Page 10 of Maksim
Imagine my surprise when she comes at me. Again.
“Stop!” I yell, catching her wrist when she goes to stab my neck. The knife drops as I squeeze, but I let her go when she kicks relentlessly until I’m on the ground, shielding my face with my hands. “Jesus Christ.” I go for my gun, but she screams like a fucking gladiator and kicks me in my face, bloodying my nose.
I grab her ankle when she goes to do it a second time and viciously yank so she falls flat on her back on the hard desert earth.
“Stop,” I repeat, climbing on top of her and pinning her wrists above her head while capturing her legs between mine. “No more.”
She spits in my face, making me whip my head to the side while her saliva trickles down my chin. “Fuck you, you fucking American pig.”
A growl barrels up my chest as I grip her throat and squeeze with fury. It’s dark out, but in the moonlight, I watch her face turn red, watch her struggle for breath.
It could’ve been easier than this. Different. Less pain. Less fighting. But maybe she wanted it this way. A warrior’s death.
It’s how I’d want to go out.
A sick sort of respect passes through me as I’m choking the life out of this woman. This woman who speaks English, who heard my conversation with Roman, who knew I was taking her out here to kill her. Who had the spine to take the knife and the fucking balls to use it on me.
What a goddamn woman.
Something stabs my chest, not a knife this time, and I look down to see my gun in the girl’s hand.
I laugh. “You have to cock it, baby.”
She struggles for breath, clawing at me with one hand while holding the gun with the other. I debate securing her hands, but I don’t. She’s almost out.
Or at least I thought so.
My gun crashes against my head—another way you can use it, I guess—and I roll off the girl, grunting with pain. I press my hand to my temple while my side pulses with sharp aches.
The girl’s gasping fills my ears, and a second later, my gun cocks.
I glare at her as her trembling hands point my gun at me. I don’t doubt for a second that she could pull that trigger. I’ve doubted too many fucking times now, I won’t do it again.
But I can see the safety on.
She doesn’t know it, but she’s fucked. If I don’t get on the road soon, I’ll be fucked too.
My phone fell on the ground in the struggle, and she seeks it out now. Who exactly is she planning on calling?
I point beside my car’s tire. “My phone’s right there.”
Her eyes train on me. “Get it.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you.”
I huff. “What were you trying to do before?”
“What were you trying to do before?” The accusation is clear in her eyes even if it wasn’t in her voice. “We’re not at the border. There isn’t some man on the other side of that hill waiting to take me home.”
“Yeah, you got me there, princess.”
“Do I look like a princess?” she yells, screams, nearly manically as the gun shakes. She’s been through hell. All nine circles.
“You need me,” I say, my tone more serious. “You have no license, no passport, no money. You know no one. You can’t go to the police because they’ll bring you straight to the Bratva, so where exactly are you going to go? Do you know what state you’re in? Do you even know how to drive a car?”
“The phone,” is all she says, holding out her hand. I feel like the roles have reversed. I could take that gun right out of her hand and put a bullet in her head, but her stone-cold face is just so … I don’t know. Hot.