Until the End (10 page)

Vlad was a few blocks down the street, standing next to the car. Lauren waved as she stepped beneath the lamp post where Mishca waited.

Folding her arms across her chest, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to talk?” He said though it came out more like a question. “You never answered my calls and it took begging to even get Amber to tell me you would be here tonight. I just want a chance to explain,” he said gazing back at her. He seemed so unsure of himself, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

It was almost endearing.

Every part of her screamed to agree to meet whenever, but she still found herself saying, “I don’t know.”

“One conversation, that’s all I want, and if you don’t want to see me after that, I’ll…I’ll leave you be.”

She heard the words, but it didn’t match the expression on his face. He had that determined look about him that he couldn’t hide.

Lauren couldn’t say no to him.

“Maybe on Thursday. I don’t have classes then,” she offered.

Mishca nodded gratefully, taking her hand, bringing it to his lips to ghost a kiss over her knuckles. “Thank you.”

Though she didn’t want him to, he released, taking a step back to give her space. “I’ll leave you to your party.”

At the last second, he leaned, pressing a lingering kiss to the spot just below her ear, a reminder of what they’d had. He was gone soon after, but she didn’t move until his car was out of sight. In that moment, she didn’t feel the anger or the betrayal, only a feeling of completeness.

In the beginning, every stupid decision seemed like a good one, at least until you were faced with the reality of it. As Lauren entered the downtown Manhattan club, she couldn’t remember why she thought meeting Mishca alone was a good idea.

It wasn’t fear of him that had her hesitant about seeing him, more of a fear of what they would discuss. There was so much between them, too much, things that she would never forget…even if she sometimes wanted to.

There was a cleaning crew inside the club, all in blue uniforms, wiping down every visible surface of the interior. There were at least a dozen men and women on the floor and with the rate that they seemed to be working, they would probably be done in a couple of hours.

At the base of the staircase leading up to Mishca’s private office, Vlad stood. Lauren tried not to smile as he watched the workers hesitantly move around him, giving him side-long glances.

“Is he up there?” Lauren asked after shaking Vlad’s hand—he wasn’t much of a hugger.

Nodding, he stepped to the side, pushing open the heavy black door behind him.

She took the stairs slowly, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart as she knocked on the glass door, waiting for him to bark an ‘enter’ before she shoved it open. Mishca was seated behind his desk, a shot glass and a bottle of expensive vodka resting in front of him, Jonathan sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the cherry-wood desk.

Lauren had only met Jonathan on a single occasion and he had seemed nice enough, but today he looked stressed, even more than Mishca did.

He spotted Lauren first and at any other time, it might have been comical seeing the obvious relief on his face. Standing up abruptly, he drew Mishca’s attention away from him and to Lauren, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him yet.

“Good to see you again, Lauren,” Jonathan said shaking her hand, kissing both of her cheeks.

Jonathan had perfectly styled brown hair, with warm brown eyes. He obviously worked out, but next to Mishca, he looked like a child.

“Jonathan.”

“I’ll just leave you two to talk…”

He made his exit quickly and without him in the room, Lauren couldn’t avoid looking at Mishca any longer.

It was like a punch to the gut.

That night in the club, she must not have really seen him. To be quite honest, he looked like shit.

His hair was a touch too long, his eyes were bloodshot—thanks in large part to the bottle of alcohol on his desk, no doubt—and instead of his standard three piece suit, he was wearing a white T-shirt, slim dark wash jeans, and heavy looking boots. It reminded her of the first time they met, a day that seemed like it was only yesterday.

As she moved further into the room, the change in his demeanor was so subtle that if she hadn’t been looking for it, she might not have noticed it. A sort of…desperation filled his eyes, something she didn’t understand.

He stood, always the gentleman, gesturing for her to take a seat in one of the warm, brown leather armchairs as he took the seat that Jonathan just vacated.

As they both sat, the temperature in the room seemed to increase as they faced one another. When he reclined back in his seat, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair, she folded her hands in her lap. He swept a hand through his hair, she tapped her foot on the floor.

But neither of them were willing to break the silence.

With a measured smile, he said, “You look good.”

She glanced down at her attire: tank top, jeans, and flats. “Thanks. You look…well you always look like that,” she grudgingly admitted, looking away when his smile grew wider.

“I’m glad you came. I thought you might not.”

She shrugged. “It’s not every day two family members of the man that killed my father request a meeting with me. How could I say no?” The words came out lacking any real emotion, but she almost felt guilty when he flinched slightly, shifting in his chair.

Clearing his throat, Mishca said, “My father told me he spoke with you, but not about what.”

“He told me the truth about.”—She waved her hand—“well everything, at least his part in it all.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice if she tried.

With Mishca, she didn’t know what to feel at any given time. One minute she liked him, the next she hated him. She
wanted
him to feel guilty for her father, but she also hated that she made him feel that way.

It was exhausting.

“When exactly were you going to tell me you knew my father?”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I would have told you eventually, when I was sure you could handle it.”

“There was no reason why I wouldn’t have been able to,” Lauren said, “you said you didn’t know anything about his death, I would have assumed you were one of his patients, which turned out to be true.”

“I can’t tell you what I was thinking at the time.”

“I can. You were worried about protecting your father and your
organization
.”

“
Nyet
. When I first found out about the connection between the two of you, there was no reason for me to suspect that we had anything to do with his death.”

“Right, because
your
physician is murdered, that doesn’t send off any warning bells?”

“I never meant to hurt you, Lauren. You have to believe that.”

“No?” She remembered his words in the hotel room, how callously he spat them at her. “You blamed me. I think you made that point quite clear when I talked with Mikhail”

“I never blamed you for any of this. I blamed myself. It was an impossible situation that even I didn’t fully understand. I was trying to protect you. I would never let anything happen to you.”

Protect her.
Protect her
? She clutched the arms of the chair, feeling that familiar rage she was growing accustomed to take over her.

“Oh right, and I’m supposed to believe that? Did you forget that your father sent two, big ass thugs to
kill
me, and I had to talk my way into a meeting with him?
Then
,” she stressed when he thought to interrupt her, “I confess the truth—
because he demanded it
—and
you
have the nerve to get mad at me because I hurt your sister!”

Mishca was pissed.

Pissed that his father went behind his back although he promised to handle the situation, but more pissed at himself for hurting Lauren more when she had probably been reeling from the information she had learned about her father.

He didn’t know what to say to make this better for her, but he had to do something. “Lauren—”

“You think I meant to do that?” Lauren asked like he hadn’t spoken, glaring at him. “For all I knew, family didn’t mean the same thing in the
Bratva
.”

She was right…again, but what she didn’t understand was that because of their lifestyle, Alex hadn’t had a conventional childhood, neither of them had. Realistically, Mikhail didn’t know how to be a father, his only familial sentiment towards his fellow
Vors
, and Anya was too narcissistic to care about anyone other than herself.

Mishca was all Alex had growing up and seeing her cry—even if it was for someone like Anya—made him angry, but he had never meant to take that anger out on Lauren in the process.

“I’m sorry,” he said when she paused to take a breath.

Those two simple words seemed to take all the steam out of her.

“Okay.” But it didn’t sound like she believed him.

“What could I have said?” Mishca asked desperately. “You asked me months ago if I knew about him, yes I lied and said I didn’t, but I couldn’t tell you the truth. It would only lead to more questions that I couldn’t answer, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know.”

She was shaking her head, tears pricking her eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“I asked you to trust me, to let me help.”

“How the hell was I supposed to do that when you were part of it? Not only that, but I had just found out you were in the fucking mob! Can you even comprehend what that was like? This was a bad idea.”

Grabbing her bag, Lauren was up and hurrying to the door, pulling it open, but Mishca shot up after her, refusing to let it end like this. A strong arm shot past her, slamming it shut again. She spun around, ready to give him a piece of her mind, at least until she saw the look on his face.

“Don’t run from me again,” he said softly. “I
won’t
let you run again.”

His hand came up to cradle her cheek, tilting her face up so she would look at him. His words weren’t convincing her, no matter what he said.

He had to make his point before she left this office because if he didn’t, he doubted he would see her again.

Leaning into her, he crowded her space, breathing in the floral scent that clung to her. Their foreheads touched, Lauren’s hands going to the front of his shirt, clutching the material in trembling hands.

“Stop punishing me,” he whispered, “please.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He titled her face up and pressed his lips to hers, silencing whatever protest she thought to give him. Lauren wasn’t hearing him, or at least she was trying to talk her way out of it, but he wasn’t going to let her. If it took him until the end of time to fix this between them, he would fight for her, or burn the city down trying.

For several heartbeats, she didn’t respond, remaining passive beneath him, but finally, it was like her entire body melted as she sighed, kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His heart sang. It was everything he needed, that empty hole in his heart finally disappearing. She was everything to him and he couldn’t let her go.

When words failed him, he showed her his heart through his kiss. A promise to her that though she may have doubts, he wasn’t ready to give up.

One chance was all he needed to prove it all to her.

Not pulling away from her for an instant, he drew her back into the room, practically carrying her over to his desk, sitting her on top of it. Nothing else mattered to him in this moment but her.

Nothing else mattered to him
anymore
but her.

“Wow that was fast.”

Lauren lurched back away from him, looking back to the door where Jonathan stood eyeing them with wry amusement.

“Get out!”

Jonathan threw his hands up, leaving back out. Knowing the moment was officially over, Mishca sighed, looking back at Lauren.

She was just as affected as he felt, her cheeks flushed, and her hands trembling as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.