Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Maxim
I leave my office well past midnight. The city lights blur outside the tinted floor-to-ceiling windows of the office as I gather my things to leave, exhaustion weighing heavy on my shoulders.
I have a lot on my plate, with the new alliance with the Morozovs, my official acceptance into the Society, and the constant, nagging search for the rat inside my own organization.
I still can’t find the bastard who leaked that shipping route. The hijacking cost us millions and three good men. If I can’t find the traitor, that means there’s a hole in my armor. My people aren’t safe. I’m not safe.
The one thing I refuse to do is kill innocent men. The driver I worked on earlier, he was telling the truth. I sent him home to his family with heavy compensation and a warning. If I find out he lied, I’ll make him regret it. But for now, he’s free. I have other sources digging deeper.
I’m tired to the bone.
Another reason I stayed at the office so late tonight is because I’ve been avoiding the woman waiting back at the house.
My fiancée.
This morning’s encounter still has me rattled. The way she felt pressed against me, soft and warm, her body instinctively curling into mine while she slept.
I should have carried her to her own room last night, after she fell asleep on the couch. Instead, she sought me out, pressing her face against my chest, one leg sliding between mine.
I stayed still for a long time, just listening to her breathe. Then I gave in and wrapped my arm around her. It felt… right. Too right.
And this morning? When I woke up hard as steel and she wiggled against me… fuck. I wanted nothing more than to roll her beneath me and sink into her.
The comment about other women was purely to poke at her. I haven’t wanted another woman since the moment I took her. No one else even registers anymore. Only her.
That realization terrifies me.
This was never supposed to be more than a marriage of convenience. An alliance. A way to secure my power. I keep reminding myself of that, over and over. I don’t do love. I don’t need it. Love is weakness.
Yet here I am, thinking about her constantly. Wanting her. Craving the fire in her eyes and the way she challenges me.
I step out of the building into the cool night air, loosening my tie as I head toward my car. Something feels off immediately. My gut twists, that primal instinct I’ve honed over years screams at me.
The parking lot seems too quiet. Eerily so.
Usually, my men are patrolling the perimeter. Tonight, there’s no movement. No familiar silhouettes. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
I reach for the gun tucked at my waistband.
Before my fingers even brush the hilt, pain explodes at the back of my head. A heavy blow sends me stumbling forward. Then they’re on me, four, five, maybe six men pouring out from the shadows like rats.
I roar and fight like a cornered animal.
I slam my elbow into the first attacker’s face, feeling cartilage crunch. I spin and drive my fist into another’s throat, dropping him gasping. A blade slices across my side, but I don't register the pain. I grab the wrist, twist hard until it snaps, and ram my knee into his stomach.
They’re trained, but I’m better. I’ve killed men with my bare hands since I was a teenager. I headbutt one, breaking his nose, then drive a punch into another’s jaw so hard I feel teeth shatter.
But there are too many.
One gets behind me and wraps a thick arm around my throat, choking me. Another punches me in the ribs while a third presses a knife to my side.
“Tell us about The Pantheon,” the one choking me snarls. “Who are the members? What are the rules? Talk, you bastard!”
I realize with a surge of fury what this is.
Some old-fashioned, archaic initiation bullshit. They’re testing me. Trying to see if I’ll break under pressure before they let me fully in.
I hate this outdated shit. This isn’t the fucking dark ages. Without any shadow of doubt, I know this is Adrian’s doing.
Rage explodes through me. I slam my head back into the man’s face, once, twice, until his grip loosens. I rip the hidden gun from my waistband and put a bullet in his head. Blood sprays hot across my face as he collapses gurgling.
I turn on the rest like a demon.
I shoot one in the eye, then aim for his neck. I break another’s arm and put a bullet in his heart. The last two come at me together. I dodge, grab one by the hair, and slit his throat with his own knife, while kicking the other in the knee, causing him to fall.
In less than a minute, five bodies lie dead or dying around me.
Only one man remains, crawling backward, eyes wide with terror.
I stand over him, chest heaving, covered in blood, blade dripping in my hand.
“Adrian sent you right?” I growl, voice low and lethal.
He nods frantically. “Please… don't kill me…” He whimpers.
I grab him by the collar and yank him up. He’s whimpering, eyes wide with terror as blood drips down his face.
“The only reason you’re leaving here alive,” I growl, voice low and lethal, “is so you can deliver this message to Adrian. Tell him I’m disappointed. If this pathetic attempt is his best effort to keep me out of the Society, he needs to do much better.”
I shove him away. He stumbles, nearly falls, then scrambles into the darkness like the rat he is.
I glance down at the deep cut across my abs. It burns like hell, blood soaking through my shirt. I press my hand against it and head to my car. Before I drive off, I call Viktor.
“Send a cleanup crew to the office. There’s a mess outside, some of our friends came visiting and they made a huge mess.”
Viktor’s voice sharpens with concern. “On it. The office is due for maintenance anyway.”
He knows we can't discuss details on the phone except when using a burner phone, and I'm currently calling him from my main line.
“Good. Let me know when it's done.”
I hang up looking down at my bleeding side, and let out a low chuckle. It’ll take more than a bunch of idiots to take me down. It's a good thing Adrian keeps underestimating me.
One thing I've learned in this world is that being underestimated is good, it gives you the upper hand.
When people think you're weak, they make mistakes. They fail to prepare for what you’re truly capable of. And by the time they realize they’ve misjudged you, it’s already too late.
Adrian just made a huge mistake. And he's bound to make more.
When I finally pull up to the estate and step out, more blood seeps through my shirt and I press my hand against it. I walk into the living room, expecting silence.
Instead, I find my little wrecking ball of a fiancée waiting for me.
The moment Calina sees me, she explodes.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she snaps, storming toward me. “Why did you have my things moved into your bedroom without even asking me? We had an agreement! You said you wouldn’t touch me until after the wedding.
“And even then, I told you I’m not sleeping with you! And now you just decide to move all my stuff in there like I have no say? The maids wouldn’t even move it back because they’re terrified of you. What kind of man are you?”
She keeps going, eyes blazing, cheeks flushed with anger, hands gesturing wildly. She’s magnificent like this, all fire and fury, no fear.
Despite the burning pain in my side and the blood soaking my shirt, I can’t help it.
I smile.
A real, slow smile.
She’s standing there yelling at me in my own house, completely unafraid, and all I can think about is how fucking beautiful she looks when she’s mad. How alive. How mine.
“As much as I’d love to have this conversation with you right now,” I say, voice low, “this isn’t the time.”
But Calina doesn’t stop. She keeps rattling on about how we are going to have this conversation now. Then her gaze drops to my side, where my arm is pressed against the wound. Her words cut off mid-sentence.
Her eyes widen. “Is that… blood?”
I glance down at my blood-stained hand and the dark wet patch on my shirt. “Yeah.”
Her face changes instantly. “Is it yours?”
I look at it again, pressing my hand tighter against the cut. “Most certainly feels like it is.”
Before I can say anything else, she surprises the hell out of me by rushing to my side, eyes wide with genuine concern. “What happened? Is it bad? How did it happen? You need to have it checked right now—”
“There’s no need to act all concerned and pretend like you care,” I mutter, even as a strange warmth spreads through my chest.
She smacks my arm, right above the wound and I hiss through my teeth.
“I’m not pretending, you dick head!” she snaps. “We need to look at that cut. Now.”
“Did you just call me a dick head?”
“Yes. And you're proving me right by standing there and losing more blood, instead of attending to your wound."
I stare at her for a second, then the corner of my mouth twitches. “Well… there’s no one else around. So unless you’re willing to play nurse, you should probably leave me alone.”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Get your grumpy ass upstairs.”
A low chuckle escapes me. “Sassy nurse. I like it.”
I let her lead me upstairs, her small hand wrapped around my wrist like she’s afraid I’ll collapse if she lets go.
The concern on her face does something dangerous to me. No one has ever looked at me like that.
Once we’re in my bedroom, she points to one of the chairs. “Sit.”
I obey. “First aid kit is in the left bottom shelf in the bathroom.
I watch as she hurries into the bathroom and comes back with the first aid kit. I unbutton my shirt and peel it off, revealing the long gash across my ribs. It’s not deep, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly.
She kneels between my legs and starts cleaning the wound with careful, steady hands. I expected her to be squeamish around blood, but she’s focused, almost clinical.
“Have you done this before?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She gives me a dry look, dabbing antiseptic on the cut. “I have two brothers. What do you think?”
This has me shutting up and watching her work. Every time the antiseptic touches the wound, she winces and murmurs, “Sorry… does it hurt? I can get you some alcohol or something to numb it—”
“Go on,” I say, voice low. “It’s fine.”
The truth is, the sting barely registers. Watching her take care of me, is a better painkiller than anything she could give me. No one has ever done this for me without being paid. No one has ever looked after me simply because they wanted to.
She doesn’t have to be here. She hates me. She’s made that very clear. Yet here she is, kneeling between my legs, tending to my wound.
The position isn’t lost on me. Her face is so close to my lap, her breath warm against my skin. My cock twitches at the sight, and I have to force myself to stay still.
She finishes cleaning it, then reaches for the waterproof bandage I pointed out earlier. Her fingers brush my skin as she smooths it over the cut, and I feel that familiar electric spark shoot through me.
“All done,” she says softly.
“Thanks.”
She looks up at me, those blue-gray eyes searching my face. “Do you want to tell me why you came home with a cut on your ribs?”
I shake my head slowly, never breaking eye contact.
We fall into silence, staring at each other. The air grows thick, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
Neither of us looks away. It becomes a quiet battle of wills, and I win. She’s the first to break, letting out a shaky breath, her lips slightly parted.
“What’s going on in your head?” she whispers. “What are you thinking right now?”
My eyes drop to her mouth, then back up. I smirk down at her, still kneeling between my legs, her hands resting lightly on my thighs.
“Why would I want to tell you what I’m thinking?” I murmur.
She tilts her head. “A penny for your thoughts?”
“I don’t see a penny.”
She rolls her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. Your thoughts are worth more than a penny. Happy?”
I lean forward slightly, voice dropping. “Very.”
She holds my gaze, cheeks still flushed. “I’d like to collect on my debt. You said I could ask for anything.”
I watch her for a long moment. “Alright,” I say, my voice low and rough. “You want to know what I’m thinking?”
She nods.
I let my eyes drag slowly down her body, then back up to her face. “I’m thinking about how badly I want to kiss you right now. How I want to grab you by the hair, tilt your head back, and fuck your mouth with my tongue until you’re moaning into me.
“I want to rip that tank top off and suck on your tits until your nipples are sore and you’re begging. I want to spread your legs wide, bury my face between them, and eat your pussy until you’re shaking and soaking my tongue.
“Then I want to bend you over this chair and fuck you so deep and so hard you feel me for days. I want to fill you up, make you take every inch, and hear you scream my name when you come all over my cock.”
Her lips part on a sharp gasp. Her pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling faster. I expect her to bolt. To slap me. To call me a disgusting bastard and run.
She doesn’t move.
She stays right there on her knees between my legs, staring up at me with flushed cheeks and parted lips, looking equal parts shocked and… aroused.
“Wow,” she breathes, voice barely audible.
“Yeah, wow.” I lean in closer, my mouth inches from hers. “Unless you want me to do all those things to you right now… you’d better stand up and leave.”
She doesn’t move.
We stare at each other in charged silence. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then back up. There’s a silent plea in them, or maybe I’m imagining it because I want it so fucking badly.
I can’t hold back anymore.
Like a magnet drawn to iron, I slowly close the distance and kiss her.
The moment my lips touch hers, something inside me ignites. She tastes like heat and sweetness. I groan against her mouth, one hand sliding into her hair as I deepen the kiss, hungry and possessive.
She doesn’t pull away. She kisses me back.