Chapter 9
Max
Reality crashes back with the force of a slap to the face.
My head throbs twice for every heartbeat. A sticky, metallic taste coats the inside of my mouth. I want to rinse both that and the thick feeling on my lips, but I can’t move.
When I try to lift my arms, a cool, thin something bites into my wrists. Not rope or cable ties, but plastic-y.
Opening my eyes, I spot three broken lamps on the floor. All without their cords.
Fuck.
I’m propped up in a dining chair, the stiff wood digging into my back whenever I shift, my hands strapped to the chair’s arms.
I’m also still in the damn suit with the top two buttons of my shirt popped open, baring my chest like I’m some kind of frat boy on spring break. At least I’m still wearing pants.
Silent rage consumes me as I envision a dozen satisfying ways for retribution.
When I raise my head, the world tilts and wobbles. The wrecked penthouse suite swims into focus through a haze of rainbow streamers and black dots. My throbbing eyes burn with the arc of brightness.
In the maelstrom, a ghost appears. Pale skin, dark eyes, white hair, and black cocktail dress form a striking contrast against the gray paisley chair she occupies like a throne.
“You’re awake.” She rises and begins to pace.
I test my bindings. The knots are firm, but all appliance cords will break if you work them long enough. They’re just twisted copper wire.
As she wanders behind me, I stretch my feet up and rotate my ankles, arching against those restraints too. She’s thorough but clearly still new to this.
As long as she wastes time, I’ll be fine.
She completes her circuit and halts in front of me. “You were out for so long, I was starting to worry I miscalculated the dosage. I suppose I did overestimate your size. In the stories, Mad Max sounds larger than life. But you’re just a man.”
“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes, regretting the action instantly when my head throbs. “Add that to the list of your attributes.”
She doesn’t flinch. “It was a fast-acting but temporary sedative. You should be fully functional soon enough. Though I suspect the headache will linger.”
I stay quiet, watching her while subtly working my hands and ankles.
She regards me with a cool and calm expression, but the clenched fists at her sides expose her frustration. “I don’t actually want to kill you, Max, but I will if you make me. Tell me where the locket is. I’ll take it, leave, and you can go back to your life.”
“You think I believe that?” I bark a laugh and regret that too. “It’s not that simple.”
“It can be.” Anger flickers across her features, and her voice hardens. “The locket, Max. Where is it?”
I lean back and flash her a dark smile. “You really want it? It’s down my pants.”
She stares, her lips pressed in a thin line. I can see the wheels spinning in her head.
Then she inches forward, close enough that I can smell her again. Roses and rain. A scent that’s uniquely her, and the one my body has started to recognize and respond to despite the circumstances.
She drops to her knees, which puts her face level with my groin, and places her hands on my thighs. The higher she drags her palms up my muscles, the tenser I get.
Heat shoots straight through me even though I know—I fucking know—this isn’t what it seems.
That doesn’t stop my caveman brain from jumping around screaming “ooga ooga” like I just won the reproduction lottery.
She’s not shy about touching me. She roams methodically, her slender fingers tracing over every inch of my leg.
My breath stutters. I can’t stop the involuntary response as her hands travel higher, her fingers brushing the inside of my thighs as she nears—
Her thumbs graze over me through my pants, the contact instant and electric. Blood rushes south, my cock hardening despite my fury. The hatred, bloodlust, and aggravation should provide some kind of protection and bolster my ability to manage my physical reactions.
But I’m only human.
That loss of control presses against the fly of my pants, straining toward her hands, getting harder under her touch. Her expression smooths into one of satisfaction.
Her thumb makes a single, deliberate stroke along the length of my erection through the fabric. Slow and controlled, so I’m aware of every millimeter of her contact.
Then she looks up and meets my eyes, a flush crawling up her neck and into her cheeks. “Big talk when there’s nothing of worth in there.” She jerks her hand back and rises. “No locket. You lied to me. Again.”
“Fuck you.” I want to kill her more than I’ve ever wanted to kill anyone. I’m also more aroused than I’ve been in years. And I can’t do anything about either of those urges.
The combination drives me wild.
But I’m patient. I know how to bide my time.
She paces again, that same measured circuit around my chair, but I recognize the agitation in her gait. She’s not as certain as she was, though I’m not sure what’s changed.
I can’t figure her out.
Not with this impossible-to-ignore sexual tension crackling between us.
“You know what I find fascinating?” She’s behind me now, her voice creeping along the back of my neck.
“You act like you’re the victim here. Like I’ve committed these unforgivable sins.
But you work for a crime family, Max. You destroy people because Roman tells you to.
So forgive me if I don’t feel particularly guilty about giving you a taste of your own medicine. ”
“That’s different.” I shrug as a way to test how much slack I’ve got. Still not enough to do anything.
“How?”
“I don’t pretend to be what I’m not. I don’t hide my thirst for revenge. I know exactly what I am.”
She comes around to study me, her face pinched with what might be pity. “And what are you, Max?”
“A weapon.” The truth isn’t something new to me or anything to hide. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“How tragic.” She sits and clutches her chest with both hands. “The self-aware monster. Very literary.”
If she wants to act like a child, I’ll treat her like one. “Better than the deluded princess playing at vengeance because Daddy hurt her feelings.”
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not deluded. I’m patient. And I’m going to destroy Roman Kozlov piece by piece until there’s nothing left of his empire.”
“By framing innocent men? Manipulating civilians? By turning the family against itself? Killing people who never did you wrong?” I let the accusation hang in the air. “Real heroic, Nika.”
“I don’t know why you’re so angry at me.” She exudes genuine curiosity as she picks at a loose thread on the chair cushion.
I stare across the space that separates us. Her response stokes the rage curling in my chest. “Sasha is dead because of you.”
Her attention snaps back to mine. Fire burns in that gaze, breaking through her ice princess exterior.
“You’re blaming me because your family’s imploding?
He’s dead because of you. You shot him in the face, then twice more in the chest. Not me.
You ensured he was dead, all to protect your backstabbing Pakhan. ”
I lunge for her.
The chair legs scrape against the floor, but the cords hold fast and keep me firmly bound. Unable to free myself, I replay her words in my head.
She knows exactly how many times I shot Sasha. Even knows the placement of the bullets.
She couldn’t guess that.
Sasha died on the compound grounds. We buried him within a day. No one outside the Bratva should even know he’s dead, let alone who killed him and how it happened.
Who told her?
Who’s feeding her information?
She has to have a source close enough to the inner circle to know details that should be locked down.
“I didn’t create anything that didn’t already exist.” Her voice grows deceptively soft. “I just gave a little push, and the Bratva turned on itself like I knew it would.”
The words hit harder than they should, because she’s not wrong. A stable house doesn’t crumble from a strong wind.
She may be the storm, but our home started collapsing because the foundations were already weak.
Ever since MJ died, Roman’s been losing it, little by little.
And if your leader starts to crack…
I force down the thought. I can’t let her get into my head. “You framed Sasha.”
“Framed?” She frowns. “Framed him for what? It’s not my fault your Pakhan overreacted and turned on one of his own men. I simply showed you all your true colors under pressure.”
She’s placing all the blame on Roman, an M.O. that I can use to my advantage.
“You think you’re so much better than Roman.” I toss hair out of my eyes and shift my bound wrists. “But you used innocent people too. Chloe. Jordan. Paige. Treated them all like pawns to get back at your father.”
Her expression changes. A subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth, a flinch of her eyes.
Oh, she doesn’t like that at all.
Thankfully, those women are fine now. Better than fine, somehow.
Though the fact that they all hooked up with Kozlov men still confuses the hell out of me.
Chloe, Kolya’s little teacher, is practically married into the family.
Kirill Khitrenko’s woman, Jordan, swings by every week to do yoga with Roman’s niece Valeria.
And Vanya and Paige are disgustingly in love.
All their happy endings are bizarre. Incomprehensible.
But they’re also a pressure point.
“You dragged each of them into our world. They were hunted. Kidnapped. Tortured. Had their lives destroyed because you chose them as clues in your sick game. That’s Roman’s playbook.
” Her shoulders straighten when she spots the smirk spreading over my lips.
“You’re his fucking daughter all right, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. ”