Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(46)

Lauren had only spent a limited time around the Volkov Bratva, but she could tell which of these men were in charge.

The two in front.

One was shorter, with curly brown hair and kind eyes. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze focused downward. Unlike the other man he was walking with, he didn’t appear menacing.

The other, he carried himself differently, like he knew he was in charge. This one was tall with a cropped haircut and had a stocky build, but the one thing that stuck out about him was the scarring on the left side of his face. However he had gotten it, it affected his eye as well. The right was a dark brown, but this one was milky white. She couldn’t tell if it affected his eyesight since both eyes were trained solely on her.

Without a word, they both sat across from her, the man with the scars signaling for the men following him to sit at the tables nearby.

The waiter hovering towards the back came over, looking from the men to Lauren, his question clear in his eyes.

Scars said, “Coffee, black.”

The waiter looked at Lauren.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

When he hurried off to fill the new order, Lauren looked to them both. “Can I help you?”

“Lauren Thompson. I’ve been searching everywhere for you. I am Jetmir, this is Brahim, and our associates,” he said pointing to himself first then the others in turn. “Yes, you can help me.”

She blinked, shifting in her seat as she slid her purse onto her lap, slipping her hand inside to grab her phone.

“It seems,” Jetmir went on, “that a mutual acquaintance of ours has something I need.”

“I’m not sure what I can do to help you.”

Despite what little she knew about the Volkov Bratva, she knew that Jetmir wasn’t a part of it. He lacked the distinctive tattoos she had grown accustomed to and his accent was glaringly different.

“How much has Mishca told you since the alluring Naomi came into town? Very little I would imagine from the expression on your face.”

Refusing to rise to the bait, Lauren said, “I still don’t see how I can help you.”

“It seems,” Jetmir said with a smile as his gaze skirted to the windows, “you already have.”

Lauren followed his gaze to the newest member to their little party. While Jetmir’s grizzly visage garnered a few stares from the other patrons in the café, the newcomer had everyone craning their necks to get a better look.

In many ways, he reminded Lauren of Mishca with the same blue eyes and arrogant demeanor. It seemed she was just part of a testosterone battle because the newcomer hardly bothered with a glance in her direction as he sat beside her in the booth. With his presence, she was quickly forgotten.

He folded his hands on the table, the tattoos covering him standing out. One, Lauren noted, was the symbol of Anarchy, inked like a ring on his middle finger. She couldn’t say for sure if he was under Mishca, but she could assume he was part of the Bratva from the way he stared rather blankly at Jetmir.

“I expected him to show,” Jetmir said casually, “not send his loyal lapdog.”

“Happened to be in the neighborhood,” he said grabbing the salt shaker from its place in the tray, unscrewing the top and setting it down on the table. For reasons only known to him, he began sprinkling the salt on the table.

His accent was far grittier than Mishca’s, but no less hard to understand. He had a rather roguish look to him, a pronounced jaw that was clean-shaven, and curly blonde hair that was in messy disarray as though he ran his fingers through it constantly, but he also had plenty of scar to take away from what could be considered ‘pretty’ features.

One was just beneath his jaw, another dissected his right eyebrow, and when he moved his hand, she could just see where burns warped the flesh of his palm and wrist.

“Your time is running out,” Jetmir said ominously, tapping the face of his expensive watch.

The newcomer smirked, shrugging one broad shoulder. “We’re working on it. There’s no need for threats.” Then his face grew serious, all humor wiped away. “You know how I respond to those.”

He lifted his chin just enough, holding up the peace sign before curling those fingers, pressing them against his neck. Whatever that gesture meant, it offended Brahim. He exploded out of his chair, lunging across the table, but Jetmir grabbed the collar of his shirt, forcing him back down, all while the boy laughed like this was the most amusing thing in the world.

Gritting his teeth, Jetmir gestured to Lauren. “Perhaps more incentive is needed.”

“Give me a reason.”

They stared off for several moments until the corner of Jetmir’s mouth tipped up. “We will speak soon.”

Jetmir and the others stood, leaving without a single glance back. It was dead silent in the café, but Lauren couldn’t focus much on that, the newcomer was grabbing her arm, pulling her up.

“We need to go.”

He grabbed her backpack from the seat, tossing her books inside then zipping it closed. He tossed a twenty dollar bill onto the table, hauling Lauren out with little care to the onlookers.

“Not to be rude, but I don’t know you either.”

“Luka.”

It was the only answer she got from him before he was pushing her into an idling car, climbing in behind her. Luka gave a command in Russian as they pulled off.