Page 18 of Maksim
He pulls a plastic bottle of orange juice from the gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and hands it to me.
I take slow sips, savoring the sweet liquid, and keep my eyes in front of me. Maksim looks better today. Too good for a man who almost died last night, the bandage around his naked torso reminding me of vengeance he must want.
The sound of metal crashing against concrete makes me flinch, and I jerk up to see that Maksim has tossed my bar across the room.
“You’re cute, Elira,” he says, tugging my eyes his way to look at him in my periphery. “I respect your fight. I even find it sexy.”
I cringe at that, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
That’s what I am to him. A game. A fool.
Is he forgetting I almost won?
I should’ve learned how to fire a gun.
“But that’s enough,” he goes on. “No more fighting. My friends have been kind enough to allow you to stay here while I figure out a more permanent situation for you. If you choose to be the foreign girl who speaks no English and stays locked up in the basement, so be it. I will come once a day to bring you food until my boss no longer remembers you.”
Finally, I turn to him. “What happens then?”
He shrugs, barely waiting before he replies like it’s obvious, like there’s no need to think it through. “Then I let you go.”
I stare at him, showing nothing on my face. I show nothing because I feel nothing. I don’t believe this man even for a second.
“You speak as if I have some choice other than to be kept in this basement,” I say, brushing aside his lie to get back to what he was saying.
He nods. “You do.” My arms press into my sides as he scoots toward me. “Can I be honest with you, Elira?”
I hate the way he says my name. It sounds dirty.
“I’m not sure you’re capable of honesty, Maksim, but you can try.”
He rears back like he’s surprised, but then his face relaxes with an amused grin. “I’m not nearly as bad as you think.”
I think you’re a snake.
But … there is worse.
Nikita flashes into my mind, making me shiver. I don’t know either man well, but I know Maksim is better than Nikita. He seemed better than Roman as well. And better than Anton.
Maybe Maksim is as good as it gets.
I don’t know if he senses my sudden unease or if he was planning on touching me all along, but one hand smooths over my shoulder while the other caresses my cheek, guiding me to look at him. A minute ago, I would’ve wanted to slug him. Right with the reminder of Nikita at the front of my mind, it doesn’t feel so bad.
“The truth is, I actually do need you.” He speaks like he’s admitting it to himself as much as he is me. He sighs. “It was rash of me to react the way I did last night. If my boss found out, he’d take it as disrespect. For the foreseeable future, I need you to be my living, breathing, preferably obedient whore.”
I jerk my arm, but his soft touch on my shoulder turns firm as he holds me still.
“That does not have to be as horrendous as it sounds. It does not have to involve locked doors and restraints. If you’re as smart as you are scrappy, it could mean your own apartment, your own car. Schooling if you want, a job, whatever it is you came here for in the first place, you could have it.”
This, more than anything, boils my blood.
My ears heat, and my hands curl into fists.
For days I felt fear. More of it than any person should feel in a lifetime. I’ve felt fleeting sadness, sort of woah-is-me moments of weakness, and little anger. The people put me here are vile, but their intentions were honest, their purpose was honest, their lack of remorse was honest. They are more monsters beneath my bed than they are villains in my mind.
But this… This is sick. This is counterfeit. Insulting to my intelligence as well as my pride.
Am I to be thankful for this generosity?