutively, but the last always eluded her, no matter how much she yearned for it. With acceptance, she would have to face the inevitable.

Making peace with her father’s death.

It sounded good. It was something that she hoped to achieve one day, but that day wouldn’t come until she had answers. No, she didn’t remember what happened that night, but the mystery of it all was a major factor in why she couldn’t let go. The day her father’s killers were found, she would gladly start moving forward, but until then, she was stuck in a never ending circle.

Vibrations on her night stand caught Lauren’s attention, letting her know someone was calling her. It was probably Susan checking in on her. They both had their own ways of coping. While Lauren sulked, Susan threw herself into her sewing, or maybe into baking. They normally were only separated by a staircase, but now, with Lauren being thousands of miles away, it all seemed to be too much, at least on Lauren’s end.

A single tear fell as she thought of her mom, remembering the years after his murder. Lauren ached for her, knowing she had plenty of memories of their marriage and time together, yet Lauren only had brief flashes of memories, the hint of a smile, the smell of his aftershave.

Picking up the picture on her nightstand, she rolled back over, cradling the frame to her chest as she tried to cast her mind back, wanting to remember what her dad’s arms felt like when he hugged her. She had never wanted for anything, not with Susan or even with Ross, but in the back of her mind, she had always wished she’d had a little more time, just enough where she didn’t have to try so hard to remember him.

Lauren heard the front door open and close. She paid it no mind, thinking it was Rob coming over for Amber, but when multiple pairs of feet sounded outside her bedroom door, she looked up in surprise.

Amber knocked, pushing the door open to peek her head around. “L?” She was hesitant in her approach, knowing the reason Lauren had been in such a dower mood all day. She’d ventured in earlier, trying to cheer her up, but didn’t force her to get out of bed.

“Yea?”

“Mishca is here. I, um, well I didn’t just want to turn him away.” She hoped he would be able to help.

Lauren blinked, momentarily taken aback as she grabbed her phone, checking for any missed calls from him. Sure enough, the calls that she had assumed were from her mom were actually from Mishca.

She wiped at her face, rubbing away any evidence of her crying, but she knew that was probably no use. She was an ugly cryer. Her face turned red and splotchy, her eyes puffy. But she wasn’t going to dash to the bathroom to fix herself up. Today wasn’t about impressing anyone. She did, however, twist her hair up to get it out of her face.