Page 32 of Maksim

I didn’t want to go to prison. Daniel had to die. He had to pay. The world will never be rid of all evil, but never again will that particular evil exist, and that was worth whatever price I had to pay. But I’m scared to be on my own here. I’m scared to face an unknown justice system. Or an organization that Daniel belonged to. Or the one Maksim belongs to. I’d rather just face Maksim.

“So,” he says to me, making my prying fingers still on the bottle. “That was … interesting.”

Interesting?

What does that mean?

I pull my hands away then rest them in my lap while staring at a red smudge of some kind, probably food, on the bar top.

“I won’t lie, I’m surprised at what you’re capable of. I feel silly for being so sympathetic when you had to see Nikita’s unhinged side.”

I only mean to scoff in my mind, but it leaves my mouth with such force that it rattles my shoulders.

I’m still staring at the red smudge when Maksim’s light blue shirt enters my sight as he leans against the bar toward me. Swallowing, I lift my head to meet serious eyes that wait for me to explain myself.

“You didn’t seem very sympathetic,” I say, my voice even. I’m not angry. I’m disgusted by this man, but I have no reason to be angry with him. He didn’t sell me. He didn’t buy me. He doesn’t even want me.

He tried to take my life, but now he’s spared it a second time. He brought me to his home instead of pawning me off to his friends again. Unless his plans for me are more sinister than he’s portraying—which would be unsurprising coming from a liar like him—I should consider myself lucky.

Lucky.

Maybe even grateful.

My mind recoils at that thought, unable to go that far, but I do have to admit that, for now, with Maksim is the safest place to be. So I should be kind. Desirable. Listen to my mother.

Be a good girl, Elira. You know what men want.

“I’m sorry.” I rest my arms on the bar, trying not to react when something sticky coats my flesh. “I’m sorry I’ve been troublesome for you…”

When he says nothing, I peek into his eyes to see that nothing has changed. My words haven’t relaxed him. If anything, he looks more guarded.

“Are you angry with me?” I ask, shyly lifting my shoulders.

His eyes narrow, but instead of angry, he looks suspicious, like he’s reading right through my attempt at placating him. I must be terrible at this.

I’m just about to stand and go to him, try to use touch to bring down his guard, when he speaks.

“I don’t know what to feel about you, Elira.” He stares at me a moment before bringing his beer to his lips and taking a long pull. When he’s done, he slams the bottle on the counter and roughly takes my arm, dragging me off the stool.

My mouth opens to protest, but I lock the words in my lungs and move my feet when he pulls me down a hall. His grasp on my arm is strong but not exactly rough. Not quite hinting at what he has planned, if it’s sadistic or not.

My heart thumps in my ears, and I swallow down words I’d like to spew. Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as the fate I deserve.

Be good. Just be good. At least figure out America, access money, make a connection or two, have something.

Then, if and when the time calls for it … I can kill Maksim too.

He throws open a door at the end of a hall and lets go of my arm once we’re inside the room. The bedroom. A man’s, if the clothes covering the floor are any indication. There are more articles of clothing on the floor than I own in total, and the four-poster bed that has a wadded-up comforter thrown on top of wrinkled sheets—one corner not even fitted beneath the mattress—is big enough to fit my entire family. The room itself is larger than my home, suddenly seeming cramped with the five of us, and somehow without asking I know this space is only for Maksim.

I want to be disgusted at the wastefulness of it all, especially with the little care he gives his things, but there’s a part of me, this part that shames me, that wants a taste.

I wonder if this is what my father’s house is like.

When Maksim’s hand presses against my lower back, my eyes close. My body tries to recoil from his touch, but I fight the urge and let him silently guide me forward, clenching my hands to keep them steady.

I can guess why a man would bring me to his bedroom. I’m not an idiot. I’m just surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.

Be a good girl, Elira. You know what men want.