19. Elira

19

ELIRA

M aksim doesn't tell me why we're leaving, but I sense the tension between him and the man who walks just ahead of us, stopping at a running SUV parked in the driveway.

I go to walk past the SUV, but Maksim takes my arm and squeezes it gently to stop me. He flashes me a brief, serious look that hints at danger we must be in before he opens the door for me.

Swallowing, I drop my head and climb in, scooting to the middle so Maksim can get in beside me while my pulse quickens. Neither of the two scary looking men in the front seats acknowledge us.

The man who led us to the SUV opens the back door on my other side then climbs in next to me, shrinking the would-be large space with his suffocating presence. I purposefully don't look at him and sit as far away from him as possible, pressing myself into Maksim who doesn't wrap his arm around me like he did before. Back when things felt safe, nice even, just for a few fleeting minutes.

What is going on?

The SUV pulls out of the drive and crawls down the street more terrifyingly than when Maksim was speeding us here. The man—or demon, I'm not sure which—beside me doesn't move. I know because I watch him closely out of the corner of my eye. As far as I can tell, he isn't even breathing. Maybe he isn't human. That would explain the one weird, red eye and sharp cheekbones that belong more on a fictional figure than on a man. Dark hair hangs ominously, like he's trying to hide the evil bursting from his red iris, but it only adds to his villainous look. My eyes scan his all-black clothing for a minute before moving away.

He looks like a killer. Feels like a killer.

Why are we with a killer?

I peer at Maksim, hoping he can read my thoughts so I don't have to voice the questions.

His jaw is set, and his posture is perfect. He looks as all business as the other men, if not more so. As I study him staring straight ahead, I search for fear or uncertainty, but I see nothing but confidence.

More than that. It's hard to put a word to it, but he looks … in control? Is he in control?

I don't think so. But the dominant vibe he puts off says otherwise. My heart starts to slow as Maksim's aura envelops me, pushing away the fear of the other men.

He'll protect me .

It isn't my head that thinks this, it's my gut. Or the fact that I'm useful now. Or it's wishful thinking.

In any case, my breathing evens as I stare straight ahead just like everyone else.

The sun has set, and the city lights are out of view by the time we reach our destination, which is not a random spot in the desert to dump our bodies.

It's a mansion.

Not a house. No one would ever call this place a house. It isn't until the driver pulls up to the gate and says Maksim is here for Mr. Petrov that I realize this isn't some sort of hotel.

The gate opens, and we roll toward the monstrosity, lit up like someone forgot to turn the lights off in every room. A long row of cars are parked along the driveway, but we pass them all and pull up to the front, just in front of the door.

What is this place?

The demonic man is the first to step out, and the two up front follow shortly after. Maksim opens his door but leans toward me to whisper his first words since we left Hugh's.

"Keep your head down and be silent."

That's it. That's all the wisdom he imparts on me before he slips from the SUV and holds out his hand for me, his face stern as the day I met him.

What's going on?

I want to ask so badly, but I can tell he doesn't want me to. He wouldn't have waited until we had the briefest moment alone to speak to me if it didn't matter.

I take his hand and let him help me out then shuffle behind him up a set of stone steps to the door. The two men who were up front are on our heels.

The demon leads the way inside while I walk so closely behind Maksim that my crossed arms graze his back.

Seductive instrumental music plays throughout the place, and people mill around, but I don't look at them, instead keeping my head down like Maksim said to. It strikes me how easy it is to listen to him now when days ago it felt impossible.

Even walking through halls, I still can't tell what this place is supposed to be. It seems like a party venue, but we can't be here for that. The farther we walk, the more the music and voices fade, until it's gone completely and we've come to a sliding, wooden door.

The demon leads the way inside, but I'm hesitant to follow Maksim this time. The hairs on my neck stand up straight, and my feet naturally shift backward. Something tells me not to go in that room.

Maksim pauses to look back at me, but instead of saying anything, he just looks at me seriously, his eyes slightly wide, his jaw clenched.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I follow him inside, halting when I spot the familiar cane leaned against a purple velvet chair, one of four in the room.

"There she is," Maksim's boss, Nikita, says. His voice slithers down my spine like a snake, making me want to frantically bat it away, but I stay perfectly still until the man behind me pushes me forward.

Nikita wraps his arm around my shoulders and leans on me like he's replacing me as his cane. "This is the ruthless murderer you've been searching for?"

His tone is light, but his words make me jump. I look up at the two angry men he's speaking to and recognize neither, but I know who they must be.

The organization.

Oh no.

I snap my head toward Maksim, but he doesn't seem surprised. He stands fairly relaxed with his hands clasped in front of him.

"This bitch brutally murdered one of our men," a man with a triangle of moles on his cheek grinds out. "We'd appreciate it if you kept your tone respectful."

" Ah ." Anger, just a touch, brews beneath that one syllable, and I feel it in Nikita's firming hold. "Of course." He removes his arm from my shoulders and uses it to shove me to the floor so abruptly I yelp.

"Fucking whore," he spits, but he sounds more mocking toward the men than serious. Still, I prepare for a kick or shove or something more.

Behind me, the younger man around my age from the SUV snickers.

Tension builds in the room so quickly, I wonder if I'm imagining it and can't help peeking at Nikita who stares at the young, snickering man with a death stare that freezes my blood.

"You're new," he says like he's observing it for the first time.

"My nephew, sir," the SUV driver nervously answers for the young man. "It's his second week. He doesn't know any better. Please forgive him, Pakhan."

Nikita nods slowly. "You're man enough to work for the Bratva but not to speak for yourself?"

The man, now looking more like a boy, fumbles with his lips. "I…"

"What's your name, son?"

The young man clears his throat. "Stephen."

" Stephen . Do you have a gun, Stephen?"

Stephen's face reddens. "Of course, sir."

"Could I please see it?"

Hesitation. So much hesitation. The fear in Stephen's expression makes me nauseous with how contagious it is, how much it fills the room. Everyone here knows what he's thinking.

He takes his gun from his waistband and walks it to Nikita, clearing his throat again and trying to walk tall in a surge of bravery.

Nikita takes the gun. "Thank you, son." He smiles before clapping Stephen on the shoulder, then he turns to the driver. "Sean, were you the one who vouched for Stephen to get into the brotherhood?"

Sean, afraid but holding his chin up, nods.

"I thought so."

Nikita aims the gun at him and fires before Stephen can suck in a breath to yell out. But before he can try to stop Nikita, the demon is there, holding him back. Nikita hobbles to the uncle and fires bullets into his body until the gun clicks.

I stare down at my shaking hands, my head so low I could fall forward at any moment, and try to be invisible. The growing sense of déjà vu overwhelms me as I silently work on the plea to give Maksim so he'll never make me see this man again. Never take me here.

What if this is it? What if Maksim doesn't protect me?

What if he can't?

My stomach winds tightly, and I bite my lip while staring at the snow-white rug that will need a jug of bleach before the night is through. It makes no sense why Nikita doesn't have all red or black carpeting with as often as this must happen.

The gun thumps on the floor, and Nikita must give an order to the demon because a crack sounds, silencing Stephen. I regret the moment I look behind me to see Stephen's head awkwardly twisted in the demon's grasp before he drops.

The soup I had earlier rises up my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth, facing forward and seesawing air through my nose. I swallow and close my eyes, focusing on the ringing in my ears to distract me from everything else.

But it doesn't work. Nikita's voice pierces through the noise I try to create in my mind, demanding my attention.

"So where were we?" he asks. "Oh yes. The great loss of one of your men. Very serious. I can understand how you feel. Just today, I lost two."

My eyes grow wide at the deadpanned statement, and I look to the outsiders for their reaction. They seem uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. They exchange a look with each other then shift as they face forward, one's Adam's apple bobbing.

"Please, gentlemen, sit ." Nikita warmly waves to a set of purple velvet chairs like he's inviting in close friends. He hobbles to the one with the cane but continues standing until the other men, including Maksim, have sat. There's the slightest bit of relief that crosses Nikita's expression, like standing caused pain that he'd never admit to.

I'm off to the side of the room but not far from the men's minds, so I eyeball Maksim and wish he was closer. Wish he'd give me some indication as to what he's thinking. What he's planning.

You're going to help me, right?

Please help me!

Finally, he seems to hear my internal pleas because he meets my eyes and pats the side of his leg, a silent ‘come here' command.

I'm too afraid to stand, somehow feeling like that would draw too much attention to myself, so I crawl to Maksim, quickening my pace to pass Nikita along the way.

Maksim parts his legs so I can situate myself between them. I hide my face against his knee before inhaling the scent of safety. Days ago, I disliked having his scent on his pillow, so close to me in bed, but now when—if—we go home, I want it there. I'll breathe it in, bottle it up as a perfume, be grateful to keep it for the rest of my life if I can.

"Aww, isn't that precious," Nikita teases.

"Look, we don't want to take up any more of your time. We just want the girl back," the guy with the moles bravely says.

Maksim's large hand runs over my head in a pet I didn't know could be so comforting. "You say that as if we've stolen her."

"No, of course not." The other one laughs nervously. "We aren't saying that."

" They can't really say anything," Nikita cuts in. "Apparently, we aren't important enough for the boss to come down here to speak with us. These are his representatives ."

"Daniel Storm, the deceased, is not important enough, sir," Moles says. "I assure you, it has nothing to do?—"

"Yes, that's great. Alik…" I lift my head to watch Nikita motion to the demon. "Could you please escort these men outside to wait while I speak with my lieutenant?"

I expect an ‘of course, sir,' but Alik just glances at the other men who reluctantly stand from their seats and follow him out the door.

Once they're gone, Nikita rubs his temples and growls something in Russian. I think he's talking to Maksim, so I startle at a sound behind the chairs and peek around to see a half-naked woman filling two glasses with clear liquor. She was here the whole time? Was she hiding?

"Explain something to me…" Nikita takes a glass from the woman. She hands the other to Maksim before kneeling at Nikita's feet. "This trafficker apparently lived in Bakersfield, California. How the fuck did this foreign, non-English speaking cunt find her way to the exact address of the man who lured her to America?"

"I had no part in the kill." Maksim doesn't hesitate, and it makes me stiffen. He knows what he's doing. He must know. He doesn't sound fearful at all.

But what if he doesn't sound fearful because he isn't going to lie for me? What if he's going to let them punish me, like I should be punished, like Daniel needed to be punished?

No. No, he wouldn't.

He'll protect me. I'm safe.

On impulse, I push my head into his hand. He rubs his thumb over my scalp.

"But I did give her the opportunity to do it herself… I gave her the address to the man's home, not thinking she'd go through with it. I was mocking her more than anything because, before I enlightened her, she believed he was her fiancé. I apologize for my recklessness. Clearly, I underestimated her, but when I went to pick her up, she had been there waiting for me for hours. She's as obedient as a whore can be, despite the unfortunate miscommunication."

"Unfortunate miscommunication." Nikita laughs and relaxes his head back. He mutters something in Russian, a command of some sort that has the woman at his feet crawling between his legs and unbuttoning his pants. My eyes widen, and I sharply turn my head away.

"She isn't a problem for us, Pakhan," Maksim says, unfazed by what Nikita is making the woman do. I take another peek at her bobbing head before looking up at Maksim to see some sort of reaction, but there is none.

"Maybe not, but she does present an opportunity." Nikita continues when Maksim remains silent. "Vengeance is a powerful need. They'll buy her back from us for far more than we paid."

I search Maksim's hardened features in the silence, wishing we were back home, wishing I had caressed that face when it was flooded with sadness and vulnerability. I'm so scared, my teeth hurt from clenching so hard, and a whimper crawls up my throat.

All the arguing we've done. All the remarks I've made. All the things I've taken for granted. I want to take it all back. I want him to take me home. Hug me. Tease me. Make me angry. Anything but make me fear for my life.

My fingers dig into Maksim's calves, a desperate plea that he doesn't react to.

"I wish to keep her."

Nikita's brows raise. "We have other whores, Maksim. You can take your pick. Here…" He pushes the woman's forehead away from him, sending her tumbling onto her back and leaving himself exposed. "Take this one."

"No, thank you."

When Nakita's eyes narrow, my lungs shrink with fear not just for myself, but for Maksim. Nikita just murdered two different people for reasons I'm not even sure of. Maksim…

What if he hurts Maksim?

I close my eyes.

"Why?" Nikita asks.

When Maksim shifts, I jump, but he just grabs his phone from his pocket and messes with it for a minute.

Once he finds what he's looking for, he hands the phone to Nikita—now dressed—who takes it and squints at the screen.

"She's incredibly unique. Fierce but obedient. There are few women who hold my attention, but I've come to quite enjoy this one."

Nikita's head rears back as he watches the screen. "Hmmm."

"I recognize that I made a mistake and am prepared to pay whatever cost to make this go away."

Nikita doesn't reply. His eyes are glued to the screen as a minute ticks by, then another. Finally, he hands Maksim his phone back and locks eyes with me. If I could, I would look away, but he roots me in place, searing me with so much lust, I wonder if I prefer his murderous looks.

"Fine," he says. "Pay the bastards whatever will keep them from contacting me again and you can keep her."

He grabs his cane and uses it to stand. "I'll show Miss, um…"

"Elira," Maksim offers.

"I'll show Elira around while you work out the details. I hope you'll be joining us this evening?" Nikita drags his eyes to Maksim.

"Of course," Maksim says, but he sounds anything but certain.

Joining them? Joining them where?

`I should be relieved. I am relieved.

I'm going to live. Maksim is going to keep his promise to me. He's going to protect me.

But that knowledge can't give me the sweet relief my rigid body craves when Nikita extends his hand for me, ready to lead me away from the only person I feel safe with.

I silently plead with Maksim for help, but he nudges me away and stands, walking around me to leave me alone with the worst man I've ever met.

My stomach sunken to the floor, I bite my lip hard and take Nikita's hand.