Until the End (Volkov Bratva #2)(65)

Keeping his attention before he could make another move, Lauren asked, “Who mocked you?”

He frowned, rubbing his jaw. “Everyone. I admit I am not as great as my brother, but what chance was I given? I’m always in his shadow, but no longer.”

Brahim looked at his watch again then glared at her. “I expected the diamond by now. Maybe you don’t mean as much to the Russian as I originally believed?”

He phased it like a question, like he was now questioning what he had done.

Brahim didn’t seem to realize what she did mean to Mishca. Despite the warnings she’d been given, the harsh words, and the mocking smiles, Lauren knew she meant far more to him than anyone realized.

“Mishca doesn’t have it,” she said solemnly. “If anyone does, it’s Naomi.”

“No,” he said shaking his head harshly. “No, she told me he had it.”

Son of a bitch.

“He doesn’t, but if you let me go, I will do everything I can to get it back to your family. Mishca will listen to me. If you don’t hurt, Mishca will just let it go. Please. ”

He looked like he was wavering, but one of his men barked something at him making him clench his jaw.

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not, I—”

“Shut up!” He retrieved his gun, pointing it at her. “If I don’t get a call in the next five minutes, you’re dead. Diamond or no diamond.”

He left then, leaving Lauren to contemplate his words. It didn’t matter though.

She had lied when she said if he didn’t hurt her, Mishca would let it go.

Whether she walked away—or died trying—he was a dead man.





Vlad grabbed the back of Mishca’s shirt, halting him mid-jump out the car. It was the first time he had ever done so and in his current state of mind, Mishca was too pissed to differentiate between friend and enemy.

Lightning fast, he had the barrel of his gun flush against Vlad’s forehead.

“Back. Off.”

He doubted it was the first time Vlad had ever had a gun pointed in his face, but the fact that he hadn’t even blinked was still unnerving.

“You are too emotional, let us go,” he said calmly, never bothering to knock the gun out of his face.

“Nyet!”

The ten other men with them looked on, but all knew that when Mishca gave that hard ‘no,’ there was no arguing with him, but Vlad was not like them.

“You will make a mistake. You will die. Do you want her to see that?”

At that, Mishca pulled his gun back. “Izvineniya—Apologies.”

Vlad nodded, but Mishca wasn’t done.

“I have to go.”

He could either go with them, or without them, but either way, he was entering that building.

Frowning, Vlad stared at him—seeing his resolve—and nodded. “Try not to get us killed, yes?”

Nodding in agreement, Mishca got out of the car, rechecking the clip and loading a bullet into the chamber.

He had no real idea how many men Brahim had with him considering not many of the Albanians were as loyal to him as they were to Jetmir, but Mishca brought enough of his men to take any number down.

“Ostat’sya zdes’—Stay here,” he ordered a few of them, leading the way into a building he was far too familiar with.

It was one that marked a particular event in his life, one that had turned his world upside down, and explained many of his mother’s mental problems.

Even after his initiation into the Bratva, he still hadn’t learned everything.

As soon as they stepped inside, they waited.

It was an old building, on the outskirts of town with very little access to it. Mishca was all too familiar with the history of this place.

There was trash and debris all over the ground floor, an old staircase on the opposite side of them.

Mishca held his hand up, stopping Vlad and Luka from continuing. He pointed at the ceiling, hearing the footsteps above them. It didn’t sound like many, but he couldn’t be sure.

Giving Luka a pointed look, he didn’t have to explain what came next. Grabbing a small rock near his feet, Mishca held onto it as they silently moved out of view of anyone coming down the stairs. When they were safely concealed, he tossed it.

It bounced a couple of times before settling down, all conversation above them stopping.

Brahim said, “Go check it out.”

Two sets of footsteps sounded then, both coming down the steps, one stopping midway. The first man appeared at the bottom, holding his gun out in front of him, but his first mistake was putting his back to them.

Without even the squeaking of the boards, Luka grabbed the man and before he could make a sound, he put one hand on top of the man’s head, another beneath his jaw, and twisted, effectively snapping the man’s neck.

Vlad helped moved the man’s body out of the way.

Luka, deepening his voice to imitate the man, said up the stairs in perfect Albanian, “Kalon brez pas brezi—Come down.”

The man hesitated, but finally came down the stairs. He too was taken out in a matter of seconds.

Mishca was trying to be patient, trying to keep a level head as he ascended the staircase, blind to what was happening above, but when he heard Lauren’s yelp of pain, he said f*ck all to reason and went charging up the stairs.