In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva #1)(82)

He stopped himself before saying the words, knowing that when they were out, he could never take them back, and maybe, he wasn’t ready to hear the answer. But the question was now plaguing him.

How many times did she call out for me to help her?

Mishca could see the moment of recognition in the man’s eyes as he jerked his head up in surprise. He also saw the gleam of arrogance when he realized what this was really about. He had nothing else to lose at this point.

“She cried for the svinb’ya,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. “She fought with everything she had, but the suka ne mog borot’sya. My Captain…he said I can do what I want with her. If not for witnesses, I would have taken her.” He laughed darkly, the sound washing over Mishca. “I like when they scream.”

He could almost picture it. Lauren on the ground, this animal on top of her. He had seen some of the girls Viktor kept in the house out in Brooklyn, their eyes vacant and haunted as they remembered night after night of being taken against their will.

Mishca felt cold at the man’s admission, what he had planned on doing…what he wanted to do. To Lauren. Deyushka?

Without another word, Mishca grabbed his gun, cocked the hammer back, and emptied the clip into the man’s chest, saving a few to put in the man’s groin.

But his anger wasn’t appeased, if anything, it only grew. He was beyond reason at this point, the only thing on his mind was Lauren and he hated them for what they did to her, and felt a strong emotion when he pictured her, but he couldn’t decide whether it was love or hatred.

Holstering his weapon, he left the man to bleed out, crossing back over to Anatoly who was sobbing pitifully n his chains.

Vlad was standing there, silently judging Mishca’s actions though he would never speak a word of those thoughts out loud.

Grabbing a knife, he cut the man’s shirt open and cut a path across the man’s chest, his howls of pain falling on deaf ears. He didn’t have to ask anything, Anatoly spoke freely.=, anything to stop the torture.

“I swear I did not know, Captain. I swear! We were—I was just following orders, please. Viktor told us when and where.”

“Did you touch her?” Mishca growled so loudly that his voice echoed.

“N-No, I went for the cop. That is all. I swear.”

He didn’t believe him. Aiming, he shot the man in both knee, his howls of pain making Mishca smile, though the guilt and bitterness still ate at him.

“Enough, Mishca.”

Coming into the room now was Mikhail, Viktor, and their men. Mishca was so enraged that he saw red, pulling his gun and aiming it at Viktor’s heart.

Viktor didn’t scare easily, if at all, this Mishca knew deep down, but he swore that before they left this freezer, he would make the man feel it.

He didn’t flinch away, he wasn’t a coward, but for a quick second, almost imperceptible, he swallowed.

“Put the gun away, Mishca,” Mikhail said calmly, but firmly. His right hand man, Sebastian, moved a hand to his hip where his own weapon rested.

He was the Mikhail’s kryshas, his right hand enforcer. If Gerard wasn’t available, then this was the man Mikhail called.

Only because his father gave him a direct order, Mishca lowered his arm.

Viktor strolled further into the room, looking back at the body hanging limply, blood dripping from the multiple holes in his torso, then back to the simpering excuse for a soldier.

“Is there a reason you have my men chained like f*cking cattle, boy?” Viktor demanded, standing defensively. “They are not under your command.”

“They came into my territory and nearly murdered a f*cking politseyskiy! You dare move in my territory? As of now, they are under my command.”

Viktor sucked his teeth, looking Mishca up and down with veiled hatred. There was no love lost between the two, especially because they were both in line to ascend to the throne once Mikhail retired. Since the position could rarely be taken by force, it was a choice made by Mikhail. Favor seemed to be working for Mishca as over the last couple of years, Viktor and Mikhail’s relationship became strained.

“Dostatochno, Mishca,” said Mikhail holding his hand up. He took up the lone chair in the room, lighting a cigar. “Tell me what it is you speak of.”

“These two,” Mishca explained pointing the gun first at Anatoly, then at Ivan, “were given orders to take out a cop and the girl with him.”

Viktor scoffed. “They would never tell you such.”

“But they will tell me,” Mikhail said with the air of a man that was the last authority. He looked to Ivan, leveling a stare on him that might have broken a lesser man. “What were your orders?”

Ivan looked to Viktor helplessly, but even he knew he couldn’t deny a question from the Pakhan. “We were given an address and pictures. Told to take out the two.”

“Take out? You mean kill.”

“Yes, Pakhan.”

Mikhail turned his attention to Viktor. “You put out a hit without my authority?” The words were deceptively calm, but the meaning behind them made Viktor clear his throat. To act without authority meant death.

“Of course not. They…they misunderstood my orders. They were only to handicap the politeyskiy. We needed to get him off the trail. I told my men to take the files he was carrying.”