In the Beginning (Volkov Bratva) Read online

  Scores of New Yorkers were out and Lauren finally understood why it was called the city that never slept. No one was moving at a sluggish pace—despite the unGodly hour—and there had to be triple the amount of people walking around than Lauren normally saw in her sleepy hometown.

  Just a few blocks from the art building where Lauren’s first class would be, she spotted a small cafe, nestled between a bakery and an office building. She might not have noticed it otherwise, but the glowing mug of coffee above the name of the place called to her.

  When the light changed, Lauren crossed the street, following the flow of traffic until she was just a few feet away. The heavenly scent of pastries and caffeine beckoned her closer and if someone were running naked across the street, she would not have noticed.

  The coffee shop was decorated in shades of taupe and ivory green, with tables lined along the walls, providing a walkway up to the counter. The display cases revealed buttery croissants, frosted tea cakes, and muffins that all looked fresh and appetizing.

  Lauren stood in line, turning her music down so the blasting song wouldn’t distract the businessman behind her as he spoke quietly into his phone. Her eyes flickered over the cases, trying to decide before it was her turn which pastry she would be getting.

  Pictures, some of coffee beans, others of inspiring quotes about the joys of the morning, were hung along the walls in black frames. Classical music played softly through speakers in the ceiling, a song she actually recognized from a favored movie of hers.

  She liked the place immediately, deciding that this would be her morning stop before classes, knowing she probably wouldn’t get up early enough to fix her own pot at home.

  When it was her turn to order, Lauren glanced over the menu—words scrawled in chalk along a board hanging from the ceiling. The cafe didn’t have the usual choices that were provided at places such as Starbucks, at least not that she could tell since the drinks were all named something unique.

  “What can I get you?” The girl asked giving her a friendly smile though she too looked exhausted.

  “Uh, I’m not sure,” she replied, a bit overwhelmed by all the choices. “What do you recommend?”

  “I’m a big fan of the Morning Ray—it’s an iced mocha and caramel frappuccino,” she explained at Lauren’s bewildered frown, “but if you want something a bit stronger, you can always go for the double shot espresso.”

  Lauren nodded, fishing out a bill from her purse. “Can I get the frappuccino then?”

  “Sure thing.”

  The barista rang her up, writing her name on a clear cup with the cafe’s logo stamped across the front. Paying, Lauren grabbed her change and stepped to the side, allowing the man behind her his turn.

  There weren’t many people in the cafe, a group of students in one corner, a woman with earbuds plugged into her ears typing furiously on her laptop, and on the other side, a boy that looked a few years older than Lauren typing on his Blackberry.

  Lauren took the time to glance down at her own phone, making sure she still had enough time. It was a few minutes past eight.

  Her name was finally called a few moments later. Grabbing her drink, she vaguely heard another name being called as well, but she was heading towards the rear where a small stand was set up with different add-ins.

  Taking a sip, she smiled at the decadent taste, but decided that she would prefer just a bit more milk in hers. Removing the top, she poured a small amount of half-and-half, tasting it again.

  Pleased, Lauren was turning to walk out, trying to put the top back on when she hit someone, a bit of the coffee splashing onto the crisp white shirt of the boy in front of her.

  “I’m sorry!” She blurted, hurrying back to grab a handful of napkins to blot at the saturation on his shirt, but she only seemed to make it worse.

  A warm, calloused hand covered hers, preventing her from rubbing further. He didn’t shove her away like she was expecting, but merely took the napkins from her.

  “It’s not a problem.”

  At the accent that colored his words, she finally looked up. It was the boy that was on his Blackberry.

  She blinked again getting a better look at him.

  A corner of his mouth curled up into a half smile at her embarrassment. A few days worth of facial hair dusted his cheeks and jaw, giving his boyish features a roguish edge. He was several inches taller than her and if she had to guess, he had to be around six foot four.

  “Happens to the best of us,” he went on, drawing her out of her thoughts.

  She blushed, realizing that she must have just been standing there staring at him.

  “I’m really sorry,” she apologized again. “Uh, I can pay you for the shirt?”

  He chuckled, waving away her offer. “No worries. I have plenty of these.”

  He tossed the wad of napkins she had been using to blot at his shirt into the trash. He didn’t seem angry and he looked like he truly meant what he said.

  Still she hesitated. “If you’re sure.”

  He turned back to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Positive.”

  Not knowing what else to say—or do—she started for the entrance. As she pushed the door open, she glanced back once more and to her surprise, he was standing in the same spot, smiling at her before turning and going back to his seat, returning his attention to his phone.

  ***

  Lauren found her Art History class with little fuss, though she had taken the stairs up to the top floor although her class was only on the second level.

  The room was nearly full with the two-hundred or so people that had registered for the course. The auditorium style classroom could fit well over that amount with seats on the floor as well as two balconies where some students sat.

  Lauren found a place towards the middle of the room, choosing to sit next to the wall to access the outlet. As she was beginning to place her bag in the seat next to her, she paused at the last second, choosing to lean it against the wall instead.

  After her father’s death—especially in such a small town—people always stared, whispering whenever she passed them. If that weren’t enough, there was also the pity in their eyes, or the way they always used that soft tone with her, afraid that she might break if they were to treat her like any other person.

  During elementary school, she didn’t understand why people, mainly adults, treated her so differently. As a child, she felt like a freak, but as she got older, maturing and overhearing many a conversation about her as teachers gossiped, she heard the rumors.

  What they didn’t understand was that she didn’t remember the night her father was killed. Counselors suggested that she might have repressed the memory, saying that it was too traumatic for her to process, and for a while she was grateful for this. During her own readings, she read about how people couldn’t process the trauma, and that their minds would break.

  Back then, Lauren hadn’t wanted to brave the memories, afraid of what it might do, but now, she wished she did know. It seemed that in the last year, she craved more knowledge about that night, and it frustrated her that she was the only one that could provide answers.

  No matter how hard she tried to explain her lack of knowledge to the people she was around, they still thought she might suffer a psychotic break, so throughout middle and high school, she withdrew from everyone, finding solace within herself.

  But now in a new city, hundreds of miles away from where everyone knew her name, she could start over and make new friends who would know her for her and not for what happened to her family.

  Pulling her laptop from her bag, Lauren turned it on, drumming her fingers absently as she opened a new document, ready to take notes. Despite her fear that she might have been late, it seemed like the professor was the one that was running behind schedule.

  “This seat taken?” A pretty girl with inky black hair and gray eyes asked as she gestured to the seat next to Lauren.

  “No, go right ahead.”

  Professor
Martin walked in then, hurrying over to his desk at the front of the room near the screen for the projector. He was a middle-aged man with dark stringy hair and wire rimmed glances.

  “Sorry, I’m late everyone.” He took a deep breath, digging through his satchel to pull out a stack of papers. He passed half of the pile to one side of the room, and gave the rest to the other side.

  “My name is Professor Robert Martin. In case you might be mistaken, this is Art History. If you’re in the wrong class, now’s the time to leave.”

  Only a few students left.

  “Good. We will not be doing much today, merely reviewing the syllabus and beginning the first section.”

  The syllabi reached Lauren and she took a stapled packet, passing the rest to her neighbor. She scanned the main bullets on the front, noting important dates that she would need to add to her calendar.

  “If you don’t already have it, I recommend that you buy your textbook as soon as possible. Tests and quizzes in this course will not only cover the lectures, but from the readings in the text as well.”

  The class went by quickly, Professor Martin going over the syllabus in its entirety and answering any questions. Their first powerpoint was on Mesopotamian Art, the pictures of crumbling stones with hieroglyphs etched onto them, Pyramid of Giza, and statues of animal headed gods and goddesses holding the class’ attention.

  When the seventy-five minute class was up, he dismissed them, hinting that their might be a pop quiz on the material he had covered in the near future.

  Lauren’s next class was American Literature which was well across the campus. It took nearly fifteen minutes to walk there, but as Lauren drifted through the crowds of students, not one gave her that worrying stare. For once, she was anonymous. Not the girl with the murdered father, just an average nobody and she couldn’t be happier.

  This particular class was eventful. Their professor—a woman that looked oddly like a gypsy courtesan rather than an academic teacher—asked them to introduce themselves and share a bit about their background.

  It was fascinating, seeing all the different students from all over the world in one class. Living smack dab in the middle of the USA, Lauren had never met such a diverse group before.

  With her classes over for the day, Lauren headed back to her apartment, speaking to Amber who was in her customary spot in front of the window, before retreating to her bedroom and collapsing on her bed.

  She would have to get used to waking up at the crack of dawn every other day, but until then…

  Lauren snuggled beneath her comforter and drifted off.

  Chapter three:

  The Group

  The end of the first week of school came sooner than expected, and Lauren was glad for the reprieve. She already had a paper due for her History class, and an upcoming quiz on Wednesday for Art History that she knew she would need to study for.

  But she was more nervous about meeting Amber’s friends than she was about the work for school. She could study for quizzes, research important facts for the paper, but there was no way to truly prepare to meet a group of people and get them to like you. Maybe she was psyching herself out early, but it was kind of important to her, especially since she would probably be seeing a lot of them at the apartment.

  Every week—or every other week when everyone couldn’t make it—Amber hosted dinner at the apartment. Whether it be takeout from one of the dozens of Chinese restaurants, or greasy, three thousand calorie burgers that the guys favored, they all got together to hang out.

  Amber was an excellent cook—learning all of her tricks from her mother who loved to browse recipes online. Lauren appreciated it, especially since the best she could do was make ramen noodles.

  Tonight she was making enchiladas, the kitchen smelling of ground beef and melted cheese, the entree waiting in the oven for the others to arrive.

  “Stop worrying,” Amber called from her spot on the couch, shaking her head as she watched Lauren leave her bedroom for the third time, her anxiety tangible. “They’re not all that amazing, believe me.”

  “I’m fine!” She wasn’t. She had changed her clothes at least a dozen times since she learned that’s Amber’s closest friends were stopping by.

  As she contemplated making one last dash for her room, just to make sure she looked okay, there was hammering on the door, like an army was trying to break through.

  Amber scowled, rolling her eyes. “The cavalry.”

  She pulled the door open, speaking warmly to everyone as she ushered them inside and over to where Lauren sat on the sofa, though one of the three guys lingered next to her. They all smiled and spoke before she made the introductions.

  “Guys, this is Lauren, my new roommate. Lauren, this is Matt.”

  Matt was lanky with a mop of curling brown hair and navy blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of black framed glasses. He was the shortest of the three boys and had a very endearing smile as he came forward to shake Lauren’s hand. He had on a graphic tee with a logo about computers, cargo shorts, and a pair of battered converse.

  “And my boyfriend Rob,” she said gesturing to the one standing next to her.

  Rob was the only one that was dressed up a bit, wearing a blue and white striped button-down and tie, with a pair of black slacks. His hair was expertly styled, with a part down the side, the wavy strands brushed back from his face. He looked a bit older than everyone else, maybe late twenties, and held himself a bit stiffly, but seemed friendly enough as he gave a short wave.

  “Tristan…”

  Now Tristan seemed to be the wild card of the group. He had that starving musician look: ripped jeans, scuffed boots, and a t-shirt with an unreadable logo from too many washes across the front. Dirty blonde hair hung in disarray just below his ears, and the most peculiar feature about him were his eyes. One was green, but the other only had a spot of the color near his pupil, the rest a beautiful sky blue. When he moved forward to pull her into a hug, Lauren noticed the tattoos across the back of both hands, the bones perfectly outlined in black ink.

  “And finally, this is my cousin, Piper.”

  Piper was pretty in the classical sense with pale skin, a smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks, vibrant ginger hair spiraling to the small of her back. If she wasn’t a model, Lauren would think that she was wasting her potential. She wasn’t overtly tall, but her heels made her legs appear longer. She had a perfect hourglass shape, and seemed to know just how good she looked by the way she carried herself. She smiled, but made no move to come near Lauren.

  “Food will be ready in a minute.”

  Rob followed Amber into the kitchen, offering his help. Piper picked up the remote to the flat screen and began flipping through channels lazily as she rested her chin in her hand. Matt and Tristan came around to sit, both collapsing down at the same time like it was choreographed, but while Matt tried to strike up a conversation with Piper, Tristan moved closer to Lauren.

  He stretched out , one booted foot kicked up onto the table, and began focusing his attention on his lap, whistling below his breath as he played an imaginary tune with his fingers curled slightly.

  “Do you play piano?” Lauren asked, indicating his hands with a tilt of her head.

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise, gazing at her appreciatively as he scratched at the slight scruff below his jaw. “Yea. Do you?”

  She shrugged. “I took a piano elective in high school. One thing I always remembered was the way she made us hold our fingers as we played.”

  “Oh God, don’t get him started,” Piper interjected as Tristan opened his mouth to respond, cutting off Matt as he was speaking to her. “Once he starts, he’ll never stop.”

  Matt looked a bit crestfallen as he lost Piper’s attention, making Lauren think that maybe Matt had a thing for her, but his expression cleared when a scowling Tristan lobbed a pillow at her, nailing her in the face before she could catch it. She threw it back with a smirk, starting a pillow war.

  Lau
ren tried to scramble out of the way without becoming a casualty, but Matt grabbed her, using her as a shield as the pillows began flying at him. It took Amber ringing a bell to make them stop. Everyone froze as they were: Tristan straddling Piper with a pillow in his fist, and Lauren holding one over Matt’s face,

  “If everyone is done,” she said amused as she looked to all of them, “the food is ready.”

  They scrambled up from their various perches, falling into their duties as they had done this plenty of times. One person grabbed plates, another silverware, glasses, and paper towels. Lauren fell in easily, the guys making it easy on her. Forming an assembly line of sorts, they loaded their plates full of food, then traveled back to the couch to start the movie that Rob had picked, though they hardly paid any attention to it as they started getting to know each other, or at least talking about themselves so Lauren could learn about them.

  It was easy talking to them, learning more about their individual personalities. They were quite an eclectic bunch, but their love for each other was clear.

  Rob—short for Robin, named by his grandmother who thought he was going to be a girl—and Amber had been together for a little over a year and a half. Rob attended law school for his final year, in hopes of becoming a district attorney one day. Not only that, but he was interning at a local firm forty hours out of the week as well. Despite the time constraint, he and Amber made time for each other.

  Piper and Amber’s fathers were twin brothers from Scotland, where Piper had inherited her red hair. Amber had had trace of red in hers before she took to changing the color with treatments at the salon. Piper was studying Journalism at the Art Institute, and was interning at a major magazine—thanks to her mother’s connections in the industry. As she spoke, Tristan had a habit of mocking, much to her irritation as she glared at him.

  Matt was the quiet throughout the meal, only speaking up when someone asked him a question directly. After a bit of prodding on Lauren’s part, she got him to divulge that he too was at Columbia—he shared an apartment with Rob—but he was hoping to transfer to MIT to study computer engineering since he was currently at the top of his class. That didn’t seem too surprising, judging by his shirt’s logo and the way his eyes gleamed with excitement when he talked about his new gaming system.