In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(79)

That got his attention. “What’s going on?”

She met his eyes, feeling the familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach as she thought of her late husband. It was now or never. She couldn’t let the past repeat itself.

“There’s something I think you should know about Cameron…”

***

The two men being led by the uniformed police officer glared at Lauren as they passed, muttering in Russian. She thought they looked vaguely familiar, maybe from the Christmas dinner, or maybe just in passing when she was with Mishca, but she couldn’t quite place them.

“Do you recognize either of those men?” Detective Rodriguez asked, inclining his head in their direction.

“No,” Lauren said looking away from them. “I’ve never seen them before. Who are they?”

If the detective heard the slight tremor to her voice, he might have chalked it up to nerves rather than the lie that it was.

“Just persons of interest for now.” He gave Lauren a meaningful look and she understood what he was trying to say.

“I know this is hard for you right now, but if there is anything else you can tell me, no matter how unimportant it may seem, it may be able to help put these men away.”

“What do you mean?” Lauren asked in confusion. “I got their DNA. How is this not like a clear case?”

He sighed, rubbing his brow. “The most we can charge them with is the assault against you. There is no physical evidence connecting them to Detective Ross’ attack. No eyewitnesses and the weapon hasn’t been found. And because of your relationship with Mishca Volkov—a known associate of theirs—their lawyer can argue that the assault on you could have happened at an earlier time.”

She shook her head. “Wouldn’t forensics prove it?”

“We’re not going to give up, Lauren. Not until we’ve exhausted every angle we can.”

Rodriguez suddenly frowned, his mouth tightening in that way Ross’ did when he saw someone he disliked.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Lauren looked in the direction Rodriguez was glaring and when he saw the sharply dressed man, she wondered the same thing. Viktor Volkov and another man carrying a briefcase walked through the lobby like they owned the place, not stopping until they disappeared in the direction the men from earlier had taken.

Rodriguez sot, gesturing for one of the officers that brought Viktor in to come over. “What the hell is Volkov doing here?”

“According to him, the Russian thugs you brought in a little while ago called him, then he called his attorney.”

“Unbelievable.”

The men walked out, heads held high. When they looked in Lauren’s direction, one of them with a tiger head tattoo smirked, the sight of it so cold and menacing.

Instead of following the men out, Viktor spoke quietly into the attorney’s ear, then crossed the floor until he was just a few feet away from Lauren and Detective Rodriguez. He was wearing a pair of black pants and a white button up shirt, open at the collar. A thin gold chain glinted in that open space.

“Lauren, it is good to see you.” He extended his hand like they were old friends, like he hadn’t ben the one to come and bail out the two men that attacked her.

“Walk away, Volkov,” Rodriguez commanded climbing to his feet, angling himself between them, forcing Viktor to draw back his hand.

He laughed seeming entirely too amused as he looked between Rodriguez and Lauren. “Choose wisely, girl.” With a nod, Viktor turned to leave, stopping midway. “Ah, and Mishca sends his regards.”

Lauren felt her stomach bottom out as she heard those words and a rage so profound filled her to the point that rational thought left her.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not a good idea,” Rodriguez was saying as she grabbed her bag.

She didn’t care about that, she needed to see him.

***

Her heart was racing, the cadence echoing in her ears as she took the elevator up to the twelfth floor. She was shivering—from nerves and anger and cold—by the time she stared at Mishca’s apartment door.

Her heart was racing, the cadence echoing in her ears as she took the elevator up to the twelfth floor. She was shivering—from nerves and anger and cold—by the time she stood at Mishca’s apartment.

She had nothing to fear anymore after all they had done to her and her family and she refused to cower in the face of them.

Clenching her fist, she pounded on the door until it swung open, a young man staring down at her with that dangerous, but smarmy expression she had gotten used to when it came to the men in Mishca’s life. She could smell the alcohol on him, but ignored it as she brushed by him into the apartment.

There were a number of men there, all seated around Mishca who sat with a glass in hand. They were all positioned around him, like an army around the general. It was like seeing him for the first time.

The one who opened the door called out to her, drawing Mishca’s attention to them. For a split second, he looked relieved, but it soon shifted to anger and that only made her rage spike. Was he angry that she survived?

He set down his glass, opening his mouth to speak, but before he could move or utter a word, she stormed towards him, drawing her hand back, and slapping him with as much force as she could muster. His head whipped to the side, but he still didn’t make a sound, just working his jaw.