Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(57)

“Derek Myers, mam.”

She nodded. “Luka, could you get me a glass of water?”

He left the room.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Meyers?”

His hands stilled on her shoulder where they were gingerly pressing against her skin. She realized what that question might have sounded like coming from her.

To him, she was just another one of them.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want.”

Whatever he might have heard in her voice had him answering. “I have a wife and two sons.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting past the pain in her chest. It was like a raw, festering wound that refused to heal. “I’m so sorry.”

“Pardon me?”

She shook her head, falling silent, letting him continue his work in peace. When Mishca returned, she would do whatever she could to help.





The light shining from beneath his bedroom door had Mishca’s heart skipping a beat, his somber mood lifting. He briefly wondered why Luka hadn’t called him until he saw the enforcer coming out of the kitchen with a glass of water.

“She’s awake?”

He nodded. “Her shoulder was hurting so I called Doc.”

“Fuck.” Mishca’s cursed drowned out Luka’s next words, but he didn’t care.

Mishca couldn’t blame him for this. He hadn’t known their history, but with each step closer to the bedroom he took, a sense of foreboding filled him.

Doc was wrapping gauze around Lauren’s shoulder when he entered, followed by medical tape. Lauren’s eyes found him immediately, but she didn’t say anything, her eyes said it all.

“You should be fine,” Doc was saying, oblivious to Mishca’s presence. “Take it easy for a while so you won’t further strain the muscle. Have Luka call me in a couple of days and I’ll come by to check on it.”

She nodded silently.

Patting her knee, he repacked his supplies, heading back out, speaking to Mishca before leaving out. Mishca closed the door behind him, hovering near the door, not knowing what to do.

He was anticipating what she would do now. Would she scream at him? Would she fight him? Either would be understandable, but she did nothing

“How are you feeling?”

“How much?” She asked softly.

He blinked, surprised, but confused by her question. “What?”

“How much does he owe your family? Isn’t that why he works for you?”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Mishca sighed going to sit in one of the chairs across from her, knowing she probably didn’t want him near her at the moment.

“Lauren—”

“Answer me.”

“Five-hundred-thousand.”

“And when his debt is paid, he can go back to his family, and none of you will bother him again.”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then explain it to me, clearly, so I can understand.”

“It’s not just about the money,” he said, the words seeming pulled from him.

“But you never answered the question. If he pays his debt, is he free to be with his family?”

“In a way, yes.”

“I’ll pay it.”

“Lauren—”

“I have the money, just tell me what to do. Do you need it in cash, small bills? A check?”

“I can’t allow you to pay his debt?”

“Why not?” She asked looking at him.

God, it was like her pain was manifesting inside of him, making his heart ache. “You do not have that kind of money.”

“Actually, I do. When your father paid for my mother’s silence, my dad had already set up a trust for me that came from his life insurance. I can pay it, just tell me.”

“Lauren, you’ve been through a great deal tonight and I don’t want you—”

“No!” Her sudden shout made him fall silent. “Do you even know his name? About his family? I can’t let them experience what we did.”

She was on the verge of breaking down and the sight of that crushed him. This was what it would always be. Something would always remind her of Cameron and there was nothing he could do about that, but he could save her further pain.

He had made a mistake chasing after her, blindly believing that everything would be okay. If her happiness and peace meant he had to live without her, he would push her away for her own good.

“His debt can never truly be paid off,” Mishca said calmly, turning off the emotions that plagued him when she was around. “He borrowed half a million from the Bratva, that’s not including the interest or whatever else Mikhail has tacked on.”

“Give me a number.”

“Seven-hundred, maybe more. I don’t know for sure.”

“Find out.”

“It’s not going to make difference.”

She got out of the bed, minding her shoulder, coming over to stand in front of him, so close that he could practically feel the rage pouring out of her. “You call your father, you find out the amount it would take to sever the doctor’s ties to you and I will pay it. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“And if Mikhail doesn’t agree?”