7. Maksim

7

MAKSIM

T hree hours. Three phone calls.

That's what it took to track down Elira's supposed fiancé. It sounds like a lot of time invested, but two of those hours were merely waiting on a call back from the head of a trafficking ring the late Anton got a few of our whores—Elira included—from.

I don't know why I went out of my way to find him. The heartbreak on her face this morning when I told her what she should've already known was unnecessary on its own, but proving it… What will that accomplish, other than more heartbreak?

I don't know. I may just be a fucking monster, but the idea that she might have some notion that there's a Prince Charming out there coming to her rescue feels too uncomfortable to allow.

No one is coming to her rescue. There was no fiancé. This is as good as it gets.

Sorry, princess.

The photo of the trafficker, with his information written on the back, hangs from my back pocket as I walk up to Hugh's door, and it slides from my mind when I hear the sounds of gunfire. Not real, from a video game, but it's still obnoxiously loud.

I yank open the door and step inside, instantly feeling at home. More so than in the three-bedroom suburban hell I live in for Anya's sake. If I didn't have a teenage sister to care for, it's possible I would've moved in here a long time ago.

It's seven in the evening, but Hugh's youngest brother, Fox, is in flannel pajama bottoms and a wife beater on the couch with his friend, Vlad, who is only slightly better dressed. A cigarette dangerously dangles from Fox's mouth as he stabs at an Xbox controller. Vlad's feet are planted on the surprisingly cleared-off table, his legs spread too wide. It smells like ass in here.

I changed my mind. Anya or no Anya, this place is too much of a bachelor pad. My lip curls, but when Vlad sees me, he doesn't seem to notice my disapproval. He nods.

"'Sup, Mak?"

Jesus Christ .

I raise my chin. "Where's Hugh?"

"Shower," Fox answers. He laughs. "They must've given you trouble today. I could smell brain matter on him from down the block."

Really?

As a reflex, I angle my nose to sniff my shoulder, but I've already showered the gore away. Someone came in to pay a debt but disrespected Nikita in the process. If it were only me, I probably would've let it go, but Roman was around, and I wanted to make a point, prove my loyalty to a fellow lieutenant. If my boss knew how much I despised him, Hugh would be washing my brains off himself right now instead of the man he beat to death with a golf club earlier today.

"Always," I reply, heading for the kitchen to grab a beer.

My eyes find the basement door as I walk past it, a jolt of excitement making my spine straighten. I continue to the fridge, grab a beer, and when I turn around, I pause.

A petite pair of feet stick out from beneath the kitchen table, and I follow the woman's legs up to her supple ass, hidden by the white skirt of a dress.

I squint and lean toward the table as if that'll give me powers to see through wood.

That isn't…?

Elira didn't seriously leave the basement already, did she?

What the fuck would she be doing under the table?

Fox struts into the kitchen, headed for the fridge, and when he notices where I'm looking, he slaps my shoulder with a laugh.

"She's been doin' that shit all day, man. We told her a dozen times she doesn't have to clean, but she doesn't understand shit."

"Lucky man!" Vlad yells from the living room.

"Yeah, no shit." Fox waggles his eyebrows while looking between Elira's ass and me. "You keep her here as long as you need, my man."

"Ask him if she can cook!"

Fox flicks his eyes toward Vlad's voice. "He doesn't know the bitch!"

Vlad doesn't respond, but Fox lifts a finger when he seems to get an idea. He goes to the cupboard and pulls out a box of macaroni and cheese before tossing it on the counter and going to the table.

Leaning against the counter, I twist off my beer cap and take a swig.

I didn't expect her to leave the basement.

Not today. Eventually, I knew she would cave, surrendering to the tiniest comfort that is the human companionship of a house full of apes, but today, I expected her to be stubborn.

What a nice surprise.

Fox crouches next to Elira and pats her leg. "Hey baby, pause for a second."

I watch her muscles contract. She was already a little tense, but the contact makes her uneasy. Or pissed. Or maybe she just doesn't like being called baby.

His hand is on her the whole time it takes for her to scoot from underneath the table, a scrub brush in her grasp, but he finally pulls his hand away when she recoils from him. Her pinched expression makes me smile, but she doesn't outright glare at Fox.

She does , however, glare at me.

What the fuck did I do?

Fox carefully takes Elira's hand and leads her to the counter where the macaroni box is. He lifts the box to rattle it a few times. " Food ." He says it loud and enunciated like he's speaking to a hard of hearing toddler who's never seen dried pasta.

I snort. This is fucking rich .

He stirs an imaginary spoon in a pot. "Cook. Food." His finger stabs at the box. "Food." More stirring. "Cook."

I cover my mouth as I laugh, expecting Elira to throw another glare my way, but she doesn't. She stares at Fox with eyes convincingly blank.

His head falls in defeat as he lets out a dramatic sigh.

"I'll try," I say, setting my beer on the counter and taking the macaroni box. "Give me a minute."

He grabs a beer from the fridge and makes an expression that shows his doubt. "Good luck."

I watch him walk from the kitchen before turning back to Elira, my lips stretched, but she isn't looking at me, doesn't even seem to register that I'm here. She sets the scrub brush in the sink then goes to the table and pulls a bucket of water from beneath it.

She was seriously scrubbing the floor.

What the fuck?

She pours out the brown water into the sink, then goes about rinsing it.

"You know, you don't have to do that."

No answer.

"Elira."

She tosses me a look like a silent plea for me to shut the fuck up. She really doesn't want people to know that she can understand them.

It's smart, I'll give her that. The less people think she can understand, the more they'll say in front of her. It's how she knew I'd try to kill her. It's how she fooled me so well.

I'd put an end to it if I didn't think it was cute.

The video game starts blaring again, and I shift her way. "They can't hear."

When she goes to put more soap in the bucket, I take her hips and spin her around to face me.

Her eyes widen with fear that eases my grip on her waist, but I don't pull away. I can smell her this close, and the scent has me leaning in even closer, which is ironic with how repugnant she was just yesterday.

I breathe in.

Wildflowers .

"You don't need to clean the floor by hand. Or at all."

Her breath shakes as she looks away uncomfortably. Her chest rises and falls with her heavy breaths, and I bet if I pressed my hand against it, I'd feel her heart racing.

I take a step back, ignoring my hardening cock.

She really cleans up well. Without the dirt or smell, she's… Well, she's beautiful.

"This is where I live now, yes?" she asks, her voice soft but strong.

I open my mouth, ready to tell her no, but I don't know how long she'll stay here, so I nod instead. "For now."

"Then I don't want to live in a home with a floor so dirty a mop won't scrub off all the filth."

I look around. It's definitely a bachelor pad, but there's a housekeeper who comes twice a week, and it isn't ‘filthy' by my definition. But okay.

"Besides, what else am I to do all day?" She doesn't look at me when she asks it, and I don't miss the tremble in her voice. "I am only your whore, correct? I don't have other responsibilities?"

She runs her nails over her arms as her eyes meet mine. She's asking me something serious, but it takes me staring at her for several seconds before I understand what it is.

She wants to know if they get to fuck her too.

No .

The answer occurs in my mind automatically, but I don't voice it, choosing instead to let her sweat. If she was a true whore, broken in long before she came to me, I don't think I would care. But she strikes me as innocent, na?ve, young. She's too pure to dirty.

"Can you cook?" I ask, pretending I didn't fully understand her question.

She swallows and looks away for a moment before nodding.

I hand over the box of macaroni, and she hesitantly takes it. She tucks long, dark hair as smooth and straight as fine silk behind her ear while she reads the back of the box. Her full lips sag as she scans it.

"What about cheese?" she asks.

My eyes pinned to her lips cause her words to delay registering, and it isn't until she looks up at me that I blink and snap back to the present.

"Hmm?"

She flips it over to look at the front. "It says it's to make macaroni and cheese, but cheese isn't one of the ingredients listed."

"It's in the box."

She squints at me. "What?" Her eyes dart to the box as she tears it open and peeks inside. "I don't understand."

I take it from her and pull out the cheese packet, holding it up for her to see. "This. It's powder. You pour it in with the milk and pasta."

Bewildered, she snatches the packet from my hand and tears one corner before pouring a little out into her palm. Her face is the cutest I've seen it when it twists with disgust, making me grin.

"Have you really never had mac and cheese?"

She looks at me like I've just committed a crime and shakes her head. "This isn't cheese . This is disgusting."

My chest rumbles with a laugh.

"This is funny to you?" Her eyes are wide, and when her jaw drops, parting those plump, pink lips, I get the urge to kiss her. She looks between me and the orange powder. "You're going to die of cancer at forty."

"That's dramatic and untrue… I have you to take care of me now. I'll make it to at least fifty."

After staring at me with wide, disbelieving eyes for a few seconds, she sets the packet on the counter and goes to the fridge.

"Is there another box?" she asks, pulling out butter and a carton of milk.

"Probably."

"Could you get it, please? I want to double your serving of poison."

I feel another laugh coming, but Hugh's sudden presence commands my attention, as well as Elira's.

The milk slips from her hand as she startles, sending it sloshing onto her dress and spilling on the floor. She gasps before falling to her knees to pick up the carton, but instead of standing, she stays on the floor with her head bowed. Is she afraid of everyone more than me? How could that even be possible?

I turn to meet Hugh's inquisitive stare.

"Is she all right?" he asks in Russian.

I shrug. "Just jumpy. Sorry about that."

He waves the apology away before grabbing a beer from the fridge, eyeing Elira as he twists off the cap.

"How long is she going to stay like that?"

"I don't know. As long as it takes for you to leave, I guess."

He takes a pull of his beer. "Those pigs did a number on her last night, huh?"

It takes me a minute to remember my lie. "I got there before they could do anything."

His head tilts. "Makes sense that she'd be more comfortable with only you, then. You saved her."

Right .

"I'm pretty sure it was Nikita who scarred her for life. He had a bit of a temper when Anton brought her to his office last night. He made her clean up the mess."

Hugh nods, still staring at Elira, before chugging the rest of his beer. He grabs another from the fridge then heads from the kitchen without another word.

Once he's gone, Elira quietly starts to clean up. I get the impression our conversation is over, so I pull out the photo from my back pocket and set it on the counter.

"I want you to know, I get no pleasure in being right."

Her eyes move to the counter, but I don't wait to see her reaction, to see her heartbreak. Call me a coward if you must.

I head into the living room with the others and watch Elira disappear into the basement minutes later. My lips feel heavy with a frown, but I fight it. It's best for her to know the truth. Best for me, but also best for her. The truth hurts, but hope gets you killed.

Before I leave, I walk to the basement door to lock it but hover my hand over the knob instead.

Is she crying?

Is she angry?

I'll never know because I walk away, feeling an uncomfortable amount of guilt.