The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(57)

“I don’t. Come on, princess. Time to go home.”



When they were back, and Klaus was forced to watch as Lauren ran to Mishca and he swept her off her feet, Klaus felt that old ache enter his chest, because the way Mishca looked at her was the way Klaus used to look at Sarah, at least until he met Reagan.

She had been the only beacon of light in years of darkness, but he’d had to let her go too after he signed another contract. Sometimes, he still felt guilty about the way he left.

Maybe, before he left New York again, he would pay her a visit.

Turning his back, Klaus entered the spare bedroom, hunting through various places in the room where he had stashed some of his weapons—just in case someone tried to pay him a visit while he slept. He might have agreed to help the Russian, but that didn’t mean he trusted him.

Reaching under the bed, he grabbed his duffel, unzipping it, and tossing it on the bed. It didn’t take long to pack, it wasn’t like he had brought much with him here, but he would have to head back to his hotel room to get the rest of his clothes. If he were lucky, he could get out of the city by nightfall.

He slung the duffle over his shoulder, ready to get out of there, but it seemed the Russian wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“She doesn’t know you didn’t accept payment, does she?” Mishca asked, folding his arms across his chest, looking entirely too smug for Klaus’ taste.

He thought about saying something rash, just to get under the Russian’s skin, but after the few weeks he had spent in his company, Klaus had begrudgingly grew to find him okay. Of course, that would never repair everything that had happened between them, and one day he would get retribution for it, but for the time being, he was giving him a pass.

“No need to get sentimental, yea? Leave it.”

“That your plan the entire time? Try to stay disconnected?”Mishca went on as though he didn’t hear the warning in Klaus’ voice.

And now he remembered why he disliked him so much. The Russian never knew when to stop. “Poshyl ty—Fuck off.”

“What’ll be your penance?” Mishca asked, wisely changing the subject.

While Mishca thought he was stubborn, he didn’t know Klaus. He happily stood there, refusing to speak at all, and after once spending three days in solitary confinement, he could stand there far longer than the Russian could.

“Ignore me if you like, but I’m not leaving until you answer me.”

Annoying *. “What happens to me is none of your concern,” Klaus finally replied. “You got what you needed, right? So go on back to your lady.”

“Even in your world, there are rules,” Mishca went on, not caring even a little that he was starting to get on Klaus’ nerves. “Unless sanctioned, you can’t take the life of another mercenary. Not without consequences.”

Klaus laughed without any real humor behind it. “An eye for an eye.”

“Is there any way out of it? If I told your employer that I hired you?”

“Catch-22,” he said simply.

He didn’t want to feel anything for the Russian, but he had to admit that a part of him was surprised that Mishca wanted to at least try and help him…but that could also be because of his disaster of a f*ck up years ago.

“You’re not under contract at the moment. Why don’t you work for me?”

“Not just no,” Klaus said dropping his bag, turning to face off with Mishca, “but f*ck no. You think just because I offered my services to her that you and I are square? Kiss my ass, Russian. If I did work for you, you wouldn’t have to fear whether someone outside of your little army was trying to kill you, it’d be me.”

“There is only one left you hate more than me, no? Over the last five years you’ve killed every last one of them, even the workers that you happily left on that rooftop for me to find. But you left Jetmir for last.”

“What’s your point?”

“Jetmir will be gunning for me because he believed I killed Brahim.”

Klaus waved him on. “And?”

“And if you want him, it might be in your best interest to stick around.”

Now, despite his efforts, he was intrigued. “How exactly do you plan on luring him out?”

“Stay and find out.”

Klaus ruffled his hair, freeing it from the fixed style he’d been wearing for that last few hours. “You actually trust me to do this, don’t you? You’re not stupid, Russian. You’re suicidal.”

“I don’t need to trust you, Klaus. I trust your rage.”

They faced off, brother to brother, enemy to enemy.

Then, Klaus dropped back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Don’t be so f*cking melodramatic, Russian. I think I’m beginning to like this place.”



Lauren rested back against the tub, breathing a sigh of relief as steam billowed out from the water, causing a light sheen of sweat to coat her skin. She had felt like she’d been walking on eggshells for weeks since her wedding day, and now the only thing she wanted to do was relax.

Mishca getting shot, convincing Klaus to help, then trying to find a contract killer that was gunning for her…this was the least she could do to get her mind off of it all.