The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(95)

Every time it seemed like they were taking a step forward, something knocked them back two more.

When she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps, Lauren shot up, reaching into the drawer of her nightstand for the gun Ross had given her for protection. She checked the clip, then the chamber before scrambling out of the bed.

She was ready to cause whoever it was major bodily harm, but Klaus’ voice rang out, dispelling her fear.

“Where the hell are you?”

Exhaling in relief, Lauren pulled the door open, keeping the gun in her hand just because it was Klaus. “What are you doing here?” She asked, finding him in the living room.

He was dressed casually, sure, but there was still something about it that reminded her of Mishca.

“And why are you dressed like that?”

He shrugged, smirking down at the gun she held. “Who are you going to shoot? Never mind, just go get dressed. I’m hungry.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said dryly, “but I can’t cook.”

“No shit? Didn’t you hear the part about getting dressed? I mean, unless you want to wear that. Not my problem.”

“Do I have a choice?” She asked, not really feeling like leaving home.

“No.” He pointed back at the bedroom, signaling for her to get a move on.

She liked him better when he was angry and brooding.



Le Bleu was a steakhouse in the heart of the city, one that charged more for its ambiance than for the actual food itself. Apparently, Klaus had already made a reservation for two so when they arrived, they were immediately led to a cozy table that had too much of an intimate feel, in Lauren’s opinion, for present company.

She sat anyway, folding her napkin in her lap, gazing at the retreating back of the waiter that was giving them time to look over the menu.

“Is there a reason for all of this?” She asked gesturing between the two of them—mainly indicating him.

He picked up his own menu, scanning over the items listed there before finally answering her question. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You hate suits, and yet you’re wearing one. I’m pretty sure you are a regular burger and fries kind of guy, but here we are. Why are you pretending to be Mish?”

Closing the little booklet, he dropped it back onto the table. “Has the Russian ever told you you ask too many questions?”

Unfazed by his taunt, she smiled. “Maybe once or twice.”

“Yea, right. Anyway, I need an alibi.”

“You mean Mishca needs an alibi. Is that his wedding ring?”

She had just noticed the wide band across Klaus’ ring finger, and she couldn’t describe how she felt about Mishca taking it off, and what he must have been doing that would warrant that.

“Oh calm your shit. It’s not, just looks like it. Jesus, how do people get married? That constant fear of cheating, lying, a secret lovechild—not to mention if the person you shackle yourself to turns out to bat for the other team—why even put yourself through that?”

Before Lauren could answer, their waiter returned to set down their drink orders—Klaus ordering a bottle of beer, Lauren just getting a wine spritzer—and was off again in less than a minute.

“Because when you love someone enough, despite all the obstacles and shit you have to deal with, it’s worth it.”

“Is it really?” He asked, his tone oddly serious. “Despite everything that’s happened?”

Lauren looked down at her glass, thinking over what she would say before answering. “Yes. It’s been worth it.”

Raising his bottle to her, he said solemnly, “Good luck with that.”

“So since it seems like you aren’t going to tell me why we’re really here, will you at least tell me why you chose to stay? I figured after you found the mercenary that was sent after me you would go back…well wherever it is you’ve been.”

“Got an offer I couldn’t refuse…and I have to find something before I leave again.”

Their food arrived, and for a while they just ate in silence, at least until Klaus paused, taking out a phone Lauren had thought she’d seen Mishca carrying.

“Smile for the camera.”

He flipped it around, taking a picture of them both, then pocketing it.

“Definitely a reason you brought me here and not Mish. Are you going to tell me?”

“I suspect,” he said after swallowing a bite of steak, “that you’ll know more than you want to soon enough.”

After dinner—that lasted for far longer than Lauren thought necessary, but she knew it was probably necessary for whatever Mishca was doing—Klaus dropped her off back at home, promising to see her in the near future. Mishca still wasn’t back yet, and she didn’t have any missed calls from him.

By the time she undressed and pulled on her pajamas, it was going on eleven o’ clock. She was just reaching for her phone when it vibrated. She glanced down at it, surprised to see Luka’s name there.

“Hello?”

“Mishca is on his way to you.”

“Why—”

She was going to ask why he was calling to tell her that, but he’d already hung up.

Some time later, she heard the front door open and slam, Mishca’s heavy footsteps echoing, before she heard the unmistakable sound of something crashing against the wall. Jumping to her feet, she hurried out of the room, pulling her sweater closed around her as she hovered in the doorway, eyes wide as she watched Mishca destroy their apartment.