Chapter 6

6

Maxim

My question turns Whitney’s cheeks pink. She opens her mouth and closes it again.

And I have my answer.

She thinks to kiss boys now that she is mine?

“It’s acting, Maxim. There are no feelings involved.”

My laughter booms through the bedroom, but there is no humor involved. In fact, there is now a vise around my skull and it’s cranking tighter, tighter. I think of another pair of arms beside my own around Whitney, another mouth descending toward hers, and I tear myself away from her sweet body with a choked sound, beginning to pace the floor. “You will no longer do this. Acting is over.”

She jackknifes on the bed. “What? No it isn’t.”

“Oh yes it is. You would have me commit murder against every one of your costars?”

Her gasp brings my back up. “You wouldn’t.”

There is madness in my eyes and I let her see it. Let her understand. “Oh. I would.”

She visibly regroups, gathers herself. “Acting is my job. It’s how I make money to pay for Scout to go to school. It’s how we eat!”

“You have me for that now!” I jerk my pants up around my waist and draw the zipper. “How much is school? I write a check.”

That catches her off guard. “I…I mean…I didn’t expect you to do that.”

“Why is this surprise to you, Whitney?” I tear at my hair, wanting to pull it out by the roots. “Do you not understand by now that I am going to take care of everything for you? All of your life.”

“I would never just assume someone else would pay for Scout’s tuition.” A line forms between her brows. “I mean, Banner offered, but—” She cuts herself off, nervous eyes flying to mine. “N-never mind.”

“Banner.” My blood singes the walls of my veins. “How badly he wanted what is mine. I should have fucking killed him. Maybe I will ask for rematch.”

“There is no need,” she whispers, sliding off the bed and wrapping her arms around my waist. “I’m here, Maxim. I only want you.”

I breathe in through my nose carefully, out through my mouth, trying to calm the storm of jealousy. “Then you will quit this acting?”

“No.”

The thunderheads of my storm darken to black. “Kotik…”

Her arms drop away and she straightens her dress with jerky movements, seeming to gather her thoughts as she does this. “I’m not totally naïve. I realize if we’re going to be together, you will be…helping me and Scout. You made more money last night than I’ll see in a lifetime. But I’m not just going to sit around the house like a kept woman. You picked the wrong girl if that’s what you were expecting.”

“And you picked wrong man if you thought I’d let you kiss anyone else.” I grip her chin, tilting up her face, dark feelings seething inside of me. “Do you know what it does to me? Imagining such a thing? I would rather claw my fucking eyes out than watch it!”

A humorless laugh puffs from her lips. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I will not change my mind on this, Whitney!” I roar, backing her toward the bed.

“How easily you take away my independence. Everything I am, just stripped away.” She shakes her head, tears in her eyes. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

Panic filters in through my anger. “No. No, kotik. Was not mistake.”

“I’m a provider. I’m the sister who solves the problems. That’s what I’ve always been and I like who I am. You can’t just turn me useless to make yourself feel secure.”

“That is not what I’m doing.”

Is it?

My feelings for her are overwhelming. I barely know which end is up anymore.

“I want to be alone,” she says. “I have to think.”

There is something caught in my throat. “I don’t think I want you to think.”

Because she could decide I am bad for her.

Maybe I am.

Once again I could not be gentle between her legs. There are marks on her throat, her neck, and I am sure if I looked under her dress, she would be red and swollen from my cock. Now I am shouting at her and making her eyes wet. Am I terrible at having a woman?

God I hope not.

Because I am keeping Whitney. Yet I will be miserable if she isn’t happy.

The time on the bedside clock catches my notice and inwardly, I curse. “My manager was calling because there is event tonight at club. My sponsor is throwing victory party and I have to show up for a while. You will come with me, Whitney. Please.”

I cannot be away from you.

Oddly, I think it is me saying “please” that makes her agree.

I have to remember to use this important word more often.

“What time?”

“We will leave at nine o’clock tonight.”

She nods, turns away from me. “I’ll rest until then.”

“And think?”

“Uh-huh.”

I make a miserable sound, my fingers curling into helpless fists.

“You promise you’ll keep working on a meeting with my sister?”

“Yes,” I respond firmly. “I promise.”

I reach for her, but she can’t see me and walks away.

But I am not some weakling who takes a punch and hits the mat. If she is unhappy with me, I need to find a way to change that. I don’t want to take away the things that make Whitney feel useful and happy, but there will be no budging on the subject of her kissing other males. Is not easy fix. What I can do now is give my kitten her sister.

Focus on that. Make it happen.

Make her smile.

“See you tonight, kotik.”

* * *

Whitney

I’m almost finished dressingfor tonight when I get a text message.

Thinking it’s Scout, I lunge for the device, a smile already curving my mouth.

Repugnance clobbers me when I see the message is from Banner.

Banner: I still want you, Whitney.

Acid climbs my esophagus. He has been saying these kinds of things to me since I was barely old enough to drive. And my father allowed it to happen, hoping the attraction would work to our advantage one day. It might have, if everything about Banner didn’t make my skin crawl. There is something about him that makes me scared, too.

Maxim looks at me with lust, yes, but there is affection there, too. Reverence.

There is roughness when we make love, but he would never hurt me.

Something in Banner’s eyes says he would inflict pain on purpose.

That he would enjoy it.

Quickly, I punch out a reply.

Me: Don’t contact me again.

Banner: Your father is here with me. He is very upset with your actions.

Me: I haven’t been thrilled with his actions for the last eighteen years.

Banner: You have such a feisty spirit.

“Gross,” I mutter, wishing I hadn’t replied in the first place.

Banner: Are you with the Russian madman now?

Me: Yes.And if he finds out you’re texting me, a concussion will only be the beginning.

Banner: He can’t give you Scout. I can.

My breath catches in my throat. What is he talking about?

My fingers hover over the screen, hesitant.

Banner knows that Easton Brawn has Scout? He must. And as much as I loathe Banner, he does have connections to everyone in the MMA community, including Brawn. The news that the gangster has taken my sister must have gotten around. I know Maxim is working on making a meeting happen between me and Scout—and I have confidence he’ll pull it off—but he is from a different country. He has not come up through the ranks on American soil, like Banner. Like Easton. They could have a relationship. One that will get me face to face with Scout.

I shake my head.

No. No I won’t do that.

As badly as I want to make sure she’s all right, to hug her, I will not trust this man. Or my father, for that matter. More importantly, I won’t go behind Maxim’s back. It doesn’t matter that I’m mad at him right now and feeling conflicted about our relationship. I care about him.

I’m falling for him. Fast.

I must be. The thought of hurting him makes me dizzy.

Me: Delete my number. Next time, I tell Maxim.

Satisfied with my decision, I toss my phone onto the bed and continue getting dressed. I didn’t expect a trip to a nightclub, so I’ve had to improvise. I have a little black nightie I wear to bed sometimes, but even with the low back, it easily passes for a slip dress, so I pair it with some ice pick heels and call it a success. I’ve just finished putting on makeup and dabbing some perfume between my breasts when there’s a knock at the door. Without waiting for an invitation—of course—Maxim steps inside and stops short.

“Whitney,” he rasps, heat flaring in his face. “You…you will not leave my side dressed like this. Not for a second. You look like sexy little angel.” He closes his eyes, chest expanding. “Please.”

He says please like he’s playing a magical trump card.

Why is that so endearing?

“Okay,” I say, easily, feeling guilty that I answered Banner’s texts. “I won’t.”

Maybe I should tell Maxim that the fighter he defeated made contact. I’m about to confess when I remember he wants me to quit acting. How easily he decided my livelihood was no longer an option.

“You look really nice, too,” I say lightly, instead, unable to keep from noticing the tight hug of his jeans in the thigh and crotch area. How his black dress shirt molds to his mountainous pecs, his biceps, stretching the buttons that run down the front.

“We will make appearance, then return home.” His voice is strained. “Quickly.”

I hum as I saunter past him. “Good.”

When I’ve made it a couple of steps past Maxim, I feel a breeze on my backside and realize he has trailed behind me, lifting my dress in back, the delicate hem pinched between a blunt finger and thumb. He’s ducking his head to look underneath.

“What are you doing?” I laugh, smacking his hand away.

He groans loudly. “Where do you buy these little strings you call panties, kotik? And can I get more?”

“Don’t worry,” I say, tossing my hair. “I have plenty of them to torture you with.”

Maxim strides in front of me to open the door of the house, like a gentleman, and he does the same when we reach the SUV idling in the circular driveway. He boosts me inside and climbs in after, buckling me into the seat, brushing a kiss across my shoulder, the crown of my head. And yeah, I’m finding it very hard to be angry with him when he’s looking at me with such naked hunger and awe. Treating me like a coveted treasure.

“Did you do a lot of thinking?” he asks, studying my face closely.

“Yes.”

He sucks in a breath, holds it. “And?”

“I can’t imagine not being with you,” I whisper. “You make me happy, Maxim.”

His breath releases in a rush. “Whitney, you must give me warning before you say these things.” He rubs at his chest. “I am aching very badly right here.”

I lean up and kiss him. “We just have to learn to compromise. Okay?”

Maxim’s expression is dubious, but he kisses me back and soon we forget everything but the give and take of each other’s mouths. With a groan, he unhooks the seatbelt and drags me into his lap sideways, his erection pushing up against my buttocks, his tongue ruthlessly invading my mouth. “It’s okay, little girl.” He slides a hand up my inner thigh and knuckles the material of my G-string, right over my clit. “We have small fight, but your Daddy will fuck you now. Make it all better.”

“Wait. Maxim,” I whisper, pulling away winded and stroking his jaw. “We can’t. Not until after we leave the club.”

“Why?”

“You…this dress. It’s short.” My face is enflamed. “And when you come inside me, it drips out. For hours. I wouldn’t be able to hide it.”

Pride straightens his spine.

“I don’t mind this so much.” He glances down at my lap. “My come dripping out of your pussy all night. Everyone seeing this and knowing I have privilege of taking you bare.”

I hide my face in my hands, but I’m smiling. “I mind people seeing!”

A grumble emanates from his chest. “We will wait then. I am in your good graces and I want to stay there.”

“Thank you.”

“But I will watch it drip out later.” He ducks his head and nips at the underside of my jaw, his hand lifting to fondle my bare breasts through the thin silk of my dress. “I will hold you down and watch it leave you slowly, da?”

I nod, too breathless to respond.

“You are my world, kotik,” he whispers in my ear, kissing it. “I have become obsessed with you. Do you know this? Do you know I am fucking burning in my chest? In my head? You live inside me already and I only want more.”

I’ve barely caught my breath when we pull alongside the curb outside the club.

It is a lot more upscale than what I had in mind. It looks more like a red carpet event with suited security, paparazzi and beautiful people filing through the arched, golden doors. Loud, fast dance music pumps from within. Suddenly feeling very underdressed in my black slip, I nonetheless allow Maxim to help me out of the SUV. He holds me against him in mid-air for several seconds, my toes dangling somewhere around his knees, his forehead pressed to mine.

Chaos erupts at our arrival. Until now, it never even occurred to me that Maxim carrying me out of the arena over his shoulder would garner so much public attention, but of course it did. Someone shouts “there they are.” People with cameras rush over, falling all over themselves to reach us. Flashbulbs going off, reporters shouting questions. Maxim seems to realize at the same time as me how popular we are—and he doesn’t like it. He holds me like King Kong held his blonde sacrifice while climbing the Empire State Building and bellows for security. Several men in black suits and earpieces rush over and help block the paps on our way into the club while I cling to my fighter, face buried in his neck.

“I would never have brought you out if I’d known.” His arms are wrapped around me tighter than steel bands. “Or I would have put you in sweater and jeans.”

“I’m not dressed any differently than the women here.”

He scoffs. “None of them are you, Whitney.”

I sigh into his neck. With the wild rush taking place around him, I feel like I’m centered. In the middle of my very own serene island. Safe. Loved.

Yes, loved. This is what it feels like. I’ve only known the sisterly version of love. This is an animal unto itself. Volatile and exciting. Warm and inviting. And knowing I have this man’s affection opens up the gates to my own. Allows the feelings he stirs in me to rush out, like wild horses, stealing my breath. How can I love this man after such a short time?

I don’t know. My heart is making the decision for me.

“We will be quick,” Maxim says, kissing my forehead. “I want you home, kotik.”

The men with earpieces are directing him, telling him his manager is waiting in back, along with some fight promoters and an emcee. Maxim will be introduced and brought out on stage in five minutes. Before they leave us, the security guards ask for his autograph, their guy crushes on full display. Maxim signs with his right hand, his left arm still wrapped around me, crushing me to his side.

We go to an oblong room at the back of the club that is more like a VIP area. The smell of marijuana mingles with perfume and alcohol. But it’s cool and dark and luxurious, leather couches and beautiful people draped over each other. I find myself wishing Scout was there to see this. She’d be wide eyed and scandalized.

I notice that Maxim seems agitated.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to bring you on stage to be ogled, but I don’t trust anyone enough to watch you while I am gone.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” I laugh, rubbing his arm. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

His grumbling almost drowns out the music. “Come. You will wait at the bottom of the stairs where I can see you.”

The hard line of his jaw tells me it’s pointless to argue. He keeps me at his side as we leave the room, reentering the main club, just behind the stage. A man I assume to be his manager arrives in front of us, visibly drunk and celebrating, slapping a gold belt into Maxim’s hand. “You forgot this last night.” He looks at me, but wisely keeps his attention respectful. “You had another prize in mind.”

Maxim grunts, his big fingers stroking up and down my bare arm.

On stage, someone says his name and the crowd goes nuts. Champagne bottles are uncorked and sprayed all over the place, Public Enemy starts to blare. Maxim reminds me with a stern look to stay put, then he and his manager climb up from the rear of the stage, their figures swallowed up by the spotlights. Feeling kind of tingly and proud, especially after what Maxim told me about his youth, I smile, cheering along with the rest of the club.

Only about twenty seconds have passed when someone grabs my elbow.

A chill goes through me even before I turn around.

But it gets worse when I see who it is. My father.

He’s wearing a hood and his face is a mess of bruises and cuts. I’ve seen him like this before when he couldn’t pay a bookie, but this is the worst condition I can remember. “Come with me, you little traitor,” he hisses at me through a split lip. “Don’t make a scene.”

No. No, whatever he wants from me is not good. I try to pull my arm away, but he holds on. “Stop! I’m not going with you.”

“Do you want to see your sister or not?”

The fight goes out of me. “What?”

Satisfaction curls his upper lip. He has me and he knows it. Before I can ask another question, he slips into the crowd, and after a brief hesitation, I cut through the masses, following him. I have no choice. If Scout is somewhere in this club or nearby, nothing is going to keep me from her. Maxim is going to be pissed. But I’ve been taking care of myself for eighteen years. I’ll be fine and later I’ll soothe his ruffled feathers.

My father takes a left down a back hallway and ice crawls up the back of my neck. Is he trying to draw me somewhere? I slow my pace and carefully crane my neck to look down the hallway—

An arm shoots out and I’m being dragged down the dark corridor. My heels keep slipping on the polished wood and I can’t get my balance, the punishing grip of this man biting into my arm. Is it my father?

I gather every ounce of air into my lungs and scream. “Maxim!”

The music is too loud. I’m too far away.

Tears crowd against the backs of my eyes.

In a snap, I’m tossed into a different room and the door slams behind me. Quiet. Too quiet. I’m not alone in the room. There are two shadowy figures leaning against the far wall. Bass thrums from the dance floor, my breath rasps in my ears and no one speaks. I throw myself up against the door and jerk the knob, but it’s locked. Shit. Shit.

“I want what I was promised,” says a familiar voice behind me. “I was promised you, Whitney, and I’m not accustomed to losing. Especially not twice in one day.”

Banner.

I turn slowly as he comes into the light, limping, half of his face swollen and purple. My skin crawls the closer he comes, his tongue snaking out to wet his lips. “You’re lucky I’m willing to take the Russian’s sloppy seconds.” He reaches out and captures my chin, pinching it. “Virgin or not, you’re still the hottest little bitch around, aren’t you?”

“Jesus,” snorts my father, though he hardly seems bothered. “She’s my kid.”

“I’ll talk to her however I want, whenever I want,” Banner grits out, slaying my father with a glance. “You want me to pay to keep the sharks off your back? Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

“Is Scout even here?” I ask, my teeth starting to chatter from nerves. I’ve never seen that crazed look in Banner’s eyes. “Did you just use her to lure me back here? You know she’s with—”

“Easton Brawn. Everyone knows.”

“How?”

“Brawn made her a neat little target, showing public interest in her like he did.” Banner’s white teeth flash in the dark room. “One of his many enemies already put a price on her head.”

My knees almost collapse beneath me. I look at my father, but he seems more concerned with lighting a joint than the fact that his oldest daughter is in danger. I try to hold on to the fact that Scout sounded confident in her safety over the phone this afternoon, but frankly, I’m done leaving things up to men and chance.

“Let me out of this room!” I shout, turning and banging on the door as hard as I can.

Banner grabs my hair and yanks me back, hard enough to make my eyes tear—

And that’s when Maxim realizes I’m gone. There’s a loud crash out on the club floor. Women scream. Feet travel quickly on the floor. Running.

“WHITNEY.”

Despite Maxim’s obvious anguish, relief spreads in my chest. All I have to do is stall. He’s going to find me if he has to rip every inch of this place apart. “Maxim!” I scream.

Banner slaps a hand over my mouth. “Shut the hell up!”

He drags me backwards toward an emergency exit and I dig my heels in as hard as I can, twisting in his grip. I absolutely cannot allow him to take me out of this club. Or Maxim will have no idea where to look. Not until it’s too late and this man inflicts his will on me.

I hear the heavy pound of footsteps and another bellow of my name.

“WHITNEY.”

The doorknob rattles. And then the entire door is kicked off the hinges, sending splinters in every direction, and there, outlined in the doorframe, is six-foot-four inches of seething, deadly muscle and man. Maxim takes in the scene with one livid sweep of his eyes and crushes the sides of the doorframe in his bare hands, roaring loud enough to make my eardrums throb.

Even Banner loosens his grip on me, sending us both stumbling back a couple steps.

I use the opportunity to rip myself free and run toward Maxim, tears running down my cheeks. He runs his hands over my face, hair, shoulders, frantically looking for injuries, before pinning Banner with cold, murderous eyes. “You will die now.” He points at my father without removing his attention from Banner. “You too.”

“No.” I tug on his elbow, but he is unmovable. “Let’s just leave. I want to leave.”

“Are you sure, Whitney?” Banner asks, clearly not valuing his life. “Brawn is something of an associate of mine. I can still bring you to Scout, like you wanted. Can the Russian do that?”

Maxim flinches, glances down at me, something like hurt beginning to kindle in his eyes. “Did you ask him to bring you to your sister?”

“No, I—”

“Oh come on now,” Banner interrupts. “We texted about it. Didn’t she tell you?”

My father shifts nervously, sidling toward the exit, like the coward he is. But I barely notice, because all I’m seeing is the betrayal on my fighter’s face. “Maxim, it’s not like he’s making it sound,” I breathe, gripping his elbow. “They lured me back here. I—”

Banner laughs. “She came willingly.”

“I told you I would arrange meeting, kotik. Did you not believe me?”

“I did!”

“But you did not tell me about these text messages.”

“I didn’t want you to be angry,” I whisper, hating his disheartened expression. “I’m sorry. Can we talk about this at home? Please?”

My father chooses that moment to run for it. He’s out the door like a bolt of lightning. I must have lost all feeling for him long ago, because his desertion doesn’t affect me at all.

Banner merely sighs. “You don’t really want to go home with someone they call The Madman of MMA, Whitney. Do you?”

Maxim’s muscles ripple under my hand and I know he’s about to attack. About to kill Banner. And while I wouldn’t mind seeing my fighter wipe the floor with this bastard, I can’t allow that to happen. Can’t allow Maxim to commit a crime that might get him taken away from me. I’m also aware that Maxim’s pride has been stung by Banner’s twisting of the truth and that wounded pride needs to be repaired somehow. He’s an alpha male. A warrior. He won’t just walk out of here without making it known who gets to keep me. The prize.

Is there another way for me to restore his pride?

A way for me to make it obvious who I’m choosing?

Maxim is beyond listening. I need more than words.

I need…

Wetting my lips, I move to stand in front of Maxim, running a hand up the front of his shirt. “Will you kiss me?” I whisper.

His eyes flicker with awareness, but his frown does not ease. “Do not try and distract me.”

Ignoring his gruff order, I push up on my toes and press our mouths together, licking at the seam of his lips until they open on a grunt and he kisses me back. His eyes take on a drugged quality when our tongues brush, but he never takes his eyes off his opponent. Between us, I feel him stiffen behind his fly and I position my hand over the long, swelling ridge, massaging him firmly in my palm. “Show him who I belong to, Maxim.”

A shudder passes through him. “Whitney…”

There’s no question he wants me, here and now. The evidence is in my hand. And I know he’s tempted by what I’m offering. Tempted by hunger with a healthy dose of testosterone. All he needs is a push. To claim his prize in front of the challenger, so there’s no more doubts as to who I belong to. “Show him what he could never give me. Pleasure.”