The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(38)

By the time she got outside, the ambulance was just pulling off. Luka was hurrying over to her, stowing his gun at his back. The valet was standing there looking shell-shocked.

“I don’t have my ticket,” Lauren said in a rush. “We had the black Mercedes.”

He just stood there gawking at her, specifically at the blood covering her hands and dress where she had grabbed the material..

Luka fisted the front of the man’s shirt, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits as he yanked him forward, getting so close to the man’s face that their noses nearly touched. “Move!”

He shoved him away, not caring that he was attracting more attention. For once, Lauren was glad that Luka was around. When the valet pulled around in the car—much faster than they would have without Luka—he was preparing to pass the keys to Lauren when Luka snatched them out of his hand, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Lauren couldn’t argue as she got in the car, Luka pulling off before the door was closed. Her hands were shaking so badly that she could barely get her seatbelt buckled. The ambulance wasn’t too far ahead, but because its sirens were on, it was able to glide through traffic with ease.

As the cars began to realign, Lauren was afraid they would lose the ambulance, but she had underestimated Luka’s determination to keep up with it. He floored the gas pedal, sending them both back against their seats, the car jolting forward. Angry drivers honked, swerving out of the way to avoid getting hit.

They were almost to the hospital when a different kind of siren blared behind them, flashing blue lights reflecting in the rearview mirror. Lauren turned around in her seat, peering first at the police car trying to catch up with them, then over at Luka.

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll handle it. Just get in there.”

Jerking the wheel to the right, Luka nearly drove up on the curb, startling the people walking. Lauren hopped out of the car in a flurry of motion, slamming it shut behind her as she rushed into the hospital. Looking back, she saw the police finally arriving behind Luka. They withdrew their sidearms, ordering him to get out of the car. With his customary smirk, Luka climbed out, his hands over his head as they rushed over to put handcuffs on him. When he noticed her still watching them, he jerked his head, a silent message for her to get going.

Spinning on her heel, Lauren hurried through the sliding doors, right up to the front desk. The woman seated there looked like she had been on duty all night and into the morning, the fatigue clear on her face, but when she saw Lauren in her wedding dress, blood staining her hands and the fabric, she perked right up.

“I’m looking for someone they just brought in,” Lauren said in a rush. “He was, bullet and—”

She wasn’t making any sense, she could tell from the look on the woman’s face as well as the other nurses that were gathering nearby.

“I’ve got this, Irene,” a female doctor said hurrying over, her light blue scrubs covered in blood.

“Where is he?” Lauren demanded as the doctor pulled her to the side.

“First, I need to know who you are.”

Lauren knew that the woman was legally bound to ask her that, protecting patient’s privacy and all, but she was dangerously close to losing it, and asking her stupid questions was going to make her go over the edge.

“I’m his w-wife.”

There it was, the first time she was able to say the words. Sadly, it also had to be on the day that Mishca’s life was in jeopardy.

“Okay Your husband is in surgery right now, Doctor Clarke is the head surgeon who will—”

“How is he though, when you saw him? He’ll be okay, right?”

The doctor smiled gently. “We won’t know for sure until he comes out of surgery.”

“But how long will that take,” Lauren insisted.

“I’m sorry, but at this time, there’s nothing more I can tell you. When Doctor Clarke is done in surgery, he’ll come and find you himself.”

There was nothing more Lauren could do but watch as the doctor walked away, leaving her standing in silence as people walked by, trying to conceal their pity at her bloody wedding dress.

She dropped down into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, feeling like the weight of the world was on her shoulders now. Sometimes, when faced with a horrendous situation, it didn’t feel real and the extremity of it would be forced to the back of the conscious, but Lauren didn’t have that.

For the first time all day, everything felt too real.

She could still hear the screams as people ducked and shouted, the feel of Mishca being knocked backwards with the force of the bullet.

The fear in his eyes because he knew he was dying…

Lauren squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but this time, there was nowhere for her to escape to.

Minutes later, everyone else started to arrive. It wasn’t hard to spot her—the lone female wearing a wedding gown. Susan and Ross were first, both wearing different expressions of anxiety. Lauren looked away from Ross, not wanting to see the judgment in his eyes.

Without a word, Susan gathered her into her arms, shushing her as soon as she started to cry.



As more people arrive, Lauren didn’t bother acknowledging any of them. She was still sitting in one of the waiting chairs, far off to the side, but no one was going to approach her, not when she was wearing a bloody dress.