The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(51)

The last time they crossed paths, they didn’t exactly leave on good terms.

“She tried to cut your balls off, I believe,” Celt said with an annoying smirk, remembering the day.

All because Klaus hadn’t been in the mood to f*ck her.

Women were damn strange.

“What are you going to do?” Celt asked.

“Avoid her ass if I can, at least until I finish this job.”

“Need help with that?”

His eyes scanning over the diner, Klaus only hesitated a second before nodding. “Keep your phone on. I might actually need you for a change.”

“Might? I don’t remember you spouting that shite in Budapest.”

Laughing, Klaus said, “I hated Budapest.”

“Right, then. Give me a ring when you get wind.”

Rapping the table with his fist twice—the paranoid bastard—Celt got to his feet and went out the front door.

Klaus stayed where he was, going over what little he knew about the shooting. Without checking out the rooftop—and only going off of what Lauren had told him—he had assumed that Mishca was the primary target, but if no one reacted to the news that he was still breathing, that would have to mean there was more to it than he realized. Though he secretly loved when cases weren’t all black and white, this one was one he wanted to get over as quick as possible.

He still didn’t know why he accepted the job.

Or at least he didn’t want to admit to himself that seeing the Russian’s female tearing up when he was refusing to help her reminded him of Sarah. Not in the fact that they looked alike, her and Lauren were vastly different, but Sarah would always expect the best in people, and if she wasn’t getting her way, she could make tears bloom in her eyes until the person she was trying to convince had no choice but to give in.

It was why he had always tried to keep her happy.

Klaus rubbed his chest, a habit he’d picked up whenever he thought of her. Beneath his palm, and the layer of cotton covering it, there was a crescent shaped scar that one of Jetmir’s men had put there, while another had been busy butchering Sarah right in front of him.

Clearing his thoughts before he went down that road again, Klaus waited around for a little while longer, hoping that he might catch Reagan if she came in during the night shift, but when she didn’t show after a couple of hours, he dropped a twenty on the table and left.



While he might not have been as forgiving of Lauren’s secret meeting with Klaus a couple of days ago as she had hoped, Lauren had gradually smoothed things over with Mishca, but he hadn’t lost his brusque attitude, especially not when she got another call from Klaus.

This time, however, she demanded that he meet her at her place rather than an undisclosed location. By the time Klaus got there, Lauren was studying Mishca, already seeing him on edge.

One of Mishca’s men had already called to let Mishca know that Klaus was on the elevator heading up. Vlad was off to the side, looking just as imposing as he always did, but Luka was out of sight, a first since the Albanians had gone.

With the way everyone were acting, it was like public enemy number one had arrived. Klaus, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that he was being watched by every single person in the room.

He casually strolled over to the empty chair across from Lauren, withdrawing a blade from his jacket, a silent message that was quickly received as the others reached for their weapons. For once, Mishca didn’t bother calling them off.

“What did you want?” Mishca asked without preamble.

Klaus turned the knife over in his hands, his eyes going over every line and contour of the jagged edges of the imperfections in the blade. He didn’t seem to care that Mishca was speaking to him, and didn’t even bother acknowledging him at all.

Clearing her throat—earning a glare from Mishca—Lauren spoke up. “Do you know something, Klaus?”

“Heard back from my guy, and surprisingly, no one is looking to kill off the Russian.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, he—”

“How do you know you can trust them?” Mishca interrupted, the muscle in his jaw working when Klaus continued to ignore him.

Lauren knew that he was used to a certain level of respect, partly due to his position, but they both knew Klaus could care less about that.

One thing she was really beginning to see for herself was how much satisfaction Klaus was getting out of irritating him.

But on this, Klaus had a response. “More than I trust any of your lot, Russian.”

“Does anyone actually call you by your name?” Lauren asked aloud.

“Then what do you know?” Mishca asked, ignoring Lauren’s question.

Sighing, Klaus leaned his head back, seeming to grow bored with the entire conversation. “If I knew anything useful, I wouldn’t be here. But, I will need to borrow your female for a few hours.”

“For what?”

It was the wrong question, even Lauren knew that as soon as the words fell past Mishca’s lips, but once they were said, Klaus ran with them. He smiled, one that she was used to seeing from Mishca.

“Why do you think? I thought we already had this conversation.”

Whatever Klaus meant went right over Lauren’s head, but it got a rise out of Mishca. Before he could make a move against him, Lauren jumped to her feet, blocking Mishca’s path to him.