Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(36)

“It’s not over between us,” she murmured in a silky voice, pressing her breasts against his chest. She grabbed his hands, forcing them around her until they were pressed against her lower back. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“I tend not to forget my mistakes lest I repeat them.”

“Can she really give you everything you need, Mishca…or do you restrain yourself with her? How long will it be before you accidentally show her the beast resting inside you?”

Mishca ground his teeth, ready to shove her away when the door at his back gave way. He cursed beneath his breath, dropping his hands and turning to face Lauren.

There was accusation in her eyes. “Mish—”

“Mish? He actually lets you call him that? The Mishca I remember hated pet names.”

He readied to respond to her barbed comment, but Lauren beat him to it.

“People change.”

Whether she was just tired of the game, or leaving it for another day, Naomi turned away.

“I’ll see you soon, Mishca.”

When she was out of sight, Mishca immediately turned to Lauren. “I can explain.”

“Please do.”

“First, never let her in this apartment again.”

“Oh, I didn’t let her in,” she said when they were back inside his bedroom. “She has a key.”

Fuck. He needed to get the locks changed immediately.

“I’m assuming you two had to be close for her to have a key.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardness filling him. “We lived together at one point, but it wasn’t like what we have. I believe we were both only in it for the sex.”

And for what Mishca could do for her, but he hadn’t known that at the time.

“How long ago was this?”

“From the time I was eighteen until I was twenty-one.”

“That’s a long time to just be friends with benefits, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, a bit ashamed of his past. “It was what I was into at the time.” Mishca just noticed that she was now wearing her jacket. “Are you leaving?”

“I’ve got school tomorrow, Mish. Can’t miss another day of class.”

“D’you mind if I stay the night with you?”

“Of course not, but you don’t have to. I’m not freaking out or anything about Naomi.”

But he didn’t believe that. Grabbing his keys, he followed her out of his apartment, taking his car back to her place. Lauren was surprisingly silent on the drive over, making him worry more about what she was thinking.

Inside her apartment, he stripped down, climbing into her bed as she did the same. She kept her back to him, not that he let that deter him.

He pulled her towards him, relaxing when she settled against him with a contented sigh.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he promised. “She’s in my past.”

“I know.”

Later, as he was dozing off, he wondered why Naomi had come back, knowing she didn’t care enough about him for this to be about their relationship, or lack there-of.

Now she wasn’t above petty jealousy. He could see it all over her face when he walked, and she would do everything in her power to screw with Lauren’s head because of it.

He would have to find out why she was here and soon. The faster he got this done, the faster he could force her to leave, holding the one thing over her head that he had as leverage.





Mishca rubbed his eyes tiredly as he came awake, his phone’s insistent buzzing already grating on his nerves. He accepted the call without checking the caller ID, waiting until Lauren settled in his arms before placing the Blackberry to his ear.

“Yea?”

“The Albanians are in town.”

His hand tightened on Lauren’s hip and the constant headache he had hoped to quell came back with a vengeance.

While the Irish—Declan in particular—were a nuisance, the Albanians was a different kind of problem, one that stemmed back years.

“The Pakhan?”

Vlad grunted. “From what I head, they are here for you.”

“Where?”

“The Den.”

“Give me twenty minutes.”

Hanging up, Mishca slipped out of bed, hunting the floor for his pants, jerking them on.

“Work?”

Lauren was on her side, hugging the pillow he had just abandoned. He wished he could stay here with her, forgetting about Naomi and now the Albanians’ sudden arrival in New York. He had a sudden suspicion that the two were connected somehow, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Yes, but I won’t be gone long.”

He leaned down, kissing her forehead, seeing the smile light up her face.

“Hurry back.”





First, a pit stop by his apartment to change clothes and get himself together, then Mishca was off to Brighton Beach where he would have the meeting with a few of the members.

The Den was one of many Russian cuisine restaurants in Brighton Beach, though not located near the pier, but despite its owner’s shady dealings, it was a place free of any criminal activity except for the occasional business meeting.

Mikhail had owned the restaurants for two decades and poured his earnings into it, making it a quality destination. The walls were made of white stone, mosaic tiles lining the floor, with warm champagne colored chandeliers. There was a stage towards the back of the eating area where performers sung in their native tongue, an experience unmatched by any of his competition.