The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(7)

Smiling brightly, she used her hands to provide a rough estimation of what she had seen. “And he wasn’t even hard,” she said, feigning awe.

“I really don’t need to hear about Luka’s—”

“My what?” The man in question asked emerging from Amber’s room. There was a towel slung over his shoulder, his jeans riding low on his waist, his boots on too.

“Your terrible personality,” Lauren said instead, hoping that her face didn’t portray what they had been talking about.

“I have a stunning attitude, actually.” He went over to the backpack he’d brought with him the night before, pulling a clean shirt out of it. “But it’s not as great as my dick, so there’s that.”

Pretending like he hadn’t just said that, Lauren asked, “Where’s Mish?”

“Meeting with the Boss. We burned a few bridges to get to you in time.” He cast a sideways glance at Amber, not elaborating on what he meant.

“How long are you staying?”

“’Til they’re done, then I’ll pretend to get a call, and sneak out.”

She shook her head. “Why would you need to do that?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He asked, blinking.

And that was what he did. As soon as the door was installed and the new deadbolt finished, Luka answered his phone dramatically, winking at them as he left.

Lauren was ready for Amber to start grilling her on everything that had happened, especially since she had unwittingly become a part of it, but she didn’t, even though it was pretty clear that she wanted to.

Since she didn’t plan on talking to Susan—and definitely not Ross—about it. The best person was Amber.

“Do you even want to talk about it?” Amber asked, keeping her voice low though there was no one around to hear them.

“I can’t tell you much, but from what I can understand, Naomi—the girl I was telling you about—stole something from this Albanian mobster, who in turn came after Mishca. Best way to get to him, I assume, was through me.”

Amber had already guessed that Mishca was something more than just a run-of-the-mill club owner—probably was obvious to everyone but Lauren back then—and since she had clearly talked to Mishca some hours ago, she didn’t feel it was too big of a secret to keep from Amber.

“Are you sure you’re not hurt? I mean, what happened in there.”

Lauren ran her thumb around the rim of her mug, images of Brahim’s head snapping back when the bullet punched through his head flashing in her mind, the utter contentment and overall disregard of the Albanian men that stood around her, more than willing to torture her any way they wanted to just because.

But that wasn’t something she could just tell Amber. She didn’t want to put those kind of images in her head, instead she would live with them alone.

“Mish got there before anything too bad could happen,” Lauren lied easily, already seeing Amber’s gaze shifting over her face. “This was during the struggle to get me out of the apartment. I promise, I’m fine.”

In a bid to change the subject, Lauren looked around the apartment, already noting how clean it was, but there was also a number of paintings leaning against the counter in the kitchen.

“New pieces?”

Amber almost seemed reluctant to talk about them as she glanced back at the canvases, but like any artist valuing their work, she had to share a little bit about them. “Yea. There’s a new gallery opening in the Village and they asked me to bring in some samples. Hopefully, they like something, otherwise I’m not sure how I’m going to live.”

“They would be fools not to,” said Lauren as she hopped down from the bar stool, hearing her ringing phone, instinctively knowing that it was Mishca.

“Go on and get that,” Amber suggested. “I’m already late for my interview, but I wanted to talk to you before I left.”

Lauren gave her a quick hug, squeezing tightly before letting go. “Good luck, and when you get it, I’m definitely saying ‘I told you so.’”

Sure enough, Mishca was on the other end, and sounded more than relieved that Lauren answered. She could only imagine the panic he would feel if she hadn’t answered, especially after the number of missed calls she had seen from him when she was taken.

“Where are you?” She asked crawling back into her bed, feeling sore all over. She heard the sound of cars passing rapidly, and could guess that he was in the car.

“Just came from a meeting, on my way back to you. Doc should be meeting me there.”

It hadn’t been that long ago that Lauren had learned that her father had been replaced by another doctor who was indebted to the Bratva. The information had surprised her at the time, not because she thought her father had been particularly special to them, but because she had never thought much of what they did for medical care after he was gone.

The new doctor was kind enough on the lone occasion that Lauren had met him. At the time, Lauren had rather heatedly offered to pay the man’s debt to the Bratva so he could be free to be with his family, and not suffer the same fate as hers. She still didn’t know if Mishca would take her up on that or not.

Lauren rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes as she listened to Mishca arguing with someone in the background. God, had it only been a day since she was in that safe house? Two?