In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(74)

Orders were orders.

There were oaths he’d taken, rules he had followed all of his life, but the look of sheer agony resonated in his mind, fueling his agitation.

For a split second, he wanted to say f*ck it all.

Fuck the oath. Fuck his father.

But then, he thought of her and the realities of the situation he was in. It was too complicated, too messy. He lived and breathed the code, disobeying meant sure death for him and her. She didn’t belong in this life of chaos.

Slamming his fist into the wall, he cursed his situation—and the now gaping hole in the wall. Vlad looked on without comment, but Mishca thought, for the first time in the last five years since Vlad worked for him, he saw sympathy in the older man’s eyes.

Taking one final look at the door, Mishca left the building without further incident, slipping into his father’s Rolls Royce.

Mikhail was gazing out the window when he rejoined him. With a wave of his hand, the driver pulled them out into the night traffic.

“I know you do not agree, son,” Mikhail said after a short while. “The Bratva is your first priority. Never forget that. These feelings you believe you have will fade with time.”

Mishca scoffed. Later, Mishca might look back on this and think that the pain from his hand had made him bold as he glared at his father, resenting him for the life they shared.

“Is that how it was with my mother? Did you forget her when you married your whore?”

Never before had he doubted an order he’d been given. Never before had he blatantly disrespected the Pakhan, but he was pissed.

Mikhail turned cold eyes on him, his face just as emotionless as always, though there was a flare of anger in hi eyes. “Watch your mouth, boy. Once is forgiven.”

They rode in silence, the numerous traffic lights blurring together.

“Do you trust the girl?” Mikhail asked.

Mishca thought of their time together. “With my life.”

“Then give it time.”

Not knowing what he meant, or how to respond, Mishca just returned to looking out the window.





Chapter twenty-Four:


Fear


Lauren followed Ross downstairs, helping to carry one of the boxes filled with the information on her father. For days she had poured over the case, rereading every detail until her eyes blurred with fatigue.

Ross was heading back to Michigan after his short stay, and though he was still worried about Mishca coming near her, she had assured him that she wasn’t worried about. With their agreement in place, she doubted Mishca would go back in place.

They stopped next to Ross’ truck, placing the boxes on the roof. Withdrawing the keys from his pocket, Ross flipped through them, fitting the right one into the lock.

“I talked to Rodriguez. He’s going to keep an eye on you.”

“There’s no need, Ross. I’ll be fine.”

He placed the case files on top of the car, pocketing his keys. “It’s for my own piece of mind.”

She sighed, rubbing her arms. “I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t think I could mess up this bad. Are you going to tell mom about Mishca?”

“I think it would be best to not mention it. Keeping you out of the crosshairs is going to be hard enough.”

Lauren looked up at the box on top of his car. “I bet my father would be disappointed.”

Ross’ eyes warmed, his easy, crooked smile returning as he faced her. “I didn’t know your father well, Lauren, but I’m sure he’d be proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”

“And you, Ross? Are you proud?”

“Course I am.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You just have terrible taste in men.”

If she weren’t laughing at Ross, Lauren might have sen the swinging bat before it connected with Ross’ head. The impact was so great, he stumbled, the back of his head slamming against the rear window of his car, shattering the glass.

She screamed, reaching for Ross as his eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped forward. The man in the ski mask didn’t stop, continuing to swing the bat, connecting with Ross’ side. Adrenaline coursing through her, Lauren shot forward, throwing herself at him.

The bat flew from his hands as they hit the asphalt hard. She recovered first, clasping her hands together and putting as much force behind the blow as she could.

Another man in a similar mask appeared behind her, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her back. He swung a meaty fist, pain radiating throughout her face though she hadn’t seen the hit coming. The metallic tang of blood exploded in her mouth, her cheek shredded by her teeth, but she didn’t let this stop her.

Her vision was blurry, could barely make out anything that might help for an id if she survived this, but she remembered what Ross had taught her. Digging her nails into his arm, she yanked, feeling the flesh give as he cursed and dropped her.

She screamed as loud as she could, her heart racing, hoping and praying that somebody would hear her.

The attacker came back at her, wrapping his hands around her throat, squeezing with enough force to cut her screams off abruptly.

Lauren had always heard that if you don’t panic while being strangled, you can conserve enough oxygen to find away to get free, but unless you were special ops, there was no way not to. Her lungs screamed for relief, but no matter how she clawed at him, he wouldn’t give.