23. Elira

23

ELIRA

T he sun is setting by the time we reach our destination, and if I didn't trust Maksim, I would think he might be bringing me out here to kill me. It would be the perfect spot to hide a body.

We haven't seen a gas station, a house, a car, or any other sign of civilization in a while. Even the cornfields stopped at some point, leaving nothing but barren land.

Maksim slowly pulls the rental car onto a dirt driveway that vibrates the car so badly my teeth chatter.

I bite down and hold onto my seat while he eases the car down the driveway. There's an old farmhouse up ahead with weeds surrounding it so tall they whip the windows.

"Where are we?" I ask, my brow furrowed as I look over at Maksim, but I regret the question when I spot his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

His face is cold and blank, nothing I haven't seen before. I would miss the tension if it wasn't for that grip.

Without answering me, he parks in front of the house and shuts off the car. His gaze veers toward a barn that looks like it used to be red but is now faded with only paint chips to hint at its past. It's leaning slightly. A few good windstorms would blow it down.

I watch him watching the barn like there's something sinister inside. He isn't noting the paint or wear. He's remembering something.

I look around, trying to make sense of this place, like the ghosts Maksim is looking for will be there to answer questions I'm not so sure Maksim will.

The paper wrapped bouquet in the backseat ruffles, and I turn just in time to see Maksim throw open his door and carry them out of the car.

He doesn't wait for me or ask me to come with him, so I just watch as he walks up to the house, disappearing behind it.

I wait a minute, my teeth digging into my lip.

Am I really just going to sit here?

I look around again. The more time that passes, the creepier the place seems.

Letting go of my lip, I climb out of the car and jog after where Maksim disappeared, stopping when I spot him standing in front of a tree fifty metres behind the house.

My feet find something hard when I step beneath an arch, and I look down to see weeds popping from broken pieces of brick that go all the way to Maksim. It's hard to tell, but I think this used to be a garden. There are old pots sprouting long, green weeds, and when I look closely, I spot a piece of fencing fallen over and swallowed up by greenery.

I creep up behind Maksim, my head bowed with what I tell myself is respect but what may be fear. I feel so dead inside, but there must still be life because I couldn't take his anger right now. My chest tightens just thinking of it.

The flowers he brought are laid carefully at the base of the tree.

"This was Anya's mother's garden," Maksim says, making my eyes dart to him with surprise. I hadn't expected him to speak.

He stares at the flowers instead of me.

"Elizabeth." His head tilts as he looks up. I follow his gaze to the ripened peaches dangling from branches. "I planted this tree. She said she had one when she was a child, and her mother used to make the best peach pie she'd ever had. It still hadn't produced by the time she died, but uh…" Maksim shrugs, blinking away a memory. "She liked it anyway."

I look around, trying to picture Maksim here, but it's hard. He said he wasn't free when he came here. It's impossible to picture Maksim as anything but in control.

"So this is where you grew up?" I ask, my voice low and soft, unsure if I should ask at all.

He turns with me to take in the house and nods. "Sort of. I came here when I was nine to work the farm. I stayed until I was eighteen." Tucking his hands in his pockets, he starts out of the garden with me beside him.

"My mother was a strong woman. Not kind, but not cruel." He rubs his chest. "Her face is foggy in my mind, but I tattooed her last words to me on my chest when I was eighteen so I'd never forget. U stra?ha glaza? veliki? . Fear has big eyes."

His chest is clothed, but I still find my eyes drifting to the covered tattoo. If I had known its hidden meaning, I wonder if I would have looked at it differently, looked at him differently the first time I saw it.

Fear has big eyes . It's like what he said to me before.

Your fear has eyes like bowls but does not see a crumb.

"My father was a very wealthy man who owned a chain of supercenters in Russia. I'm the youngest of his five sons, and unfortunately, he felt he only needed three."

"What?" I ask, stopping in my tracks. Maksim stops, but he doesn't turn to look at me. He stands rigid, his shoulders squared, carrying himself as if this is merely a story. A memory equal to the rest instead of a trauma that shaped every facet of his life.

"I don't know what happened to my older brother," Maksim goes on. "But I was sent here." He waves his hand toward the land.

"Your father sold you?" I ask, my stomach dropping. I inch toward him, wrapping my arms around myself so I won't risk reaching out. I'm too afraid he'd pull away.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I didn't ask. I think uh…" His eyes start to glaze. "I think it was an exchange for a favor or something. The owner of this farm had a powerful family in Russia. I wasn't the only kid here, so there had to be some leverage… But I've stopped thinking too hard about it."

No he hasn't. No one could stop thinking about that.

I hug myself tighter. "Maksim…"

"I would never call this place my home, but it gave me Anya, so I can't say I would trade it." He swallows while looking off, and I follow his gaze to the barn. I believe him, but I can tell it isn't easy. How could it be? The best thing in his life came from the worst thing he's ever experienced.

My eyes burn.

He starts walking again, his feet aimed toward the barn, and I walk with him. He's quiet now, but I don't press, don't ask anything. I'm too busy sorting through everything in my head, seeing the look of horror on my father's face.

I get why Maksim brought me here. Get what he's trying to say.

He's trying to say that he understands. He can empathize. He knows what being unloved feels like. What being unwanted feels like. Except much, much worse.

My father doesn't love me. Doesn't want me. And it hurts . It fucking hurts .

But … at least he didn't sell me. At least it was my own actions that led to me losing my freedom and not my parents giving me away.

But I have my freedom back now, the same as Maksim. I glance over at him, noting his stern expression. I understand him so much better now. Respect him so much more.

A week ago, I wanted him to tell me what happened to him, and when he wouldn't, I thought he didn't trust me enough to open himself to me. Now that he has, I don't know what to do with it. This feels so significant. I don't feel worthy.

"Does Anya know you aren't blood related?" I ask, facing the barn as we approach.

"Yes. She believes I was an orphan her family took in. I haven't had to lie to her about much. She was only three when her parents died, so for a while, I just told her they were in heaven. Eventually, I told her they died in a home invasion, which is what the papers say if she ever decides to look. She assumes that the boys she saw around were paid to work the farm… She doesn't suspect anything nefarious, so she doesn't usually ask questions that I can't honestly answer."

"Did they really die in a home invasion?"

When Maksim tenses, I flinch.

"No," he says, stopping at the barn. "A boy named Kofi got free one night."

"Free?" I wring my hands, waiting for a response, but he just pulls the barn door open, his forearms flexing from the old wood that hasn't been moved in what must be years.

I squint into the barn while my eyes adjust to the dark and walk in after Maksim. Cages, like ones you put dogs in, line one side of the barn, some stacked on top of another. I stare at them but don't wonder what was kept inside.

My heart falls, and it snaps me back to the semi-truck, sitting in our own filth, being treated like animals.

He spent nine years of his life like this.

"I was asleep when it happened," he says, his tone no longer cold. Now his voice is pained and full of regret.

It wasn't your fault .

He knows it wasn't his fault, right?

I turn to him as his hand reaches to brush a rusted chain hanging from the ceiling. I don't ask what it was for, but I can guess.

"I can understand wanting to kill the old man. If I hadn't been such a coward, I probably would have years before Kofi did. But Elizabeth was as much of a prisoner as the rest of us." His voice sounds strained. I go to him, touching his arm gently. "He'd stabbed her three times in the abdomen by the time I reached them." He shakes his head. "It was too late. She bled out in my arms."

"It wasn't your fault, Maksim."

He doesn't say anything. I open my mouth to repeat myself, but I know it would do no good. It's been years, over a decade. In his mind, this woman's blood will forever be on his hands.

"Sometimes I have these vivid dreams…" He speaks so softly, I lean in to hear him. "I'm running toward the house, but my legs feel too heavy, and I can't get there fast enough. By the time I make it inside, Kofi is stabbing her, but as I get closer, it isn't Elizabeth. It's Anya." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I'm so fucking terrified all the time that I'm failing her, but I have no idea what to do. The more I try to control her, the more she hates me. But these guys she dates…."

"She's going to be fine." I take his hand and squeeze as my heart does. One by one, things click into place.

He's never had help with Anya. Never. But not only that, he's never seen the proper way to raise children, let alone teenagers.

He never dated. Had probably never seen a woman other than his surrogate mother through his pubescent years. That's what he meant when he said he hasn't had ideal experiences with women.

He was a slave. A slave who only knew how to be cold and detached.

No wonder he had no desire to own me. No wonder he was so desperate for me to help with Anya.

I'm here.

I squeeze his hand and hope he knows this. I'm here to stay. I don't have anywhere else to go, anyone left in this country to love me.

I wonder if that's how he feels.

"She loves you," I say in case he doesn't know it. "She's a teenage girl who pushes the envelope because it's her way of checking to make sure you'll still be there. My sister Asher is the same way."

Maksim has been staring at the chain, but now he looks at me curiously.

"You're all she has," I explain. "It wasn't their fault, but she may feel like her parents abandoned her. It must be terrifying for her to feel like she could lose the only person she has left, so her subconscious is constantly testing you. Asher feels abandoned by our father, so it's a similar thing."

Maksim nods slowly before leading me from the barn by my hand. Stars twinkle in the sky, brighter than I've seen since leaving Albania. He closes the barn door like he's afraid of letting out the ghosts, then he takes my hand and leads me to the bed of an old pickup that makes a loud creek when he lowers the tailgate.

He helps me onto it, then sits down beside me, both of us looking up at the stars.

"You've never mentioned your sister."

A chorus of crickets speak to each other in the field, and a frog groans. I close my eyes for a second and pretend to hear the call of the sheep telling me I'm home.

The mere mention of my sister makes me homesick, but I know I can't go back. More than that… I don't want to.

We had a good life, but it was impoverished. With me here, they will have an opportunity to feel financial security for the first time in their lives, maybe even taste abundance.

And me… I don't have it so bad either.

"Two sisters. Asher, fourteen, and Bora, eight. Both my father's, in case you were wondering. My mother only ever had children with one man."

A scumbag, no less.

And Mami doesn't even know it.

My throat feels like it's been punched. I'm going to have to tell my mother, aren't I?

"I wasn't wondering."

Pushing away my thoughts, I look over at Maksim.

In the moonlight, his blue eyes gleam at me, and he looks … kissable. Touchable.

Lovable.

"I'm not nearly as judgmental as you think I am."

I blink, barely remembering what we were talking about.

"I want to know about you, Elira," Maksim says, shifting to face me. "You know I would never hurt your family, don't you?"

I look down, not because I don't believe him but because I'm embarrassed.

He wants to know about me. About the world I come from. About my family.

I thought… I don't know what I thought. I guess that he would see me the way others do, the way James did. A poor girl from Albania. From a village too outdated to impress anyone. Living a life no one would see the beauty in, that would only be pitied.

I didn't want him to look at me like that. Look at my family like that. I don't know, I just… I just wanted to keep my home in my heart.

This place makes me change my mind.

"I know," I say at last. "I trust you."

We're quiet a long time, listening to the frogs croak while our fingers rest inches away on the tailgate.

"I'm sorry about your father," Maksim says.

My head lowers to my lap, but I feel less empty than I did earlier. "I'm sorry about yours."

He shrugs as if it doesn't matter.

It eats at me, the look on my father's face. There was no sign of remorse, no sign of joy at seeing his eldest child.

He does not love me.

I swallow and move my hands to my lap to pick at my nails. Maksim has been so open with me, so vulnerable. Summoning courage, I do the same.

"Do you think I'm lovable?"

Silence. Chest piercing silence.

"It's a stupid question, I know," I go on, my words rolling off my tongue. "But I just mean um…" I close my eyes. "My father doesn't love me. Daniel didn't love me. I'm apparently only good for being a whore, so… You spend more time around me than anyone else. Is there something wrong with me?"

"No." He says it too quickly. Like he didn't even consider the question.

"You can be honest. I won't get angry. I just want to know."

"Elira, there's nothing wrong with you."

He takes my hand, and my first thought is to pull away, but I don't. For once, I fight it. I face him when he urges and take in his sincere, blue eyes.

"Your father is a coward. He wanted a family in another country, knowing he'd never be there for them. He never deserved you. And Daniel…" Maksim laughs, but there's nothing funny about it. "He was a trafficker. He was just doing his job. He wasn't really looking at you, so he couldn't see all you have to offer, but you are…" He looks over me. "Incredible. You're incredible. You're the strongest survivor I've ever known."

I nod, but I can feel my lips even out. "But that isn't the same as lovable."

"If I was a man capable of loving a woman, I would love you."

I freeze, taken aback.

Maksim looks so serious, so … honest. Like he could possibly mean the words he's saying.

"But I'm your whore."

He looks up and sighs like I'm missing something, and when his gaze hits me again, he scoots closer, taking my jaw to make sure I'm paying attention.

"You are no one's whore."

I stare into his eyes, my nose itching like I'm going to do something as stupid as cry. I want to kiss him, but if I did, that would end this moment, take away this touch.

He doesn't know how badly I need this. Doesn't know how much I need those words, need this touch, need … him.

"You are capable of love," I say, although I don't think he'll believe me. To me, it's obvious. I've seen the way he loves his ‘sister,' the daughter of his captor. And the wife of his captor. He doesn't even see them that way, holds none of the man's crimes against them.

I thought I'd been lying to Anya, but I was wrong.

Maksim is a good man. With a good heart. And love that makes me envious.

"If I was a woman capable of loving a man who tried to kill me ... I would love you," I whisper, another moment of vulnerability.

Except, it's a partial lie. I don't care that he tried to kill me. Not even a little.

I don't care what he does for a living. I don't care about anything that went on between us.

I think… I think I may already love him. Here, in this moment, a feeling deep inside me blooms, and I just pray it doesn't show on my face.

He stares at me, serious, unsmiling. I think he's going to pull away or tell me not to be an idiot or something, but he surprises me.

He leans forward, closing his eyes just before he kisses me, and although he's kissed me before, this time feels different. He feels different. I feel different. The world feels different.

The rough skin of his palm caresses my cheek as I lean into his kiss, my lips soft against his. My hands instinctively drift to his shirt to lightly grasp the blue cotton.

The crickets keep chirping, the frogs keep croaking, oblivious to the fire Maksim starts on the tailgate of the truck. I don't hear the imaginary sheep anymore, don't have to pretend I'm at home, because at this moment, I don't wish to escape. I want to be here, on this horrible farm, in this horrible country, with this horrible man.

Maksim's hands grasp my shoulders so he can ease me onto my back, never moving his mouth from mine. My legs spread without him asking, and he situates himself between them with ease.

He breaks away from me, pulling back to look me in my eyes while the backs of his fingers move up my inner thigh.

"I want you," I whisper, shivering at his touch. He stares at me another moment before drinking in the rest of my body. My nipples harden at his lingering eyes on my chest, and when he brushes his fingers beneath my shirt, I sit up to take it off.

He helps me pull it over my head before stuffing it under my body then doing the same with his own.

My eyes find his tattoo that no longer looks the same. No longer careless words scrawled on in a drunken fashion.

I touch the ink, feeling the hard muscle beneath, but my hand pulls away when he removes my bra and lays me back down.

I cry out when his mouth finds my nipple, sucking the bud hard between his lips. My hips lift as my core squeezes like it's begging to be next, and Maksim seems to understand because he unbuttons my shorts then snakes his hand inside.

My eyes go to close, but the night sky looks so beautiful filled with stars that I can't help but stare up at it, my lips parted, my spine arching as Maksim rubs me.

He moves to the other nipple, restarting the shooting, sweet pain that preludes ecstasy, and I bite down on my lip as another moan slides from my lungs.

His hand grows more eager, more anxious at the sound of my moan. Denim scrapes my legs with every movement until I shrug my shorts off my hips, my own eagerness growing.

I want him.

Really want him.

My whole life I had planned to wait for marriage and thought others' inability to do so was weakness. Now I understand. Now I feel weak. Feeble. Decrepit. Because I can't wait another day, another hour, another minute.

"Maksim, I want you," I whimper, angling my neck for him when he goes to kiss me there.

He peels my shorts and panties the rest of the way off, leaving me bare before working himself out of his pants.

He makes a bed beneath me with our clothes then lays me down flat, lining up at my entrance and putting his lips to mine.

It's a warm night, and his body heats my skin until I'm breaking out in a sweat. I'm lost in his kiss, so when I feel the sharp pain of his intrusion, I'm caught off guard and freeze.

My eyes clench shut as my fingers dig into his sides.

I don't tell him. I'm terrified he'll stop if I do, so I just lie still and wait for the pain to pass like it seemed to with Daniel.

Maksim doesn't move, just stills himself inside me while planting kisses on my neck.

"You're perfect, Elira," he coos. His voice may as well have hands because it feels like it massages my tense muscles, relaxing me. "Don't ever let anyone make you feel differently."

I open my eyes at his words and stare at the haunted house for a moment before blinking softly and closing them again. The pain is no longer so intense when he starts to shift inside me.

My legs wrap around him in a tight embrace as tingles roll through my core, and I grasp onto his sides as hard as I did before but no longer due to pain.

His thrusts quicken as his breaths grow more labored, and I listen to them, naturally breathing in rhythm with him. The more worked up he gets, the more pleasure I feel. Or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe he loves the pleasure he brings me.

Maybe he loves me.

I am not shlyukha.

My mouth opens on a cry as I come around Maksim, my walls squeezing him. Tears leak from my eyes, but I don't swipe them away. They roll into my hair to hide, unnoticed.

His length pumps in and out of me at an even faster pace while I run my heels over his back and tilt my chin toward the sky.

He groans with three hard thrusts as he spills into me, stilling with one hand grasping my knee.

My body feels full and empty at the same time when he nestles beside me, situating his arm under my head. I nuzzle into him and close my eyes for a moment while I try to capture this forever. I don't know if it can last. I don't even know if it's real.

But it's perfect. Right now, it's perfect.