23. Nat

Ilean against Max's broad shoulder. He's talking to the guy driving the car but it's like white noise in the background. My hands are icy cold, despite the hot air blasting out of the vents. There's a heavy feeling in my stomach that won't go away.

Images of Max's fist pounding into the thug's face replay on a constant loop. In the moment, all I felt was relief.

Relief that someone had come to save me.

Relief that the guy with the wolf tattoo couldn't hurt me anymore.

Now I'm not sure what I'm feeling.

Numb, mostly. Time has slowed down to the point where every second crawls by. I'm aware of Max's hand stroking mine. When I look down, I see rust marks on the cuff of his white shirt. Blood.

Who is this man?

I'm beginning to understand that Max is not all he appears to be.

"How did you know where I was?"

There's a slight pause then he speaks. "We were passing and I saw you. Pure luck."

It does seem very fortuitous that he happened to be passing at the exact moment I was being attacked. My logical brain tells me something doesn't add up, but I'm too tired to focus.

I should be afraid of Max, but I'm not. Yes, he beat a man almost to death in front of me. Any sensible woman would run a mile to escape such a violent person. But he's not Rick.

Rick wouldn't have saved me. He'd have laughed and told me I deserved it. That being attacked was my fault.

Telling me it was my fault was always his excuse for hitting me: I wore the wrong thing, spoke back to him, or was too slow to reply to his questions. And so the list went on.

I have so many questions but they can wait.

My eyes close and I lean into Max.

He's warm and I'm so cold.

For the second time in a week, I wake up in Max's bed. I vaguely recall him carrying me up to his apartment, removing my shoes and outer layers, and then putting me to bed. After that, there's nothing.

There's no sign of Max, although the pillow is indented on his side, so he clearly slept here. I lie there for a few minutes, letting my brain process everything.

Now that the shock of what happened has worn off, I can see how lucky I was. If Max hadn't arrived when he did, who knows what might have happened?

I'm not sure why he reacted the way he did, but I'm grateful. Yes, he didn't need to beat the guy so violently, but honestly, the asshole deserved it.

Who knows what he planned to do once he dragged me away from the main entrance, into the shadows where there were no cameras. Rape me most likely.

What I don't understand is why. Was I just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or was it related to my meeting with Margana?

She'd told me she thought she was being followed. That the mayor was suspicious. Is it possible that those guys were waiting for me by the gate because they'd followed me too? And if so, who were they working for?

There's a throbbing ache in my head as I mull over everything. Then I remember the USB drive Margana gave me. I shoved it in my pocket before leaving the park.

Fuck, if I've lost it, she took a massive risk for nothing.

Throwing the covers back, I dash across the bedroom to where my clothes have been left. My bag must be in the main living area, along with my phone, but the drive should still be in my coat pocket.

When my fingers brush over the small plastic case, I breathe a sign of relief. Thank fuck. Then the door clicks open from the adjoining bathroom and Max walks out in a billowing cloud of steam, wearing nothing but a small towel hanging perilously low on his hips.

A towel that barely covers anything.

"Malyshka," he rumbles in that deep, oh-so-sexy voice of his, the voice that makes me melt in a puddle. "Is everything OK?"

I pull my hand from my coat pocket, trying not to focus on the fact I'm wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a soft cotton bra. Yes, he saw me half-naked last night, but I wasn't coherent then.

"Um… yeah, just looking for my…um…phone." Something stops me from mentioning the drive. I don't know if I can trust Max, even if I very much want him to do bad things to me.

"Your bag is in the living room. Want me to fetch it?"

I focus my gaze on a picture behind him. If I look directly at his deliciously muscled body, I know I'll lose my train of thought. The picture is pretty: a landscape. Lots of color. Looks like an original too.

"It's fine, I'll grab it once I'm dressed. Then I'll go, I'm…um…sure you have…um…stuff to do."

"No."

My eyes snap away from the painting at the vehemence in his voice. "No?"

"No, you're not going anywhere, Natalya. You've had a shock and you need someone to take care of you."

I bristle with annoyance. "I don't need a babysitter!"

He crosses his arms, looking completely unrepentant. "It's safer here." I know he's probably right, even if he has no idea what I'm dealing with right now. Not that I have any plans to tell him. I don't want to get him involved in my work. I'm not sure getting involved with him is a good idea full stop.

Yet here I am, again.

Maybe staying here would be better - for now at least. My head hurts and I can't face the idea of going back to my empty apartment. Even though I want to see what's on the drive Margana gave me last night, I'm exhausted. And emotional.

"Look, I'm not going to force you to stay, Natalya, but at least let me feed you. You must be hungry." My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble loud enough to shake the foundations of the building we're currently in.

He smirks like an asshole. "See?"

"I need a shower," I grumble, still not looking at his stupidly handsome face or ridiculously muscular chest. Watching him beat a man bloody last night has done nothing to calm my libido. I'm not sure what that says about me, other than I am possibly mentally unwell.

"While you're showering, I'll cook some breakfast." He turns away and saunters into a large walk-in closet. Just before the door closes, he whips his towel off and I'm treated to a view of buttocks hard enough to crack walnuts on.

My pussy whimpers and weeps and I grit my teeth.

A cold shower it is then.