Page 65 of Maksim
His tone is light, but his words make me jump. I look up at the two angry men he’s speaking to and recognize neither, but I know who they must be.
The organization.
Oh no.
I snap my head toward Maksim, but he doesn’t seem surprised. He stands fairly relaxed with his hands clasped in front of him.
“This bitch brutally murdered one of our men,” a man with a triangle of moles on his cheek grinds out. “We’d appreciate it if you kept your tone respectful.”
“Ah.” Anger, just a touch, brews beneath that one syllable, and I feel it in Nikita’s firming hold. “Of course.” He removes his arm from my shoulders and uses it to shove me to the floor so abruptly I yelp.
“Fucking whore,” he spits, but he sounds more mocking toward the men than serious. Still, I prepare for a kick or shove or something more.
Behind me, the younger man around my age from the SUV snickers.
Tension builds in the room so quickly, I wonder if I’m imagining it and can’t help peeking at Nikita who stares at the young, snickering man with a death stare that freezes my blood.
“You’re new,” he says like he’s observing it for the first time.
“My nephew, sir,” the SUV driver nervously answers for the young man. “It’s his second week. He doesn’t know any better. Please forgive him, Pakhan.”
Nikita nods slowly. “You’re man enough to work for the Bratva but not to speak for yourself?”
The man, now looking more like a boy, fumbles with his lips. “I…”
“What’s your name, son?”
The young man clears his throat. “Stephen.”
“Stephen. Do you have a gun, Stephen?”
Stephen’s face reddens. “Of course, sir.”
“Could I please see it?”
Hesitation. So much hesitation. The fear in Stephen’s expression makes me nauseous with how contagious it is, how much it fills the room. Everyone here knows what he’s thinking.
He takes his gun from his waistband and walks it to Nikita, clearing his throat again and trying to walk tall in a surge of bravery.
Nikita takes the gun. “Thank you, son.” He smiles before clapping Stephen on the shoulder, then he turns to the driver. “Sean, were you the one who vouched for Stephen to get into the brotherhood?”
Sean, afraid but holding his chin up, nods.
“I thought so.”
Nikita aims the gun at him and fires before Stephen can suck in a breath to yell out. But before he can try to stop Nikita, the demon is there, holding him back. Nikita hobbles to the uncle and fires bullets into his body until the gun clicks.
I stare down at my shaking hands, my head so low I could fall forward at any moment, and try to be invisible. The growing sense of déjà vu overwhelms me as I silently work on the plea to give Maksim so he’ll never make me see this man again. Never take me here.
What if this is it? What if Maksim doesn’t protect me?
What if he can’t?
My stomach winds tightly, and I bite my lip while staring at the snow-white rug that will need a jug of bleach before the night is through. It makes no sense why Nikita doesn’t have all red or black carpeting with as often as this must happen.
The gun thumps on the floor, and Nikita must give an order to the demon because a crack sounds, silencing Stephen. I regret the moment I look behind me to see Stephen’s head awkwardly twisted in the demon’s grasp before he drops.
The soup I had earlier rises up my throat, and I slap a hand over my mouth, facing forward and seesawing air through my nose. I swallow and close my eyes, focusing on the ringing in my ears to distract me from everything else.