Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Calina
I slip back into my bedroom, heart still racing. I quickly hide the gun Irina gave me under the mattress, tucking it deep where no one will find it.
Then I strip out of my dress and from the many items I got, I change into a simple black workout tank top and leggings. The clothes feel more like me, comfortable.
I head straight back to the gym before I can talk myself out of it.
The moment I step through the door, Maxim’s gaze snaps to me. He’s still shirtless, sweat glistening on his chest and abs, muscles pumped from the bag. His eyes rake over me slowly, darkening with something I can't read.
“Okay,” he says, voice low. “Ready?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t waste time. He starts teaching me basic self-defense, how to break a wrist grab, how to use my elbows and knees, how to create space when someone bigger has me pinned.
I already know most of it; Artyom and Mikhail drilled these same moves into me and Milana when we were younger.
When I execute a clean wrist escape and follow it with a sharp elbow strike to the air, Maxim stops mid-sentence, eyebrows raised.
“Not bad,” he mutters, sounding genuinely surprised. “Where did you learn that?”
“My brothers,” I answer, a little smug. “They made sure we could handle ourselves.”
He looks impressed. The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile.
We keep going. Every time he corrects my stance, his hands land on me. Big, warm, calloused palms on my waist, my shoulders, my hips. Each touch sends a jolt straight through me, like electricity under my skin.
My breath catches every single time. My body is on fire, hyper-aware of how close he is, how easily he could pull me against him.
I hate how much I like it.
We move into a new drill. He steps behind me, wraps one thick arm around my waist and the other across my chest, locking me against his bare torso.
His body is hard and hot, slick with sweat. I can feel every ridge of muscle, every inch of him pressed to my back.
“Try to get out,” he says, voice rough near my ear.
I struggle, twisting and pushing, but he’s too strong. My heart pounds. Heat pools low in my belly. I’m breathing hard, and it has nothing to do with the effort.
“Again,” he murmurs. “Use your hips. Drive your elbow back.”
I do. I fight harder, grinding against him as I try to break free. The friction is unbearable. I can feel him getting harder behind me, his breath hot on my neck.
The sexual tension is so thick it’s suffocating. My nipples are tight, my thighs slick. I want to hate him. I want to push him away.
But I also want him to bend me over and—
Focus, Calina.
I manage to drop my weight, twist my hips, and drive my elbow back hard enough to make him loosen his hold. I spin out of his grip, breathing fast, cheeks flushed.
He stares at me, chest heaving, eyes dark with lust.
“Not bad,” he says again, voice lower than before. “You’re quicker than I expected.”
We’re both breathing hard, standing too close. The air crackles between us.
I wipe sweat from my forehead and decide to say something to distract myself from this feeling.
“At the gala… you were talking to the head of The Pantheon. My brother told me the real reason you wanted this marriage. You’re using our family name to climb higher, aren’t you? To get into their precious little club.”
He doesn’t deny it. He just watches me, calm and unapologetic.
“You catch on fast,” he says simply.
“So it’s true,” I whisper. “You’re riding our back for power.”
He doesn’t look ashamed. If anything, he looks impressed that I figured it out.
“Can we get back to what we were doing or do you have more questions that you already know the answers to?”
We continue training. He shows me another hold. This time from the front, both his arms wrapped around me, pinning mine to my sides. His body is flush against mine, hard and unyielding.
I can feel the heat of his skin, the steady thud of his heart, the way his thighs press between mine.
“Get out of this one,” he challenges. “If you do, you win. You get to choose your prize.”
I look up at him, our faces inches apart. “Anything I want?”
His voice deepens. “Anything.”
I smirk. “You’re on.”
I fight. I twist, I push, I use every trick my brothers taught me. It’s hard. He’s so much stronger, so much bigger. But I refuse to lose.
I drop my weight, shift my hips, and manage to slip one arm free. I drive my knee up toward his groin, stopping just short, and proceed to wrenching myself out of his grip.
Maxim’s eyes widen slightly, genuine surprise flashing across his face as I successfully twist out of his grip. For a moment he just stares at me, breathing hard, chest glistening with sweat.
I won.
“Well done,” he murmurs, voice rough with approval. His hands are still on me, one at my waist, the other on my arm, even though I’ve already broken free.
The heat of his palms burns through my thin workout top. My skin feels branded where he touches me.
Then he seems to realize what he’s doing. He clears his throat and we both step back quickly, putting distance between us. My heart is hammering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“So,” he says, his voice lower than before, “you win. What do you want as your prize?”
I stand there, chest heaving, still buzzing from the contact. We’re too close again. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his bare skin.
Close enough that if either of us leaned in even an inch, our mouths would meet. I can’t stop staring at his lips. I want him to kiss me. God help me, I want it so badly my body aches with it.
I swallow hard when I realize he's waiting for my response. What do I want? For you to pin me against the wall and kiss me senseless until I'm out of breath and—
Calina, get your act together!
“I’ll let you know once I've decided,” I say, my voice quieter than I intended.
“Why do I have a feeling I might not like what you are going to ask for?”
I shrug. “I guess you'll have to find out.”
He doesn’t move. Neither do I. The air between us feels electric, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and for one dizzying second I think he’s going to close the gap and kiss me.
Then his phone rings sharply from the side bench, shattering the moment.
I blink and step back immediately, cheeks burning. “I… I should go.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I turn and practically flee the gym, my legs shaky as I head upstairs to my bedroom.
Maxim
I stare at my phone screen, jaw clenched. A reminder for the meeting with Adrian and Ivan. Of course. The one fucking moment I was finally about to kiss her, the world decides to interrupt.
I lift my head just in time to watch Calina’s retreating back as she hurries out of the gym. The sway of her hips in those tight leggings makes my cock twitch.
I don’t want her to leave. I want to drag her back, pin her against the wall, and finish what we both felt in the air between us.
Swearing under my breath, I push a hand through my damp hair.
She’s good. Better than good. Smart, quick, confident. The way she was quick to break out of my grip. She’s been trained well.
And the more I see of her, the more I like what I see. Day by day she’s crawling deeper under my skin, and I’m not sure I want her out.
I leave the gym, heading upstairs for a shower before the meeting. As I pass her bedroom door, something stops me. I don’t know what it is, but I decide to step inside without knocking.
I hear the shower running. A gentleman would turn around and leave. I’ve never claimed to be one. I push open the bathroom door.
Steam curls around her like a lover. She’s stepping out of the shower, completely naked, water still sliding down her body in rivulets. My breath catches hard in my throat.
Fuck.
She looks stunning in clothes. But even more stunning without them.
Full, heavy breasts with dark pink tightened nipples. A narrow waist that flares into lush, rounded hips and a perfect ass I want to grip with both hands.
Toned legs and smooth skin still glistening with water. Her golden hair is wet and plastered to her back. Every inch of her is soft curves.
My cock instantly hardens, straining painfully against my gym shorts. I want to drop to my knees and taste the water running down her stomach. I want to bend her over the counter and bury myself inside her until she screams my name.
She freezes when she sees me, eyes wide.
I grab a towel from the rack and hold it out to her without a word.
She snatches it from my hand, wrapping it around herself quickly, but not before I get another long look.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she demands, cheeks flushed. “Couldn't you wait until I got out?”
I shrug. “You’re going to be my wife in a few days. There’s nothing here I won’t see soon enough.”
Her eyes flash with anger and something hotter. “In your dreams.”
I step closer, inhaling the clean, warm scent of her skin and soap. “Husband and wife sleep together, Calina. They fuck. They share a bed. You should get used to the idea.”
“Not in this arrangement,” she fires back, lifting her chin. “You’re marrying me for my family name. That’s it. You get nothing more from me.”
I stop right in front of her, so close I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat.
I reach out and brush my knuckles slowly down the side of her neck, over her collarbone, tracing the edge of the towel where it meets her skin. Her breath hitches. Her body trembles under my touch.
“Keep telling yourself that,” I murmur, voice low and rough. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
I force myself to turn and walk away before I lose control and take her right there against the bathroom counter. My cock is throbbing, aching to be inside her.
It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to head back. I head to my room for the coldest shower of my fucking life.
Even under the icy water, I can’t stop seeing her naked, wet, and flushed in front of me. I grip my cock, imagining her lips wrapped around it.
I leave the house and head straight to Pantheon headquarters half an hour later. The building is an imposing structure in the heart of Manhattan.
An old neoclassical mansion hidden behind high walls and heavy security. From the outside it looks like any other elite private club for billionaires and old money.
Inside, it’s something far more dangerous: the true seat of power for the elite in our world. A place where Pakhans, cartel leaders, and shadow rulers make decisions that move empires.
I’ve been trying to get through these doors for years.
Today, they finally open.
Ivan Anatolievich, the president, greets me in the private mahogany-paneled meeting room. Adrian Volkov, the vice president, sits beside him with a sour expression.
“Maxim,” Ivan says, smiling. “Congratulations on your engagement. Like I told you before, with the Morozov alliance secured, the board has reconsidered your application. You are now eligible to join the Society.”
Adrian immediately leans forward. “I object. He is unstable. Too controversial. Not fully legitimate. He wasn’t born into the Orlov bloodline. We cannot simply bend the rules because he found a powerful wife.”
Ivan raises a hand, silencing him. “We've already discussed this, Ivan.. Maxim is now connected to the Morozovs. That changes everything. His application is approved.”
Adrian hides his anger poorly, his fingers tightening around his pen until his knuckles turn white.
We sign the documents. Ivan slides the official membership across the table to me.
“You and Calina will attend your first official Society event in two days,” he says. “She handled herself well at the gala. Impressive woman.”
I dislike the way he's taking interest in my fiancée. But I nod instead. “We will be there.”
The moment the meeting ends, I walk out feeling a rare surge of satisfaction.
Dmitri and Viktor are waiting for me outside by the car.
“How did it go?” Viktor asks.
I allow myself a small smile flashing my membership card. “We’re officially in.”
Dmitri’s eyes widen, then he cracks a grin. “Wow… so it really happened. After all these years of that bastard Adrian blocking you.”
Viktor nods. “Adrian looked pissed as hell when stepped out a moment ago. We should be careful. We have no idea what he’ll try next to push you out.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “We stay ready. If he comes for us, we’ll be waiting.”
As we get into the car, I turn to Dmitri. “Did the transfer go smoothly?”
“Yes,” Viktor answers for him. “The donation was anonymous, as always.”
I lean back in my seat, satisfied. That money will go where it’s needed, to the orphanages. The same ones I grew up in. The same ones that kept me alive when no one else gave a damn.
I keep that part of me hidden from almost everyone. Only Viktor and Dmitri know how personal those donations are.
The rest of the world sees the cold, ruthless Pakhan. They don’t need to know about the abandoned boy who still remembers what it felt like to have nothing.