Time Stood Still (Volkov Bratva #3.5)(6)

Lauren couldn’t imagine that kind of struggle having only one real boyfriend who happened to now be her husband. Without Stephanie having to say anything, as she rubbed her hands over her arms, the hem of her shirt rose just slightly, displaying dark bruises. She could only imagine what the rest of her looked like.

“Thank you,” she whispered, peeking up at Lauren. “For not—”

“Please don’t thank me for that. Anybody would have done it. But will you be alright at your friend’s? Can he find you there?”

Lauren kind of felt like she was invading the girl’s privacy, but she wanted to help in any way she could.

“I don’t think so, but I don’t have a lot of options, ya know? She’s letting me crash until I can find a job and—”

“Have you ever been a server?”

“Huh?”

“Server, like have you ever served drinks?”

She looked confused, but nodded. “Most of my undergrad, yes, but—”

“We’ve got an opening.”

Her mouth dropped open, and was about to snap shut again when Mishca came back up, his hand sliding beneath the fall of Lauren’s hair, his thumb sweeping over the nape of her neck. He tended to have that reaction on most women. But she didn’t count on Roman being with him.

Tearing her eyes from him and looking back to Lauren, she still shook her head. “That’s nice of you, but—”

“Mish, this is Stephanie. I offered her one of the bottle girl positions.”

He looked between her and the girl, then said something to Roman in Russian, who didn’t look pleased by whatever he was told. He said no, but ultimately relented, finally agreeing to whatever Mishca had asked of him.

Roman grabbed a napkin from the set on the bar top, pulling out a pen to scribble something down.

“What’s your name?”

“Uh, Christina?”

“Full name.”

Clearly Roman only had two moods. Intense and really intense. He hadn’t even looked at the girl since he walked up.

“Christina Montana.”

He handed her that napkin. “Go that address next week Tuesday. Tell them Roman Pavlov sent you and they’ll take care of you. Understand?”

She could do no more than nod, her eyes skirting over each of them, probably trying to work out who the hell they thought they were, but upon seeing Lauren’s reassuring smile, she nodded once.

“You’ll be safe here for the time being.” Mishca looked to Lauren. “Ready?”

“Yea.”

As they were walking out, Christina called to them, “Thank you.”

When they were some distance away, Mishca was shaking his head, a smile on his lips. “I can never leave you alone, can I? Not even for a few minutes.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mish. I’m just accepting the role you gave me.”





CHAPTER TWO





Lauren was up before Mishca, the sound of banging pans in the kitchen having woke him. Picking up his Blackberry, he scanned through the few messages he had, rolling his eyes to the one from Luka that asked, ‘What are you wearing?’ He briefly wondered why she was up so early—in the kitchen nonetheless—but since he was alone for the time being, he went ahead and altered their plane tickets, having already made the reservations for their hotel stay the night before.

Leaving his phone on the bedside table, he headed into the bathroom, relieving himself before washing his face, his thoughts already drifting to what he would need to get done before they left the state. The process went by surprisingly fast, especially since it was so last minute, but while he didn’t always rely on it, sometimes it was a bonus to have his last name.

Walking out of the bedroom, Mishca could only see Lauren’s back as she stood in front of the stove, her arms moving though he couldn’t see what she was making. Taking a seat at the bar, he watched her for a while, a small, contented smiled spreading over his face. He never expected it, couldn’t say he actually wanted it, but now that he had it, he cherished it.

Normality…or at least the closest to it that he would ever get. Since the time he’d become an integral part of the Bratva, he never expected to have a wife, or even to care enough about another person to make that kind of commitment.

But here she stood, through the chaos that was his life, and he couldn’t imagine his life without her.

“What are you making?”

She startled, jumping slightly before glaring at him over her shoulder, spatula in hand. She turned back after a few seconds, she turned back, carefully flipping—an omelette if he had to guess—the mixture in the skillet.

“Breakfast for you, obviously. Even when I purposefully get up two hours early, you’re still up at the crack of dawn before I can finish.”

He smirked. “You’ve been up for two hours?”

She made a noise, not outright answering his question, her eyes skirting over to the trashcan in the corner. He didn’t doubt that if he looked, there would be a few failed attempts at her eggs.

Reaching into one of the nearby cabinets, she removed a plate, setting it on the counter. As she went about plating the food—only for him it seemed—grabbing the silverware, he wondered why she was going through this much trouble.