Page 67 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, I wake up to the realtor, Jonathan, knocking on the door of the suite. When I open the door, hastily dressed, I find him flanked by two armed members of my expanded security detail. One is Tomas, who nods stiffly in greeting.
“Mr. Koslov strongly suggested we close on a property soon,” Jonathan says while tugging nervously at his purple tie with one hand and juggling a briefcase in the other. Crossing to a—newly replaced—end table, he fishes a stack of documents from his bag and shuffles through them. “I believe you’ll love a series of homes in the exclusive Knight Heights district—”
“I think I want to look at some places near the water,” I suggest, cutting him off.
It’s the one feature that separates Fair Haven from most other shitholes in the country—a bay on the outskirts, which serves as both a focal point for what little tourism there is, as well as the main reason why it’s such a hotbed for crime in the first place.
We’re open to the world in a way that leaves it ripe for the taking by men like Maxim.
Jonathan’s brows furrow. “The bay? An interesting choice.” His skeptical tone betrays his true thoughts on that front. “I will admit that location holds a morerusticcharm. You won’t come anywhere near to the elegance of say, this property here—” He gestures around us, referring to the penthouse. “Though, I suppose you could always renovate…”
On that optimistic note, we take a car staffed by one of Maxim’s drivers. Within an hour, we’re pulling up to the first property to fit my preferences. My initial impression is that Jonathan was right. These homes are nothing like the highly modern mansions we toured in and around the city. They look older, like something you’d see in one of those small-town dramas. Still huge and impressive, but in a less obvious way.
The place a mob boss might live, only when retired or under witness protection.
The one we approach now is sprawling, made of sturdy brown wood, and supported by stone accents. Positioned on a hill, it overlooks a quiet, semi-private section of the bay, complete with a rocky beach and a wooden dock.
Inside, the mixture of stone and wooden architecture continue, creating an open, simple layout centered around three large windows overlooking the water.
“There are ten bedrooms in total,” Jonathan remarks. “Plenty of acreage if you’re into outdoor activities, and there is a pool in addition to a private section of the waterfront. Basic amenities, but they possess a certain charm, I suppose.”
I crane my neck back to take in the high, vaulted ceilings above a living room dominated by a stone fireplace. The beautiful, “rustic” design will amplify every single sound the kids make. When Ainsley and Eric fight, it will resonate with the intensity of an army skirmish. Daisy’s whining will echo times a million during one of her rants.
And Maxim’s voice alone will have no trouble filling the space, reaching every inch of it.
“Ms. Marconi?” Jonathan wonders, an eyebrow raised. “Are you ready to move on?”
“No.” I sigh, turning my attention to the view of the water beyond the windows. It’s no tropical paradise, that’s for damn sure. Shitty Fair Haven can’t compare to endless blue waters. But in some ways…
This is so much better.
Turning to Jonathan, I square my chin. “I’ll take it.”
* * *
Maxim wasn’t lyingabout his ability to purchase a home within days. All Jonathan seems to require from me is simple confirmation. Afterward, he devolves into a flurry of phone calls and shuffling paperwork. Before seeing me off, he presses a folder into my hands. “Oh, Mr. Koslov requested I give you this once you’d settled on a property. Tomorrow, I’ll connect you with an interior designer to get the furnishing process underway.”
My heart pounds ominously as I tuck the folder beneath my arm and enter a car driven by Tomas. It isn’t until we’re nearly in the city that I finally gather the nerve to open the folder and observe the documents within.
I scan the first line, expecting an explicit, detailed list of sex toys. Instead, I find a series of names with a sentence or two scribbled beside them, denoting that particular person’s requests. All of it is written in Maxim’s handwriting, with curt phrases implying that he personally interviewed every member listed.
Ainsley– Pink walls. A playroom. A pony. Please, a pony? I don’t need a room, just that!
Daisy– My own space. Seriously. MINE. Please. Yellow. A deck to tan.
Mikie– Blue. An arcade. (he’s rich enough, right?) A boat.
Ollie– Bunk bed. A pinball machine. A skateboard ramp.
Ray– A video game room. A bed shaped like a pirate ship.
Eric– A room made of LEGO.
Tears well within my eyes and spill out before I can blink them back. They distort the ink on the page, making the words blur and run together. At the very end of the list, its author made sure to denote—I will attend to my own personal requirements in time.
He could do this for me, while having the confidence to claim that nothing I could offer him would ever be enough to make him bend where it really matters. His psyche. His security.Hispeace.
