The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(91)

Shoving the cover off, she climbed to her feet, walking into the closet to pack a duffel bag. Lauren wouldn’t leave, not without an explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to live in the same room with him until she got it.

With the size of the penthouse, she could comfortably live on one side without ever having to run into him, especially since she knew his schedule. The guest bedroom on the ground floor was already furnished, and Lauren didn’t have to do much but grab fresh linens to make up the bed.

Instead of wallowing, she opened up her laptop, submitting a few more applications before heading to Stanford’s website, her father’s alma mater. It would be a great school to go to—probably impossible to get into—but the only problem was the fact that it was located in California. She couldn’t just think of herself anymore, she also had to think of Mishca.

And she seriously doubted he would accept her staying in California while he remained in New York.

Before long, she heard the elevator ping, then Mishca’s voice as he called out to her. A part of her wanted to stay silent, to ignore him entirely, but she needed to at least let him know that she was safe…then ignore his ass.

Shutting the screen of her computer, she headed to the door, pulling it open just as Mishca was pushing it in. He didn’t appear drunk, but the smell of alcohol on him was strong.

He reached for her, but she pulled away before he could touch her. The reaction was involuntary, but she could see that he took offense anyway.

“Why are you in here?”

Taking a page out of his book, she shrugged, boldly looking up at him as she said, “I don’t think I can sleep next to you.”

Sighing, he shoved a hand through his hair, grappling for patience. “You’re being ridiculous. Nothing happened.”

“If nothing happened, you would have told me about it. Just face it, Mish. You lied, you got caught. Own your shit.”

But he seemed unable to do just that. Lauren didn’t understand why he was being so resistant in telling her what happened…unless what she suspected was the truth.

That thought threatened to unravel her, but Lauren refused to accept it, not until Mishca told her everything. Call her naive, call her willfully ignorant, but she wasn’t going to accept anything less.

“Come to our room.”

Sighing, because she knew that he wouldn’t bend, at least not tonight, she took a step back and closed the door in his face.



Lauren stayed in one of the guest bedrooms every night for the next week, and if she could help it, she avoided Mishca all together. She wanted to feel bad for what she was doing to him, but she was resolute in her desire not to give in. Anything she needed to know about the case came from Alex, or Luka on the rare chance she ran into him now that he was officially done being her guard. She didn’t think he minded being fired so much, probably because he still followed her around despite her protests.

Things between her and Mishca were as bad as they had ever been, maybe a little worse since they weren’t talking to each other, even though they lived together.

“If, hypothetically, he did kiss another woman—especially that bitch—I say give him hell,” Amber said, the wind making it hard for Lauren to understand her over the phone. “But I do say that if he wants to talk to you about what happened, you should still listen to what he has to say.”

“I just want to know how to fix it,” Lauren went on, though she was glad that Amber had agreed with her.

“Well, he’s the one that should be doing the groveling since he was going around behind your back, but you should at least let him explain. Could’ve been some secret black ops mission.”

Since Mishca’s case had been all over the papers, everyone was always careful with what they said over the phone. There was no guarantee that their phones were tapped, but they would rather be safe than sorry.

Outside her bedroom, the front door slammed.

“Hold on, I think Mish is back.”

Lauren climbed out of bed, going over to the door to crack it open, not just wanting to pop out and it be anyone else, but she was right. It was Mishca.

And he was pissed.

“Amber, I think I’m going to need to call you back.”

She vaguely heard a response before Mishca grabbed the phone from her hand, tossing it over her shoulder where it thumped softly on the bed. Without so much as a hello, he grabbed her around the waist and practically—not really practically when he did just that—carried her into their bedroom. She was too shocked to put up much of a fight, then again, she also knew what was coming, and she definitely wasn’t going to fight that.

He set her down, far gentler than she was expecting, on the settee across from the bed, grabbing the foot stool to pull up in front of her. She almost smiled, remembering the other times he had done this exact thing when he wanted her full undivided attention.

Tugging a miniature, electronic device from his pocket, he flipped a switch on the side of it, setting it down beside her leg. At her baffled expression, he explained, “It blocks radio signals. If there are bugs in here, they won’t be able to hear this conversation.”

“Why would—”

“Brazil wasn’t a vacation,” he interrupted her. “I knew Naomi better than anyone else, her habits, where she would score next. I asked Lucia to set up the sale, a favor for an old friend, so that I could lure her there. She’s not as clever as she thought.”