Page 4 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
“Which is why I wanted to be sure,” Milton says smoothly. “But even if it is him, he won’t take it further.”
“Or he could be working for Sevastyn?” Maxim interjects, his voice rasping. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t kept tabs on them both this entire fucking time.”
“No.” Milton inclines his head, his lips pulled tight. “He’s a clever son of a bitch, I’ll give him that, but if anyone wanted to drive a knife into Sevastyn more than you, or myself, it’s Dima—Vadim.”
“I told you not to say his fucking name.”
“Fine.” Milton extends his arms in a gesture of surrender. His bloodied hands are a chilling reminder of the current situation, almost appearing like a ghoulish pair of gloves to compliment his ebony suit. “Consider the discussion over. For now. We have more important things to do, like focus on getting rid of this wanker. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can call in a team to erase any physical traces.”
Wordlessly, he and Maxim refocus their attention on the grisly mass nearby. They both take a corner of the plastic tarp and drag the body into the hall inch by inch, grunting with the effort.
I’m left behind, trembling in the frigid air, naked without my dress. Before I can attempt to move, Maxim’s voice reaches back to me. “Stay.”
I do, my vision blurring. The only sounds are my ragged breaths scratching at the air as I inhale. Exhale. Faster. God, salt is all I can smell. All I taste.
Maybe I’m overreacting?
Because despite Maxim’s comfort with death, this isn’t my first time facing it either—a terrifying concept I can’t dissect just yet.No.So I wait, listening to the scraping of plastic over concrete, desperate for relief.
I find my escape in snippets of murmured conversation.
“You’re sure about this?” Milton says, his accent distinct. “We could always attempt to stall. Forge rumors about his whereabouts.”
“Like you said, Anatoli is no fool,” Maxim replies. “After tonight, it’s not like I have a choice regardless.”
“So, what now?”
“Now…” Maxim sounds fainter, his words interspersed with muffled grunts and more hissing plastic. “Now, we beat the motherfucker at his own game...”
When approaching footsteps return moments later, I recognize their heavy, ominous cadence before their owner appears alone in the doorway. Bathed in shadow, Maxim inclines his head for me to follow. “Come.”
I lurch after him on unsteady, jellied legs. My thoughts are too scattered to make out our surroundings—only he has any definition against a formless, colorless landscape of shadow. Hunched over with my arms around myself, I’m freezing until a layer of warm fabric falls over my shoulders—his jacket, reeking of salt and damp in places…
I gag—but his scent dominates the luxurious fabric despite the wetness. Somehow breathing it in keeps my roiling stomach at bay.
I can resist the terror. He alone is my anchor to sanity, guiding me in deliberate commands and stern touches.
“Kotyonok,” he prompts as we reach a familiar destination, his car. “Get in.”
He opens the door on my end, and I climb woodenly into the passenger’s seat. Once we’re secured within the confines of black leather and metal, I can finally breathe normally again.
But I’m not brave enough to ask more questions. Like where the body is. Or Milton. Or what happens next.
I close my eyes to shut out the world entirely as Maxim starts to drive. Only now do I realize that I have no fucking clue where he’s headed. Despite everything—even the ring on my finger—paranoia sets in, gnawing at my fragile composure. There is one fear I can’t ignore when it comes to him…
The unsettling knowledge that he’s always on a hair-trigger. Is this the moment when I meet my own end on a wad of sheet plastic? The fear of that fate should bite deeper into my psyche than it does, though. This stupid, internal voice resists it, too naïve to believe but persistent, nonetheless.He won’t hurt me…
“We’re almost there,” Maxim declares, breaking the string of morbid thoughts. Like a puppet master adept at his craft, he knows just when to reassert his presence. “Look at me.”
When I reopen my eyes, I don’t recognize the cluster of buildings around us. They’re too tall. Too bright. So we aren’t heading toward his usual suite, then. But this isn’t the neighborhood where my family is either.
Though, I’m not left to wonder for very long.
As if on cue, he turns a corner, and the car comes to a stop amid unfamiliar scenery. Gripping my seatbelt, I race to piece together our surroundings. Somewhere dark. Enclosed. A garage? Fresh panic sets in, scattering imaginary butterflies in my stomach. Dark spaces have terrible connotations where he’s concerned. Especially when he looks like this…
Smoldering in silence. Tense, harboring fire within his gaze as white-knuckled fingers clench in and out of fists.
“Come.” He’s already exiting the car, oblivious to my reaction. Either that or he’s deliberately ignoring the terror I know is etched on my face.
