Page 6 of Maksim

Nikita nods once like he agrees. “Me neither.”

He turns back to Anton in a swift movement that confuses me for a moment, and I squint, watching Anton’s black shirt get wet with something. His eyes go wide, and he looks down like he’s just as confused and surprised as I am.

My eyes find the short blade poking from Nikita’s grip just before he jams it into Anton’s gut, again and again.

I cover my hand over my mouth as I scream, backing into Maksim only to jolt forward. My eyes instinctively find the door, but I think Maksim can sense it because he lays a hand on my shoulder and guides me backward.

Nikita doesn’t stop stabbing. Blood pours from Anton’s mouth that he never had a chance to plead from, and his eyes are dead, but Nikita holds him up by his shirt, seesawing the knife into him like an absolute fucking psychopath.

I bite my cheek so hard I taste blood and force my eyes to close but then open them immediately afterward. This is not a sight I want to see, but closing my eyes on a man like this is terrifying. I couldn’t look at him when I first walked in here, but now I need to see him at all times just to make sure he’s out of reach.

This man is my owner.

This man.

I wish I’d been chosen by the one before. Or any of the men before.

I wish I’d never left Albania.

I press my palm against my mouth when I sob, trying to quiet myself, but it’s uncontrollable. It isn’t just my hands shaking, it’s my entire body. My heart alternates between beating fast and stopping altogether, unable to choose between the two.

When Nikita finally lets go of Anton’s shirt, his corpse crumples in a heap on the ground, his head turned my way so those dead eyes can stare at me. There’s no evil in them anymore. There’s nothing.

Nikita tosses the knife onto the floor, next to a puddle of blood staining the carpet, and as soon as he turns around, I back myself into Maksim. I can’t help it. Maksim could have a knife that’s bigger, deadlier. He could be just as disgusted with me.

But it seems impossible that any man could be as bad as Nikita.

Instead of granting me any sort of sanctuary, Maksim’s hand slips from my shoulder, and he walks around me to a closet, his gait calm and confident, no sign that he has any reservations about what just happened.

I check out the guy with the scar on his neck. He’s leaning against a wall with a foot propped against it, his posture relaxed.

Neither man cares about what just happened.

Neither care about what will happen to me.

What will happen to me?

I back against the wall and sit on the carpet, pulling my knees to my chest like I did in the cargo space, trying to make myself invisible now more than ever.

Maksim brings a roll of plastic out of a closet and spreads it out on the floor before proceeding to roll the body onto it, wrapping it up like a burrito. It’s the most sterile, unfeeling thing I’ve ever seen anyone do. Like flossing teeth or setting a cruise control.

The guy with the scar leaves, and although I don’t know anything about him, I wish he’d stay just so there’s one more person to hold Nikita’s attention who isn’t me.

Nikita stands facing away from Maksim and cracks his neck. I keep waiting for him to remember that I’m here. Keep thinking that I’m next.

My eyes move to the big roll of plastic. There’s still plenty left. They keep it in that closet just for occasions like this.

I want to puke.

My eyes dart to the door when it opens, revealing Scar’s return along with two other men, one carrying a bucket. Water sloshes out of it when he sets it on the floor next to the blood.

Bucket Guy crouches and pulls a sponge from the soapy water but stops when Nikita makes a disapproving, humming sound.

“Let the girl make herself useful.”

Bucket Guy exchanges a look with the other new man, and together they pick up the plastic-wrapped body and exit the room.

I stay where I am, pretending I don’t know what he wants me to do. The smell of blood is taking over the smell of the truck, and the thought of the man’s insides being on my hands makes my nausea twice as bad.