Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(29)

At least that’s what she hoped.

His brows drew together as he looked from the envelope to her, making her fear that he was going to decline.

“We’ll still be in the city,” she rushed to say. “And if you need to, you can always phone Vlad or whoever.”

Silence…then he smiled, nodding once. “What do I need?”





With only two bags between the two of them, they checked in, Lauren handing over her credit card to keep on file. She chose to ignore the frown he shot her.

The en-suite was everything she hoped it would be. The room actually resembling more of an upscale apartment than a hotel room with its impeccable design and fantastic view of the city.

“You paid for this?” Mishca asked looking around, his eyes troubled.

Oh, no. She recognized that look. “I did, and I don’t want you going down there and paying for it behind my back either.”

Smiling unabashed, he carried their bags into the bedroom while she took a look around. There were two bedrooms, both with queen-sized beds and luxurious bathrooms attached.

In one of them, there was a sauna off to the side, a note resting on the table on how to properly use the tools inside. There were also a set of French doors, opening out onto the balcony, several tall, potted plants providing privacy while also dense enough to allow light to pass through them.

“So,” Lauren began as she joined him in the bedroom where his back was to her, “I have reservations at the restaurant downstairs for dinner and…”

She trailed off when she realized he was on the phone. She didn’t interrupt, letting him finish his conversation. When he was done, and he turned to face her as he pressed the end button, he quickly explained himself.

“Last minute details, promise.”

He even handed her the phone. She might not have realized it at the time, but that phone held more information about the Bratva than any other piece of technology he owned. If it ever fell into the wrong hands, they would be able to take him down with relative ease.

“You were speaking of dinner, no?”





Lauren was waiting for Mishca in the sitting area. She was peering up at the night sky when a spider dropped from the ceiling. She screamed, more out of surprise than fear. Mishca came running out of the bathroom, stopping just short of her as he noticed what she was looking at. With a smile, he picked up the delicate creature and set it outside.

She was prepared to thank him, but was immediately sidetracked by the view of him in the tiny towel that barely reached his mid-thigh. In fact, if he wasn’t holding it in the right way, she might have seen more than he had intended.

There were some things she would never get used to and Mishca’s bare body was one of them.

His chest was lean and toned, the identical stars just below his collarbone and the epaulettes on his shoulders a constant reminder of his station, but in this moment, Lauren could care less about that.

Clearing her throat meaningfully—noting that smirk of his growing after catching her staring again—Lauren asked, “What were you doing in there?”

His skin was slightly damp, but not enough to indicate that he had been in the shower.

“Was just drying off.”

She nodded along though she barely heard a word he said, too busy watching a drop of water descending down his abdomen.

Never. Got. Old.





Around the rim of her glass, Lauren smiled, watching Mishca narrow his eyes on the bartender. That muscle in his jaw was working restlessly, and she couldn’t help but feel a thrill at what was happening. When he finally turned back to her, his glare melted away at her amusement.

They had decided to get drinks before dinner, wanting to get out of the room for a bit.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous before. It’s kind of nice.”

He grumbled something along the lines of, “I’m not jealous,” but when the bartender returned with Lauren’s drink, Mishca slid his hand beneath the fall of her hair, his thumb stroking the nape of her neck, an undeniably possessive hold.

“Tell me again how you’re not green with envy, Mish.”

He was spared answering by the arrival of their hostess, leading them to one of the few empty tables in the center of the room.

She smiled graciously and said, “Your waiter will be right with you.”

Lauren looked over her menu, already deciding on the striped bass, but was momentarily distracted by Mishca’s sudden outburst.

“Now you’re just f*cking with me.”

She didn’t have to ponder long what he meant because their waiter was fast approaching, and judging from the way he made a point to briefly stop by his other tables—all occupied by beautiful women, some with male companions—he was a bit of a flirt.

Laughing softly, Lauren shook her head. “I swear I didn’t plan this.”

“Vy budete menya v mogilu—You will be the death of me.”

“Dah.” she said confidently, loving the way his eyes lit up.

“Where did you learn all of this?”

“I bought a pocket edition of the Russian dictionary. Sometimes I can guess what you’re trying to say, other times—like now—I just assumed you said something sweet.”

He laughed, drawing the attention of the couples next to their table. “Good to know.”