9. Maksim

9

MAKSIM

M y fist pounds on the red door with more anxiousness than I can remember feeling. There are a handful of men combing the streets of Las Vegas, all friends who've agreed to keep the search of the ballsy escapee under the radar for now, but I know in my gut that they'll all come up short.

Elira is here. If not here, then she's lying in a ditch somewhere after the trafficking organization no doubt killed her. With any luck, that's what happened because if I find her alive, she'll wish she were dead.

I pound my fist again, my jaw clenching to the point of pain. For all I know, nobody is home. The number I tracked down for Daniel Storm hasn't answered in hours, so it's possible he doesn't even have his phone. He could be overseas.

Then where would she go?

Anger at myself overflows as I reach behind me intent on pulling out my gun to blow the lock off the door, but something from the corner of my eye—along with reason—stops me.

I turn and let my hand fall at my side as a middle-aged brunette walks up in khaki pants and a blue, striped sweater. She wears a wide-brimmed hat even though the sun isn't overhead enough to burn her white, middle-class flesh. A pair of gardening shears hangs from her hand.

"Excuse me," she says, strutting up with confidence that reeks of believed invincibility. "Can I help you?"

I nod to the house. "Do you live here?"

She narrows her eyes like she thinks I'm a burglar who walked right up to the front door. "Well, no, but I'm a good friend of the Storms."

Good for you .

My instinct is to tell her to fuck off, but I resist. I could use her help.

"Storm s ?" I frown. "He's married?"

She shifts the shears to her other hand. "You're looking for Daniel?"

"I'm looking for my sister. She was out with, uh…" I crook my thumb at the door, "him, but she never came home last night. The location sharing app we have says she's here."

The woman's eyes widen to saucers, but the horror she tries to plaster on her face is too drowned out by excitement. She can't wait to tell the girls about this.

"Oh my." The woman presses a hand to her heart. "I knew Henrietta went away to see her mother, but I never would've thought Daniel…" She shakes her head and sighs. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised. A man with a wife as devoted as Henrietta would never fully be able to appreciate her. Life is funny that way, isn't?—"

"Yeah, I'm just here to get my sister." I turn to the door and pound but turn back to the woman a moment later, trying to look exasperated. "Have you seen him lately? Is it possible he could've left her alone? I know my sister is in there. The app says so."

She peers up at the windows. "Maybe they're still asleep."

"Could you just please?—"

"There's a spare key," she says, pointing to a planter in a flowerbed off the porch. "If it's truly an emergency, I don't see why you shouldn't use it."

Her lip twitches like she wants to grin, and I'm too relieved to care about the fucking block party she's probably about to form to watch me drag my whore from this asshole's house. If there's any good that comes out of that, it'll be Daniel's ruined reputation.

I get the key from the bottom of the planter, then nod at the woman who stays rooted in place, excited to see the show. "Thank you."

"Whatever I can do to help. For all I know, your sister could be a child."

She's obviously baiting for more information, but I ignore her altogether as I go inside and shut the door, locking it in case she decides to keep up the good neighbor act and investigate.

The moment I turn around, my muscles tense at the dead woman on the ground. It takes a full second to register her plumpness, her oversized breasts, her highlighted hair that doesn't resemble Elira's.

Her silk robe is sprawled open and is melded with the puddle of blood she's laying in that came from the single stab wound in her stomach.

I blink at the woman, not sure what to make of this, not sure if this is a good sign or bad.

Shaking the woman from my attention, I storm through the house, hearing nothing, seeing no one.

Is there a basement? If there is, that's where he'd take her, if she's still here.

"Elira?" I call, my voice booming off the walls. I stomp past an open office doorway but halt when a sea of red pulls my attention inside.

My heart pauses. For a full second, I don't think I can breathe.

I did not think I would care if she was dead. Necessary or not, she's a pain in the ass. I warned her not to run, I trusted her not to run, and in two days I've turned myself into an absolute fool of a man.

I put that address on the back of the photo. I gave her the information. This is my fault as much as it is hers, so maybe that's why when I see the blood staining the wallpaper, I feel … remorse. Guilt. Fear.

"Elira?" I call, my voice low as I step into the office. Blood has seemed to spray all over the room. It coats the walls, the desk, and the rug. There's so much, the source of it takes me a moment to find.

I look to my right to see the body of a man lying face down, and my very stupid, very disobedient ‘gift' in a corner of the room. Her face rests against the wall as she stares at nothing. Her once white dress is painted red, the knife that must've slaughtered Daniel and the woman grasped in her palm. It's how I know she's alive. Everything else about her looks lifeless.

"Elira?" I slowly approach her, my eyes running over her to search for injury. She's so covered in blood it's hard to tell. Even her face is a red mask.

I crouch in front of her and gently take the knife from her hand. "Are you hurt?"

"What do you care?" she whispers, startling me. She looks so catatonic, I wasn't sure she could hear me.

I glance over Daniel's body then roll him to get a better look at the cause of death. There's too much blood here for this to have been a quick kill.

When I spot the sliced artery on his neck, the spraying pattern over the walls makes sense. What doesn't make sense is why the man's shirt has more holes in it than I can quickly count.

I lift his blue shirt to reveal over two dozen stab wounds to his torso.

This kill was unhinged. It was brutal. It was Nikita-level psychotic.

What in the fuck ?

I turn my head toward Elira, unsure what I'm feeling at this exact moment.

"He deserved it," she whispers, looking alive for the first time as she peers at her knees in shame. "You don't know how many women he's hurt."

I could ballpark it.

"I know," I say, thinking about what I would deserve if she were my judge. She's… This must subtract so many masculine points from my total, but I may be a smidge afraid of her.

Should I kill her after all? If I don't, how long before my torso looks like a cheese grater?

Staring at her sad, hopelessly empty expression makes me want her in my arms. I want to believe he was a villain who deserved this fate while I am a man of higher morals. I want her to see me as a man different from the one she hated enough to stab twenty or so times after slicing his carotid.

I'm both afraid of and impressed by Elira, and although she's proven to be a far worse punishment than Nikita intended, I'm having a terrible time relieving myself of her. She still winds up breathing, in the end.

I wipe the blood of the murder weapon onto Daniel's pants then tuck it into my pocket. "We should go," I say, remembering the woman outside. This just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

"Come on." I hold out my hand for her, but she just stares at it. "Elira…"

"What is the point?" Her voice breaks as a tear rolls down her cheek, turning red as it hits a patch of dried blood. "Leave me here for the authorities. I killed two of you precious Americans, the police will take care of your problem for you."

"Daniel Storm was a trafficker for an organization who won't allow his murder to become known to the public. The police are not your problem, I promise. Now if you want my help, let's go."

"Your help ," she spews like she's tasted something foul. "Your help involves locking me in another man's basement because I'm too much of a burden to see your own. I'm not your friend. I'm your prisoner. Don't insult my intelligence."

"You'll be my dead prisoner if we don't get you out of this house."

"Isn't that the plan?" she asks, giving me a sobered stare that holds no fear. "Or will you be throwing me into a well as promised?"

Frustration builds, and I open my mouth to voice it but pause. Her face is hard, but her eyes are soft. She's brave. And strong. And possibly psychotic.

But she's also just a girl.

"No," I say. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Right. You've said that before."

I think through my next words carefully, letting my thoughts brew for a minute. Nothing I say will make her trust me. I haven't earned it, and she doesn't appear to be up for giving me the chance.

But she doesn't have much of a choice. She'll never get out of this mess alone. The organization will come for her as quickly as the Bratva.

I stand and turn toward the door. "Good luck, then."

Seconds pass with my footsteps being the only sound. I almost make it to the door before I hear the soft patter of Elira's feet approaching.

Slowing to a stop, I turn to face her.

"Did you mean it when you said you aren't as bad as I think?"

With only slight hesitation, I nod.

"Are you as bad as these men?" she asks, referring to the traffickers.

I do many immoral things, enough that I'm not sure what the honest truth is. I just know the answer she needs to hear.

"No."

Several moments pass while she eyes me, trying to tell if I'm lying, but finally, she gives a curt nod and steps toward the door. "Then I will go with you."

I take her arm before she can walk past me and look down at her dress. When she follows my gaze, her cheeks blush.

"Go find the bedroom and change. Pack a bag of the wife's clothes while you're at it. I don't have anything for you to wear at my place."

She gives me a curious look before leaving to go upstairs.

My place . The thought makes my stomach turn, but I can't ask Hugh to put the girl up anymore. Not after the trouble she's caused.

Roman is out of the question. Everything that has happened since we left the warehouse must be kept quiet, and he would extract everything from her in minutes.

I don't trust her enough to put her up someplace by herself. At any time, Nikita could want to see her, so I really do need her close by.

So that leaves the hypothetical well I spoke of before, or … my place. For now, at least.

I pull out my phone to check my messages. Anya hasn't texted me since last night when she let me know she wouldn't be home. She's gone more than she's home these days, so … maybe this won't be as bad as I'm imagining. Hell, if Elira is quiet enough, maybe I could keep her a secret.

I message Hugh to tell him I found Elira at a bus stop in Reno, then I shoot Anya a text.

Coming home tonight?

She should be in class, but she texts me back right away. Not a good sign.

Hailey's mom invited me for dinner, sooo…

I roll my eyes. Does Hailey even exist? ' Kay, love you.

Love you too. Will be home tomorrow. Promise.

She follows that up with three kissing hearts emojis.

I put my phone away and blow out a breath, trying to think of the places in my house I could stash an Albanian whore. When Elira finally returns wearing baggy clothes with a suitcase in hand, I'm prepared to head for a side window that has the least likelihood of a surveillance camera, but she stops me in my tracks when she goes to the woman's body.

She bends over the woman, and with a hand so calm it's chilling, removes the wedding ring from the woman's finger.

She slides it onto her own finger, holding her hand up, twisting it, ensuring she likes the fit.