Page 5 of Maksim

I don’t dare look at the boss, but I do peek at the man on his left. By the way his nose is wrinkled, I’d say he’s noticed my stench as well. Or he’s just disgusted with me.

I almost look away, but a scar running across his neck catches my attention, and it’s hard to command my eyes from it.

Did someone try to cut his throat?

Who are these people?

“Pakhan Nikita,” Chipped-tooth says, and I can’t be sure, but I think he does some sort of weird bow. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Nobody answers. Chipped-tooth waits maybe five seconds before going on.

“I thought you might want to see your new girl.” He bunches the back of my dress and uses it to propel me forward. I gasp, stumbling before catching myself on the edge of the desk. “She’s fresh from overseas. I don’t know what country, but I think there’s a chance she could be a virgin. I thought you’d appreciate the first taste.”

The first taste.

The first.

The first of many.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying and stare down at the smooth mahogany. My hands threaten to shake, so I grip the desk tighter, not standing up, not even moving. If I move, I might try to run, as stupid as that’d be. I don’t know if I’d be able to help myself.

“The first taste…” Nikita says, his voice even. He laughs, but I don’t get the sense that he’s amused. “The first taste of what? Crusted pussy? I could smell her as soon as you walked into the building. Is this what you’d like me to taste?”

“No, sir.” Chipped-tooth sounds nervous, and I look behind me to see him raising his hands, a chuckle coming up his throat like he’s trying to play this off. If I could sink into a hole in the earth, I would. “I will clean her up first, of course.”

“I don’t want you to clean her up, Anton. I want you to be smart.” He taps his head to emphasize his words. “I want you to know not to bring me dirty girls. I want you to not waste my money on dirty bitches you buy out of the back of a fucking semi.” He seemed relatively calm before, but now his face darkens, casting a storm cloud over the room.

He drags one foot off his desk, then the other before slowly standing to limp his way around it, not bothering to use the cane. As soon as I see which direction he chooses, I go in the opposite, nearly bumping into the only man left I haven’t studied.

I gape at him now, wide-eyed as I wait to see if he’ll lash out for me being so close, but he doesn’t look at me. His arms are crossed over his broad chest while he watches his boss, his blue eyes serious, his strong jaw set. His neatly cut blond hair and gray slacks would make him look like a businessman if it weren’t for the bulging muscles that protest through the white fabric of his shirt or the firm look on his face that could hardly be considered charming. Even lacking the scar across his neck like the other man, he looks just as deadly. I consider moving away from him, but away from him means closer to the boss, so I stay put while watching what happens next.

“You think she could be a virgin. You don’t know what country she’s from. Do you know what that tells me, Anton?”

Anton’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. He shakes his head.

“That tells me she could just as easily be someone else’s used up whore. That frustrates me, Anton, it really does, but what frustrates me even more is that you came to me lacking information that you could’ve gotten if you’d just. Asked. The. Cunt.” He smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. When he looks at me, I duck. “What country are you from, darling?”

The way he says darling somehow sounds more offensive than cunt.

Should I answer?

The idea of lying to this man feels very different from lying to Anton. It feels dangerous. It feels stupid.

I’m just about to open my mouth when Anton speaks for me.

“She doesn’t speak English, sir.”

As Nikita’s eyes close, the energy in the room turns deadly. Anton messed up. Badly. Badly enough that right now I’d rather be me than him, which is really saying something.

A slow, insidious breath blows past Nikita’s lips, and when he opens his eyes, he looks this way. I freeze. My instinct is to look down, but our eyes don’t meet. He’s looking above me.

“Maksim, you’re a young, single man. You’re quite accustomed to fucking whores, yes?”

There’s a pause as the question hangs in the air, then finally, “Occasionally, yes.”

“Would you like to fuck the used-up, grimy cunt of a bitch who doesn’t understand your language well enough for you to relay how you like your dick sucked?”

“No, sir.”