Page 97 of Maksim
“If it were Anya in danger, and I promised you I had someone on their way to protect her, would you sit back with me and wait?”
His face hardens slightly, but I can tell he’s trying to stay neutral. We both know the answer.
Of course he wouldn’t.
I squeeze his hand and lean into him before he can lie. “I trust you… Just don’t let me down.”
He sighs, his shoulders sagging with what looks like relief at not having to answer my question. “I won’t.”
He turns to the door and opens it while I lean forward and busy myself brushing dirt off my legs. “Could you try calling Mami? I can’t get through to her.”
“Uh, yeah, sure.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. “What’s the number?”
While his eyes are aimed at the screen, I give him the number and grab the clay pot as I stand. In one graceful movement, I swing it across his head, shattering it to bits.
He topples in a giant heap of perfect muscle, and I dive to catch his head just in time.
Closing my eyes and letting out a long-held breath, I gently lower his head to rest on the ground.
Planting a kiss to his lips while snaking my hand in his pants to retrieve his wallet and keys, I ignore the pain in my chest.
“I love you too.”
26
ELIRA
Idon’t know Vegas. I’m not familiar with ‘the streets’ or ‘the bad sides of town.’ But as I stare up at the dilapidated, red brick building with a corner of it tinged black like someone unsuccessfully tried to burn it down, I know I’m here.
I look down at the address written on my palm to ensure it’s correct for a third time before wrapping my arms around myself, staying tucked inside the alley out of sight. Any moment it feels as though the Bratva will snatch me up. Maybe even hurt me for wounding one of their lieutenants.
Maksim’s car is parked safely in a parking garage on ‘the good side of town.’ I borrowed a tarp from a kind, unaware owner of a very classic looking American model to keep it hidden and have gone on foot since then, walking with my head down to a nearby Internet cafe before ultimately hitchhiking to this location. Still, it’s only a matter of time before I’m caught.
For one thing, Odessa, my friend from the bakery, the one who told me how to get this address, knows where I am. And if she knows where I am, Maksim might. Worse than that, I still have my phone which he’s no doubt tracking. I should’ve dumped it already, but it’s still my lifeline to my mother, so the best I’ve managed is keeping it off for long stretches of time, only turning it on when I’m prepared to run to a secure location.
It burns the skin of my chest now as it’s tucked beneath the strap of my bra, begging me to turn it on to check my calls, but I don’t. I can’t. Not until I leave here.
With a shaky breath, I step from the alley and head to the building. I was told the best chance of making it to Albania is to drive to Mexico before flying home, but I still need a fake ID. Mathew Smith—not a real name, I presume—in 4D is supposed to be able to help with that.
My skin crawls as I walk through the building, and any minute it feels like a Russian mobster will step from the shadows, gun in hand. Or even worse, a hitman.
I swallow and wrap my arms around myself. The truth is, if it were a hitman popping from the shadows, I might be relieved. If they’re coming after me, maybe it means they aren’t going after my family.
But the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me I’m not that lucky. I can sense the danger lurking over them, feel the hopelessness of not being near. It makes my steps quicken and fingertips tingle. By the time I make it to Mathew Smith’s door, I’m a nervous wreck, which must make me look less suspicious because his boyish face slumps with a frown.
It takes twenty minutes and everything in Maksim’s wallet to make me Iris Kissinger—not a name that seemed fitting, but I didn’t get to choose. Once I’m out of the building, new ID in hand, I force myself to wait until I’ve walked four blocks before I turn on my phone.
My plan is to allow myself thirty seconds. If Mami has called, I will listen to the message, then find another device to contact her if she’s safe. If she isn’t, I’ll call her right away. If there are no messages, I’ll turn the phone right back off, run two blocks, then catch a ride back to the parking garage.
My eyes are wide as I stare at the screen while tucked into an alleyway, praying my search party or killer isn’t nearby.
It takes a minute for everything to load but only a second for my heart to fall. No calls from Mami. Twenty-six calls from Maksim. One from Anya.
What if I’m too late?
What if they’re dead?
I let out a shaky breath and go to turn the phone off, but Maksim’s contact appears as he tries to call, deepening the ache in my heart. My body longs to be wrapped in his arms, to give in to his comfort, to accept his support.