In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(76)

“Muggings are common in New York,” Matt supplied.

“Yea, but they didn’t take anything,” Amber said looking to Rob.

“Maybe they didn’t get the chance.”

“Either way,” Lauren said speaking up. “I’m safe now. I guess you forgot to mention this part in the ad, Amber.”

She laughed. “I’ve lived in New York for five years now. Must be bad luck on your part, L.”

“I’m heading down to the food court,” Matt announced. “Lauren, you want anything?”

“She can’t eat,” Amber said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Shouldn’t she wait for doctor’s orders?”

Lauren smiled, squeezing Amber’s hand. “I didn’t have surgery. There’s no need.”

“Dude, while they hash that out,” Tristan said dropping down. “Get me one of those puddings—not the chocolate ones, those are gross. Vanilla. Oh, and see if they have the little spoons—wait no, it’s called a spark. I want a spark.”

Matt flipped him off, turning to Lauren with raised brows.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

He left, Amber and Rob following.

“Have they called my mom? I don’t want her freaking out.”

“Too late for that. Last I heard, she was on the first flight out. Amber wanted to call your Russian, but—”

“No,” Lauren said suddenly making Tristan arch a brow. “We, uh, we broke up.”

“The two of you were close though, right? I’m sure he would care if you’re hurt.”

That was true…if they weren’t in their current predicament. Plus, she promised Ross she wouldn’t talk to him again. “Maybe later, but I’ll call him so he won’t come rushing down here too.”

Tristan let it go, kicking his legs up on the edge of the bed. “Let me know.”

Laying back, Lauren closed her eyes, but opened them again a moment later, seeing the image of her attacker. This was all a bad dream, that was what she hoped although she knew it was too real.

The world that she hoped was separate from this was now very much integrating itself into hers. Everything she had been running from seemed like a field day compared to what she had run in to.

“Lauren.”

Lauren opened her eyes, seeing Detective Rodriguez poked his head in the door, looking at Tristan first then over to her. He did better at hiding his wince from seeing her.

“I’m here to take your statement.”

Tristan stood, grabbing his jacket. “Be back.”

Rodriguez pulled out his notepad and a small pen, standing at the end of lauren’s bed. “I don’t know if they informed you, but the doctor got epithelial calls—skin—from beneath your nails.” He smiled. “Good girl. So now, I need to take your statement.”

“Okay.” Lauren opened her mouth, ready to launch into her story, but she didn’t know where to begin.

“Could you tell me why Detective Ross was at your apartment?”

“He was letting me look at my father’s files. Since tonight was his last night in town, he came by to pick them up. My father was killed in a home invasion back in Michigan fifteen years ago,” she explained. “I was helping him take them to the car when they attacked us.”

“How many assailants were there?” He asked taking notes.

“Two that I could see. One had a bat, the other didn’t have a weapon.”

“What about their faces?”

She grimaced, closing her eyes, trying to remember clearly. “They had on ski masks. I couldn’t see both, but one of them had dark brown eyes, almost black.”

He nodded, writing more. “Did they ask for anything?”

“No, they…” She trailed off, remembering the papers falling everywhere. “They took my father’s case files.”

She frowned, trying to think of any good reason for them to do so. The likelihood of them knowing about her father, especially with her being in a separate state altogether…

Suzhenogo konyom ne ob’edyesh.

The accents. The tattoos. Ross’ words played back in her mind as she thought over the tattoos on her attacker. Across his chest were the piers of the Kremlin. If what Ross had said was right, each pier it represented a number of years that the wearer had spent in prison, meaning he had to have spent at least twenty years in prison.

“Lauren? Are you alright?”

She looked at Rodriguez, vaguely hearing the mating monitoring her heart beep faster. If there were any lingering doubts about Mishca and his secret life, they were gone now.

Lauren couldn’t lie, not when Rodriguez was going to learn the truth anyway. “The one that attacked me, he sounded Russian.”

He stilled, his pen still poised over the pad as he looked up at her. She didn’t have to explain anymore for him to understand what she was telling him.

“Are you sure? Could it have been similar and—”

“Sounded identical to Mishca’s, though the voice was a lot deeper.”

Rodriguez cleared his throat, closing his notepad. “Listen, Lauren. I don’t want you to mention this to anyone else but me. Once you’re cleared by the doctor, I want you to come down to the precinct and we’ll talk more there.”