Page 23 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
“You think I tell you what to do?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in the sound. “You… Who stayed when I first told her to run? Who questions my intentions to give her the highest thing of value I possess in my name?” I jump as he grabs my hand, dragging it onto his lap. His heat floods my blood like poison, enhancing my awareness of him. He sits rigidly, but not out of annoyance. His thigh muscles tense in a way that makes me suck in a breath. “The woman who, with one look, can make me fuck her like an animal when I desire control,” he adds softly. “But yes, I controlyou. Starting with keeping you alive. You will leave the city tomorrow night. I’ve already contacted Gemma so that you may resume your lessons while away.”
I grit my teeth, unsure of how to respond. “I—”
“Stop here,” Maxim snaps, directing the order to the driver. Just like that, the brief display of intimacy is over. As if a switch is flipped, his jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. He’s in business mode, fixated solely on whatever motive drew him here in the first place.
Here, being a seedy-looking bar on the edge of the highway. We’re just beyond the city limits. In the distance, skyscrapers pierce the horizon, pointed like daggers. The imagery makes me shiver. A poetic observation, or an omen?
“Come.” Maxim exits the car and extends his hand for me to follow. I step out onto a narrow curb in his wake, taking in whatever I can.
At a glance, this place is no match for his elegant club XXX, that’s for damn sure. Made of brick, the building itself is square-shaped with a broken neon sign readingMoney’s, instead of the intendedMontey’s.
Inside, plumes of cigarette smoke choke the narrow barroom, so thick I can barely see the figure beside me. Dressed in a crisp, black suit, Maxim stands out among the shadows—an angel in hell. Coifed blond hair and a blood-red tie give him a harsh definition against the monochromatic backdrop.
Which only confuses me more when my own appearance is factored in. Given his usual obsessive attention to my clothing, he must want it this way. My dress is a plain, shapeless gray. Still mussed from our stint in bed, my hair is a mess. If I wanted to be self-deprecating about it, I look like I belong slobbering over one of the truckers camped out near a pool table at the back of the room—not on his arm.
His palm cups my waist possessively regardless, forcing me to match his pace as he draws up to a chipped, wooden counter. A man stands behind it, rubbing a filthy glass with a filthier dishrag.
“Can I help you?” he wonders without looking up. It’s funny how, after all this time in Maxim’s world, seeing someone dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt stands out as odd. At least in comparison to the polished suits everyone down to his drivers seems to prefer.
“I believe you can.” Maxim reaches into his pocket and tosses something onto the bar. My eyes widen as I identify it—a wad of cash, neatly constrained by a silver rubber band.
“I’m looking for someone,” he continues. “Calls himself Vadim.Dima.”
The bartender’s movements slow as he assaults the same crusty stain over and over. Finally, he looks up and shrugs. “Don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry.”
“Is that so?” Maxim laughs and returns his hand to his breast pocket. This time, he withdraws a second wad of cash, noticeably larger than the first. “Does this refresh your memory?”
The bartender glances over his shoulder. Then he swipes his hand across the bar, dragging the money toward him. “Heard of a Dima,” he admits while stuffing the cash into his pocket. “Showed up a few weeks ago, I think. Didn’t cause a lot of trouble. He owe you money or something?”
“How do I know your memory isn’t faulty?” Maxim wonders. His upper lip curls back from his teeth, and the other man flinches, nearly dropping a wad of bills before he can fit it all into his pants. I don’t blame him. Maybe I flinch too. It’s chilling how easily the figure beside me can switch from suave to menacing. “Describe him to me.”
“Tall, um… Lanky. A bit of an oddball—” The bartender twirls his finger beside his head and raises an eyebrow. “Kept to himself, like I said—”
“How do you know it was him?”
“His name,” the bartender says, shrugging. “He didn’t exactly make a secret of it. And he was damn good. That’s why I asked about the money. He would come in some nights and fleece the shit out of my regulars playing pool.” He nods to the table in the corner. “Damn smart, that guy… He might have looked scrawny and all, but I ain’t never seen anybody play like that. It was like he was reading fucking minds and shit. And tough, too. One of the guys tried to have a go at him after he won. But that Dima guy, he just gave him a look, ya know? Billy went to prison for attempted murder, so he ain’t no chicken shit. I never seen him back down from a fight like that.” He shakes his head and snatches up his rag. “But he hasn’t been here in a few days.”
Scowling in concentration, Maxim braces his hand against the bar. “And you’re sure of that?”
The man nods. “Positive. But ah, if you want, I can keep an eye out.” He eyes Maxim’s bruised, bloodied knuckles and swallows. “Let you know if I see him.”
“Good.” Maxim fingers his lapel and turns his attention to a nearby booth. He moves boldly, drawing attention from every patron in the entire damn room. “I’ll have a drink.”
He sits, pulling me down beside him and withdraws a cell phone from his pocket—a different model than the one from the other day.
“Lucius,” he snaps, bringing the receiver to his ear. “Switch out with Victor. We need to talk.”
He hangs up and eyes the silver watch on his wrist and then refocuses his gaze over the center of the room in a way that makes my stomach twist into knots.
One by one, he eyes the few other patrons huddled in the bar, scanning their faces with ruthless focus. The longer he stares, the harder his expression becomes. After about an hour, he stands, tugging me after him.
“Come.”
Once we return to the car, the other driver is gone. Instead, Lucius patiently inclines his head for instruction. “Where to, sir?”
“I don’t fucking know.” Maxim swipes his hand through the air as he reclaims the back seat. He looks ready to pounce through the windshield, hungry for a fight. “Drive around. And as you do, you can explain why Dima has been here for weeks, and I haven’t heard a fucking word.”
“That is news to me as well, sir.” Lucius calmly pulls into traffic, heading toward the main road. “I know for a fact he hasn’t been spotted in the city.” A rare note of sternness colors his tone. He’s confident of that. “But if he has been on the outskirts, I will have my men extend more resources immediately. Any lapse in vigilance is unacceptable.”
