Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(64)

Luka kicked the door open, the frame splintering. The woman screamed, holding her hands up as though that would help her, but with a jerk of his head, Luka sent her fleeing from the room.

“How dare you!”

Mishca stormed into the room next, his eyes cold and furious. “Sit down.”

“You—”

Swinging his arm out he slugged Jetmir across the face with the handle of his gun, kicking his leg out to force him back on the bed.

“I said sit the f*ck down!”

Jetmir’s nose was bleeding, but like he had never been hit, he simply brushed some of the blood away and glared at Mishca. “You are bold, Russian.”

“Where is she?” He demanded without preamble.

“If you mean your whore, I haven’t seen her.”

Even Vlad winced as Mishca punched the Albanian in the jaw, but it wasn’t enough for Mishca. He swung again, connecting with the left side of his face and felt the satisfying crack of bone.

Jetmir howled in pain, cursing Mishca, though his voice soon became quiet when it became too difficult to talk which made Mishca instantly annoyed.

Looking to Vlad, Mishca said, “Bring him.”

Vlad followed his orders and as they were making their way through the house, a man appeared in the doorway, one that Mishca had seen just recently.

He spotted them at the same time, but before his brain could even form another thought, Luka tackled him, laughing as the man tried to fight back. Today was not a day when Mishca worried for his sanity.

Jetmir was hogtied and thrown into the trunk of the car, Vlad staying outside with him. The other man, one of Jetmir’s lieutenants was led to the back bedroom.

Grabbing the knife from Luka’s belt, Mishca thrust it down into the softest part of the man’s thigh, leaving it embedded there until he quieted.

“Hopefully that will stop whatever lie you can think of, yes?” Mishca gestured at himself. “You know who I am and you know that I saw your face on that tape. Either you die bloody or you take a bullet to the head.”

“U vas net shary—You don’t have the balls!” He spat angrily, tears in his eyes.

Without a word, Luka jerked the knife free from his leg, unfazed by another shout of pain. In one swift move, he cut through the front of the man’s shirt, baring his chest and the tattoos that decorated it.

Mishca stood back, watching with casual indifference as Luka kneeled before the man.

“You know of me, yes?” Luka asked. “No, look at me.” He tapped the tip of his blade against his forehead, drawing the man’s attention up.

When his eyes widened just slightly, Luka smiled.

“And you know what I’m capable of. Answer his questions.”

Mishca didn’t waste any time. “Where is she?

He stayed stubbornly silent and Mishca was getting edgier by the second. Before he could lunge at the man, and effectively ruin any chance he had of getting the information, Luka stuck his arm out, halting him.

“Give me five minutes.”

Four and a half minutes later, Luka came out, his hands and jeans covered in blood, yet he didn’t look ruffled in the slightest. Withdrawing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, Luka grabbed one, lighting it up, the blood on his hands staining it.

“I’ve got an address.”





Brahim was on the other side of the room, biting into an apple, laughing with the remaining two men that were left. Lauren had no idea when the one that had been watching her would return, but she didn’t have any time to waste.

She had been trying in vain to free her hands from the zip-tie that bound her wrists, but so far, the hardened plastic had only bitten into her wrists, cutting the skin, but she was too determined to focus on the pain.

Moving her arms as much as possible, she fought to get free, until the cord caught on a groove in the back of the chair. She froze for a millisecond, slowing her speed, trying to determine if it was deep enough to be affective. When the tie didn’t give, she slowly began working it, making sure she held onto it, praying that when it broke, it wouldn’t hit the ground.

Already she could feel the tightened grip slacking. It took longer than she would have liked, working at an agonizingly slow pace.

Finally, it broke.

She looked up, making sure Brahim or the others hadn’t noticed her movements. She had no idea what her next move was going to be—there was no visible weapon in sight—but she knew that if he followed through on his threat, she wouldn’t die, not like this.

On the other side of the room, there was a hole in the rotting floor, and if she remembered correctly, they were only one floor up. Maybe if she timed it correctly, she could dash over to it, jumping down and make it out the building before they could get to the stairs.

Until Brahim turned to look at her.

Lauren tried not to look guilty as he walked towards her, tossing the pit of his apple as he came. Heart hammering, she prayed he wouldn’t circle the chair and notice what she had done.

“They said I could not do it,” Brahim said conversationally. “They mocked me, but I’ll show them.”

When he wasn’t trying to be menacing, he reminded her of a child. She could see the similarities between him and his brother, but whereas Jetmir exuded a maniacal sort of rage, Brahim seemed docile, besides the whole kidnapping her thing.