Until the End Page 6

  “What can I do for you, kid?”

  “I need a favor.” That was the code, Billy had said.

  They all laughed, but it was D who responded. “Do I know you?”

  “I’m a friend of Billy’s.”

  “Oh, yea? Billy, with the bad hair. I know him, but I don’t know you.”

  He had a distinct accent, one that Cameron had never heard before and Cameron might have headed the warning in D’s voice, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet.

  “I’m willing to do anything,” Cameron said. “Please.”

  D was silent for so long that Cameron just knew that he was going to send him off, but he was shocked when D nodded.

  “What do you need?”

  “Forty.”

  D didn’t deal in small amounts. When someone came to him for a loan, it was done in thousands, not a penny less.

  “For school,” Cameron went on to explain as though that might help his case. “Medical school. I’m trying to become a doctor.”

  When he only got an amused look from D, Cameron finally stopped talking, shifting on his feet.

  Snapping his fingers, D gestured to one of the boys, waiting for him to hand over a small notepad and pen.

  “Come to this address tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.”

  This was said with a level stare, a thick finger pointed in Cameron’s face before he was handed a scrap of paper. Clutching it in his hand, Cameron didn’t bother with a thank you.

  They had already dismissed him.

  The following day, Cameron arrived at a local restaurant in Brighton Beach ten minutes early. It was a rather run-down place, filled with men in different states of dress.

  One of the guys from the previous night recognized Cameron, waving him over to where he stood near the bar.

  “D is waiting for you in the back,” he explained before pushing Cameron through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  Thick smoke made it hard to see, but Cameron kept going, trying to ignore the glares of the men watching his every step.

  D was seated at a round table in the back, several men surrounding him, but they all seemed to be angled around a single man.

  Even Cameron could tell there was something different about him. He wasn’t dressed as lavishly as the others, and unlike the empty glasses in front of the others, his glass was full.

  Cameron wasn’t sure what to do when two men stood, refusing to let him pass. He looked to D, but he was leaning over to the man in the center, speaking rapidly in another language.

  Nodding, the man waved for them to let Cameron through. He tentatively stepped forward.

  “Please, sit.”

  Cameron took up the vacant seat, folding his hands in his lap. Sweat formed at the nape of his neck, his nerves getting the best of him as he became the subject of everyone’s attention.

  “My associate tells me you are in a predicament, yes?”

  When the man spoke, everyone stopped to listen. It sounded unbearably loud when Cameron cleared his throat.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you want this money to be a doctor?”

  Cameron nodded.

  Surprising them all, the man reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a hefty envelope, tapping it against the table.

  “How do you expect to pay me back?”

  “I have a job,” he spoke up. “I can get you the money.”

  “You work at a supermarket to pay for your mother’s care. How long would that take, young Cameron Thompson?”

  Cameron was stunned speechless. He had never even given his name to anyone, yet they knew all this information about him. He should have known then that he was way over his head.

  “I’ll do anything,” he pleaded instead.

  D smirked, shaking his head as though he already knew what the man was going to do, but he frowned when the man slid the envelope across the table.

  “Do not worry about the money,” the man said, shocking everyone. “One day, your debt will come due, and on that day, you will answer to me. Do you agree to my terms.”

  Cameron stared down at the envelope, hesitating. For all he knew, the man could ask him to kill someone. Was he really willing to take that chance?

  As Cameron left that room, the envelope tucked safely into his back pocket, he would later regret ever doing business with the Russians in that back room.

  When he finished, Lauren couldn’t look at him. It was an impossible situation to understand. Her father’s desire to go to school by any means necessary was admirable, but how could he think that that was a good option.

  “You could have said no,” Lauren said quietly.

  “And he could have turned down the money,” Mikhail retorted. “I am a businessman. I do not care for sentiment. At the time, he was what I needed and he served his purpose.”

  Red, hot anger filled Lauren and she was close to saying something she knew she would regret.

  “I warned you that it would not be what you wanted to hear, you persisted, but,”—he raised his hand when she meant to cut him off—“that does not mean I do not feel sorry for what he suffered. He was a good man in a world of thieves. He knew the risks. Know that Viktor paid for what he did and leave it at that.”

  The same hotel room. The same day of the week. Yet despite the familiarity, there was a considerable difference charging the air around them. Mishca could see it on their faces as he entered, scanning his surroundings.

  What happened with Viktor—at least the reasons behind his execution—was unknown to the other members, but since his murder was broadcasted, his death was a well-known fact, and the way his body was found was a clear indicator to anyone in this room who had taken out the hit.

  Most of the members inside were respectful, not daring to even look like they thought of questioning Mishca, but others were bolder, blatantly looking to him for an explanation. What was the likelihood of Viktor’s death happening only a few months after he brought Lauren around, especially with his attitude towards her?

  Ignoring the looks, Mishca took the seat to the right of Mikhail’s chair, unbuttoning his jacket to pull out his Blackberry, hoping for a missed call or text, finding neither. It wasn’t that he expected anything different under the circumstances, but after seeing her the other day…he had hoped.

  Logically, he knew he kept his phone on vibrate and if there were any notifications he would be able to feel it, but he still found himself checking his phone every few minutes.

  Hope was a bitch.

  By the time the meeting started, Mishca was ready to leave.

  “Viktor is no longer with us,” Mikhail said ominously, tapping his finger against the table.

  Mishca couldn’t help but notice it was the finger with the skull across his knuckle.

  “Because of this, we will need to divide his duties amongst ourselves. Mishca and myself,” Mikhail went on though he didn’t bother to acknowledge him, “have taken over the arms deals. He’s proven himself and the buyers are pleased, but that still leaves The Gilded Room.”

  That particular establishment was one Mishca didn’t particularly want, but he also didn’t want anyone in this room to have it either. It was too close to his territory for his liking and sometimes the problems inside The Gilded Room spilled over into his work, and he couldn’t have that.

  Ronald, a particularly nasty man with a penchant for raping and beating the working girls spoke up, offering to take the position.

  Frowning, Mishca said, “I have a man for the job.”

  Mikhail waved him on as Ronald scowled. “Speak.”

  “Luka Sergeyev.”

  He cocked a brow.

  “He’s done good work for me over the last year,” Mishca hastened to say.

  It was no secret that Luka could be a bit…unstable, but Mishca had never doubted his loyalty, not once since he came to work for him several years ago.

  “Two weeks and report back to me.”

  With that over with, the meetin
g went on as usual, everyone passing their envelopes to the center of the table. Ten minutes later, the room was empty again, save Mishca and his father.

  To say that things were tense between Mishca and his father would be an understatement. They kept up pretenses, yes, but Mishca avoided his father whenever possible. The only time they saw each other was for the monthly sit down when Mishca was forced to be in his presence.

  “I spoke with the doctor’s daughter some time ago.”

  With each word Mikhail spoke, Mishca’s hand tightened around the glass in his hand. By the time he finished speaking, the crystal shattered.

  Mikhail looked on calmly.

  “I thought I made myself clear before, but perhaps you need more clarification. Stay away from Lauren.”

  Mikhail’s eyebrows rose to his hairline, his amusement clear. “You think to order me?”

  “Damn right. She’s mine and you don’t go near her.”

  “You should not allow emotions to influence your judgment, son. It is unbecoming.”

  Rolling his eyes, Mishca ignored that. “Did you get what you wanted from her?”

  Reaching into his coat, Mikhail withdrew a journal, tossing it over to him. “I gave her my word that I would return this if it had no useful information.”

  “It doesn’t?” Mishca asked in confusion. He specifically recalled Lauren telling them that Doc kept information about them inside it.

  “It seems the girl is more clever than I gave her credit.”

  So she was. “What do you expect me to do with this?”

  “Return it, of course. I believe it will help in repairing the damage between you since I am sure you will not listen to reason and pursue her anyway.”

  Not responding, Mishca climbed to his feet, buttoning his jacket. “I need something from you.”

  “Speak.”

  “Anya’s address.”

  “And why would I do this?”

  “Because Aleksandria asked for it. She is but a child. She shouldn’t have to suffer for her mother’s indiscretions.”

  It was the best argument Mishca could come up with. It also would give him insight on how Mikhail felt about Alex. They hadn’t spoken since that day and he could see it affecting Alex though she tried to deny it.

  “How is she?”

  “Angry, hurt. She thinks you despise her.”

  “Untrue, I just have something to say to her presently.”

  Meaning, he couldn’t see her without seeing the betrayal. If Alex were not his sister, he might have understood where Mikhail was coming from, but he wouldn’t allow Mikhail’s selfishness to affect Alex any more than it already had.

  “Give me the address.”

  He did. “Be careful what you wish for, Mishca. Happiness comes at a price.”

  Mishca left without another word, refusing to play his father’s mind games. It was just like him to try and take anything he cared about away from him. It was what he did best.

  “Where to?” Vlad asked as they got into the Mercedes.

  “Just drive for now.”

  There was nowhere Mishca wanted to be than next to Lauren and since he couldn’t have that—not yet—he just needed something to occupy his time.

  Mishca was staring out the window, watching the people go about their lives when he noticed a familiar curly headed girl walking out of a pastry shop. He narrowed his eyes, just to make sure he knew it was her before he had Vlad pull over.

  Amber was a fast walker and he had almost missed her until he yelled her name.

  She turned back, searching through the sea of faces until she landed on him. She went from calm to confused to utter outrage. She didn’t keep walking away, instead she turned on her heel and marched directly over to him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to her,” he pleaded, not knowing what else to do. He was desperate at this point.

  “And why exactly would I help you?”

  “Because I made a mistake and I need to fix it.”

  He had no idea whether Lauren had told Amber about the reasons behind their breakup. If she had, Amber definitely wouldn’t be giving him any answers.

  “You get one freebie,” she said. “I don’t know what happened between you two, all I know is if you’re half as miserable as you look, then maybe you are sorry for whatever you did.” She held her finger up. “One chance. We’ll be here for Lauren’s birthday. Come by.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m not doing it for you. Lauren looks worse than you do.”

  It was a particularly muggy night, but Lauren could hardly focus on that as she sat in the back of the cab with Amber as she held up a dark blue scarf, signaling for Lauren to turn her back.

  “It’s a surprise,” she explained with a cheerful smile, practically bouncing in her seat as she gestured impatiently for Lauren to turn her head.

  “Step up—no don’t step up yet,” Amber cried, laughing when they both nearly fell to the ground.

  “You suck at this, you know,” Lauren said dryly, still letting Amber lead her.

  “No, you’re just not good with directions.”

  After tripping a few more times, they finally entered what smelled like a bakery, the scent of cupcakes making Lauren’s mouth water. Fiddling with the knot at the back of Lauren’s head, Amber finally removed the scarf.

  “Surprise!” she, Tristan, and Matt yelled. “Happy Birthday!”

  There was a banner hanging over them with her name in the center. A dozen or more cupcakes lined the table that Tristan and Matt were standing behind, twenty-one candles divided between them.

  “Guys, this is too much.”

  Besides her parents, she had never had anyone celebrate her birthday like this. She loved everything about it, and more importantly, she loved each of them for doing it.

  “You only turn twenty-one once,” Matt said pulling out her chair. “And what better way to celebrate it than—”

  “With a bottle of premium Tequila. Darling, I’m getting you drunk tonight,” Tristan chimed in with a victorious smile, holding up the giant bottle in one of his tattooed hands.

  Amber produced a custom shot glass, with her name and birthdate on it. Tristan poured the first one.

  “Am I just chugging this?” Lauren asked.

  “Unless you want to do body shots,” he replied lifting up his shirt, revealing more of the tattoos he had hidden beneath. It wasn’t just his arms and hands tattooed like a skeleton, but his chest, and undoubtedly the rest of him as well. “I’m down for that.”

  Not rising to the bait, Lauren lifted her glass and smiled at her friends. “Cheers.”

  She tossed the drink back, covering her mouth as the urge to spit it out overwhelmed her. Matt was cheering her on in the background, Amber doing her happy dance.

  “Good?” Tristan asked.

  “Sure,” she croaked back.

  “It’s the first of twenty-one.”

  She was going to die.

  Despite his proclamation, Lauren hadn’t actually taken twenty-one shots, stopping somewhere between five and six. She was too busy listening to Tristan’s latest exploits to drink anymore.

  “Then she bends over backwards, freaks me the fuck out. I’m like have you seen the demonic shit they’re putting in movies lately? I can’t risk her biting my dick off.”

  “You alone are the reason we guys have a bad name,” Matt said biting into a cupcake.

  “Bullshit. If it weren’t for assholes like me, you would never get laid.”

  Lauren had grown used to their banter. In fact, she enjoyed listening to them go back and forth. They were like polar opposites of each other, but it worked for them.

  A strong gust of wind blew through the small shop when the door opened, the bell chiming with the newcomer’s entrance. Since it was only supposed to be the four of them, Lauren wondered who it could be, at least until she saw her friends’ faces.

  Maybe it was a subconscious thing—besides the
ir expressions—that told her it was Mishca. It took a moment, but she needed that time to prepare herself.

  Mishca was unlike anyone she had ever met, not just because of the life he led, but because of the reaction he caused in her when he was around. Tonight, he was dressed in his work attire—which job was up for debate—but there was something almost tired about him that worried—

  No, she wasn’t supposed to care. She didn’t care.

  “Mish?”

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt, but I was hoping I could speak with you for a moment, privately.”

  She blinked in surprise, looking over to Amber for a second, focusing back on him. “I—yea, give me a sec.”

  He nodded, visibly relaxing when she agreed.

  “Well that was fucking awkward,” Tristan muttered when Mishca was back outside. “What happened between you and the Russian?”

  “Mishca,” she absently said, knowing no matter how many times she told him that, he would always call him ‘the Russian.’ “How did he even know we were here?” Lauren asked aloud, not really expecting any of them to answer, she was just stalling.

  “That was kind of my doing,” Amber spoke up guiltily. “He said he wanted to talk and I…I guess I felt sorry for him. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I just wasn’t expecting him is all.”

  “Do you want my opinion?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should at least talk to him, even if it’s not going to work out between you, you’ll at least have closure.”

  Right, right. She would do this for the closure, not because she actually thought there may be a chance with him. Excusing herself, Lauren headed out into the night, pulling her jacket on as she went.

  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.