9. Sophie
9
SOPHIE
I ’ve been working on decrypting the file for an hour. I lean back and stretch. “Get back to work,” Maxim calls from the other side of the room.
“My back is hurting,” I snap. “And I’m freezing cold.”
His mouth quirks at the corner, the barest hint of a smile. “Cold helps you focus. Learned that in Siberia long ago.”
“Not for me it doesn’t. It slows my fingers down. I need to be warm so I can focus.” I shift the tone in my voice. “Please. Evan’s nowhere near as good as me. We have a head start, trust me.”
He watches me for a moment, his expression flashing something that looks like compassion. Then he turns to Nikolai and speaks in Russian—low, rapid words that I don’t understand but don’t like the sound of. A moment later, Nikolai leaves.
The room is now empty, save for the two of us.
Maxim steps toward me, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on mine. “I admire you,” he says. “You saw me kill two men and you didn’t flinch. You’ve seen death before, correct?”
I shrug. “My mom was a junkie.”
“Mine too. At least we have that in common.”
He moves across the room, the faint sound of his shoes tapping against the marble floor filling the silence. He picks up a remote from the coffee table and flicks on the massive flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
The screen flares to life, bathing the room in soft light, but I don’t look at it—I’m too busy watching him.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he lifts up a blanket and sets it over my shoulders.
“Sit with me,” he says casually, like this is all perfectly normal. “Fresh clothes are on their way. Until then, take a break. You look like you need one.”