The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(12)

“Little thing?” Lauren asked cutting her off.

Her face scrunched up. “Do I really have to go into detail?”

Ah, so that’s what she meant. “No, go on.”

“Anyway, they had their thing, and if Mishca wasn’t completely blotto, he would have seen what a raging bitch she was, but alas, when they think with their dicks,”—this seemed to be targeted at Luka— “there ain’t shit we can do to change their minds. What’s all this about anyway? You want them, the stars?”

Lauren shrugged, not really committing to an answer. “I just wanted to know more about them.”

“If you want the stars, demand them,” Alex said with a smile. “He’ll give you whatever you want.”



Back at home, Mishca was climbing out of the shower, a towel around his waist, another in his hands as he ran it through his hair. While she did have reasons to wait for him to finish, that didn’t mean she could appreciate the view in the meantime. Mishca had never been shy, not since they first started dating, and she was almost used to it. Almost.

He met her eyes briefly, reading her face before stepping into the closet to get dressed. “Drive okay?”

“Yea, it was fine. Why was Alex out there?”

“No idea. She doesn’t tell me anything anymore.” He stepped out, zipping his jeans. “Why, where was she?”

Smiling helplessly, she shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. A really big building?”

He nodded, and she didn’t doubt that if he really wanted to know, he would find out, but currently that wasn’t what she wanted to talk to him about. If talking was the right word.

Mishca was notoriously stubborn and while she might have thought having the stars was a good idea, he might not agree, and that would just lead to him gradually talking her out of the idea. The best course of action was for her to just demand he give them to her, just as Alex had said.

“What is it?” He asked, breaking her train of thought.

“Huh?”

“You’ve got that look on your face when you want something that I won’t agree with. What is it?”

It was now or never.

She placed her hand over one of the stars, making sure to look him dead in the eyes as she said, “I want them.”

To be honest, she didn’t really need them, she knew that. It wasn’t like there was any doubt in anyone’s mind what she meant to him, but she also thought about the way Naomi was handled when the Albanians came to town. The Albanians didn’t immediately go after her, instead, they came to Mishca.

She wasn’t kidnapped, wasn’t hit, wasn’t threatened.

With them, Lauren hoped to not only avoid what had happened to her, but to show Mishca that there would be no more running. With him was where she wanted to stay.

“They can’t be removed,” Mishca said, “unless I strip them from you. Which, you should be warned, I will never do.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Mishca said watching her face, waiting for any reaction that she was unsure of this, but she looked resolute, and no matter what he said, she wouldn’t be changing her mind.

Grabbing a pair of chairs, he set them up near the table, going for his kit next. Not everyone in the Bratva knew how to do the stars, and even fewer were even allowed to ink them on others. It was a tradition they stuck to religiously, not letting any outsider do their work for them.

When she was seated in front of him, her arm resting on the table between them, he snapped on a pair of gloves, cleaning the skin where he would be placing his mark. Mishca had only been twenty-one when he put the stars on Naomi, and had only been part of the Bratva for a few months though he’d done work for his father for years. At the time, he hadn’t known the significance of the stars, and what it meant for another person that wasn’t sanctioned to wear them. He had only done what Naomi had asked of him. He’d been young and could care less that she wanted them.

It was only later that Mishca learned why she wanted them and how it would affect the Bratva because of his bad judgment.

What he was doing now was different. He wasn’t being tricked into putting the stars on Lauren, these were more like a gift. It also helped that he was specifically mimicking the ones on his chest. Naomi’s were slightly altered—he’d been drunk out of his mind and was still surprised they turned out so well—but these would be perfect. He still had a few stencils of the stars from Clorick, the man who had done his stars.

Now, he carefully placed the design on either side of her chest just below her collarbone, smoothing them out to make sure they were in place. She’d wanted them on her wrists first, but he’d talked her out of that, knowing that she was going into the medical field. He drew back once he finished, studying their placement and the lines.

“You look pleased,” she said smirking at him.

Was he? He had to admit that it filled him with a sense of pride that she would proudly wear his stars, and knowing that she wanted nothing in return for them only made it better.

“This is going to hurt,” he warned her, grabbing the bottom of her chair to drag her closer.

“I’ll be fine.”

He smiled. Of course she would. Firing up his machine, he dipped it into the ink, turning back to her so he could do a single line first, waiting to see if she could handle the pain before he continued. At her nod, he started in, taking his time as he did the line work. He paid close attention to her as he went about finishing the first star, using her body as a reference to how she was feeling.