The Final Hour (Volkov Bratva #3)(96)

She tried calling to him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. Lauren didn’t want to try and stop him, knowing that whatever it was he was going through, he needed to work it out on his own, then he would tell her.

His chest heaving, sweat glistening on his brow, he rummaged through the kitchen, disappearing behind the island.

After grabbing what sounded like a bottle from a bottom cabinet, all the noise stopped. By the time Lauren made it to his side, he’s already finished a third of the bottle of Whiskey.

Mishca was always so carefully composed, more often than not showing very little emotion, now he just looked devastated. He didn’t speak as she sat across from him, wrapping her arms around her upraised knees.

He took a long swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rested his head on the cabinet behind him. One of his fingers was carefully wrapped, like it had been broken.

“Mish, do you want to talk about it?”

She waited until he lowered his arm, resting her hand on his wrist, trying to offer comfort while preventing him from drinking more.

“We had a mole,” he said simply, his eyes on her though she doubted he actually saw her. It was like he was dead inside.

She also didn’t miss that he referred to the mole in past tense. The mole had to have been what brought this on, but who could—Lauren’s heart stuttered as she looked away from Mishca.

The only person that could elicit this type of response out of him was Vlad. Of course, she didn’t know the Bratva enforcer as well as Mishca did, but from the little time she spent with him, she liked him and she knew Mishca loved him.

“I was going to let him go,” he said after a while, his gaze falling to a spot on the floor. “I would have lost everything, including you, the most important thing in my life. I-I’m sorry for that.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mish.”

“I just couldn’t do it, end his life. I didn’t do it.”

At least that would explain, she thought, why Luka had called her.

Lauren understood what he was saying to her, between the lines, and while it might have upset someone else, she wasn’t upset that he hadn’t wanted to kill Vlad. She couldn’t fathom the idea of having to kill Ross to protect Mishca.

He didn’t say anything more, just sitting there, tapping his finger against the side of the bottle. She thought he wanted space, was ready to get up and leave him alone for a while, but he grabbed her before she could go far, pulling her onto his lap.

She wrapped her legs around him, then her arms, hugging him to her just as he did to her. She didn’t complain as he held her though it felt like he was almost crushing her. If this was what he needed, she would happily give this to him.

The sacrifice he’d had to make tonight had broken him in a way she could have never imagined.

He buried his face in her neck and before long,she felt cool droplets hit her skin, making her own eyes tear up in response.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, silently wondering if their lives of pain would ever end.

Mishca was losing everything, everyone he cared about, one by one.



Things between them hadn’t gotten any worse, but Lauren couldn’t say they had gotten any better. She was back in the master bedroom with Mishca—if only because when she tried to sleep in the guest room again, he promptly came in there and carried her back to bed.

Those nights, she was able to sleep.

Some days had passed quickly since he had had to leave Vlad in that motel room.

Something was building inside of Mishca, what it was, she couldn’t put a name to, but it felt like he was unraveling more than he already had. He stayed out most hours of the day, and normally didn’t come home until the wee hours of the morning. And when he finally crawled into bed beside her, he wouldn’t settle down until she was curled beside him, his arm around her waist like he was afraid she was going to leave.

It didn’t matter how many times she questioned him about his odd behavior, he found a way to change the subject, or distract her long enough that she forgot about it.

But more and more, he was pulling away from her, and she knew without having to ask that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with the case or Naomi. Whatever it was, she didn’t like what it was doing to him.

Currently, he was sitting on the couch, staring at nothing, another bottle of vodka loosely held in one hand. Despite him deterring her, she wasn’t going to walk away this time until she knew what was bothering him.

“Mish…”

He turned his head to look at her, a lazy smile curling his lips as he waved her over. When she got to his side, she took the bottle from his hand, placing it on the table.

“What’s going on with you, Mish?”

Mishca reached for her, pulling her down onto his lap, his gaze already drifting down the front of the loosely buttoned shirt she was wearing.

He cupped her face, his skin feeling feverish. Everything about him seemed so still that it was almost uncanny.

“I need you.”

His eyes searched her face, looking for an answer.

Whatever he saw there had him cupping the nape of her neck, drawing her down for a kiss. He tasted of alcohol, but he was still himself and she couldn’t deny herself this small piece of him.

Especially if it would help him.

If they were going to do this, she needed to connect with him, get him to actually see her. Before she could say anything to him, he fisted her shirt, ripping it in two. She sucked in a startled breath, grabbing his hands before he could reach for her panties.