22. Maxim
22
MAXIM
I van is beside me in my SUV, Dmitri in the car behind. More men follow in two other vehicles. All in the correct formation, as it should be.
When we arrive, the air is thick with the smell of oil. The warehouses loom up before us, their windows dark and covered in decades of filth.
Ivan taps my shoulder, pointing to a squat, dilapidated building at the edge of the lot. “There. Lights just flicked off.”
“Perfect,” I mutter, my grip tightening on my gun as I climb out. “They know we’re coming.”
We move in silence. My men fan out, their movements precise and practiced. I lead the way, my cane a steady rhythm against the ground as we approach the entrance.
The moment we step inside the warehouse a shot rings out. It echoes like a thunderclap, splitting the silence and sending my instincts into overdrive.
“Ambush!” I shout, diving behind a stack of wooden pallets as more bullets rip through the air, shattering crates and sending splinters flying.
The darkness is disorienting, broken only by the sporadic flashes of muzzle fire. We spread out, taking cover behind machinery and rusting metal beams.
“Move forward!” I bark, signaling two of my men to flank the shooters.
The muzzle flash ahead gives me a target. I raise my gun and fire, the shot landing square in a man’s chest. He drops with a strangled cry.
The air grows thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the metallic tang of blood. I move swiftly, cane in one hand, gun in the other.
A shadow shifts to my left. I pivot just as a man lunges at me from behind a stack of crates, a knife glinting in his hand.
He’s fast, but I’m faster. I sidestep, hooking my cane around his wrist and twisting sharply. The knife clatters to the floor as he stumbles, and I follow up with a brutal elbow to his temple. He crumples, unconscious before he hits the ground.
Another man charges from my right, this one wielding a crowbar. He swings, I duck, the bar whistling past my ear. I retaliate with a swift strike to his knee with my cane. He howls in pain, dropping the weapon, and I finish him with a punch to the jaw that sends him sprawling.
“Maxim, watch out!” Ivan’s warning comes too late.
I hear the shot before I feel it—a sharp crack. The bullet grazes my side, and the pain is immediate, white-hot and searing.
I stagger, pressing a hand to the wound as blood seeps through my shirt. The pain slows me down, but it doesn’t stop me. I grit my teeth and push forward.
Another man appears in front of me, his gun raised. I fire first, the recoil biting into my shoulder, and he goes down.
The room feels like it’s closing in, the noise deafening, but my focus remains sharp. I spot Dmitri to my left, taking out one of Marco’s men with a clean shot.
“Push them back!” I shout, rallying the men.
I advance, my movements calculated but slower now, each step sending a jolt of pain through my side.
A figure charges at me from the shadows—a hulking man with fists like hammers. I don’t have time to aim my gun, so I swing my cane instead, the weighted tip connecting with his ribs. He grunts but doesn’t go down, grabbing the cane and yanking it hard.
For a moment, we grapple. I twist the cane free and use the momentum to bring the handle down on the back of his neck. He collapses with a thud, but not before landing a glancing blow to my ribs that makes my vision swim.
The fight rages on, but the tide is turning. Our men press forward, their gunfire relentless, forcing Marco’s men to retreat.
A final shooter appears on a catwalk above, taking aim at Ivan. I spot him just in time and fire, the bullet catching him in the shoulder. He stumbles, dropping his weapon, and crashes through the railing to the floor below.
As the last echoes of gunfire fade, I lower my weapon, my breathing labored. My side throbs, the pain a constant reminder of the bullet that came too close.
Ivan appears at my side, his face tight with concern. “You’re bleeding.”
“Just a scratch,” I say through gritted teeth, though the warmth of blood seeping through my shirt tells me otherwise.
“Marco?” Dmitri asks, his voice sharp as he steps into view.
I shake my head. “Not here.”
Dmitri curses under his breath, but I don’t have the energy to respond. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the pain is starting to settle in.
We make our way back to the SUVs, the tension still heavy in the air. As I slide into the passenger seat, I press a hand to my side, wincing at the sharp sting.
Ivan glances at me, his brow furrowed. “You need that stitched up.”
“What I need to do is find that cunt and kill him,” I reply, leaning back against the seat and letting out a long slow breath of irritation. Twice I should have had him. Twice, I failed. It must not happen again.
The second I walk through the door, Veronica calls out. “Maxim!”
I glance up to see her standing at the base of the stairs, her wide eyes fixed on the blood staining my shirt. Her expression flickers between panic and anger. “What happened?”
She cares about me.
“I’m fine,” I say, waving her off. But the wince that follows when I shift my weight gives me away.
Her footsteps are quick as she rushes toward me. “Fine? You’re bleeding, Maxim! That’s not fine.”
I shrug, leaning slightly against the wall. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Don’t lie,” she snaps, slipping her arm around me before I can stop her. “Come on, you’re sitting down, and I’m patching you up. No arguments.”
She steers me toward the stairs with surprising force. “You’re bossy when you’re worried, you know that?”
“And you’re stubborn when you’re hurt,” she shoots back, her grip tightening on my arm. “Where’s a first aid kit?”
“My room.”
By the time we make it to my bedroom, the adrenaline is wearing off, and the sting of the wound sharpens. I lower myself onto the edge of the bed with a groan, my fingers brushing the blood-soaked fabric of my shirt.
“Take it off,” she orders, already reaching for the first aid kit on the nightstand.
I arch an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. “If you wanted to see me shirtless, Veronica, you could’ve just asked.”
She doesn’t even pause, her hands on her hips as she glares at me. “Cute. Now take it off before I cut it off.”
I chuckle, but the sound fades as I peel the shirt off, exposing the graze near my ribs. Her sharp intake of breath draws my attention.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I say, watching her closely.
Her hands tremble slightly as she kneels in front of me, her fingers hovering over the wound. “You could’ve been killed.”
“But I wasn’t,” I counter, smirking. “See? Everything’s fine.”
She shoots me a glare that could melt steel. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Only the important things.”
As she cleans the wound, her touch is careful but firm, and I find myself watching her more than I should. Her hair falls over her face, and her lips press into a tight line, her focus entirely on me.
“You’re wasting your concern on me,” I say after a moment. “I can do this myself.”
She glances up, her eyes blazing. “Don’t flatter yourself, Maxim. You’re bleeding all over the place, and someone has to stop it. You should have gone to hospital.”
“They’d have asked too many questions.”
She finishes bandaging me, her hands still shaking slightly.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she mutters, sitting back on her heels.
“Doing what?”
“Putting yourself in danger. Not for me. I know you want him dead. I do too, but not if it costs you your life.”
I lean forward, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t pull away.
“Listen to me,” I say. “You’re worth the risk, Veronica. Every damn bit of it. Marco won’t stop until someone stops him. And I’m not going to let him hurt you. Ever.”
Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching as she stares at me. “Why?” she whispers. “Why would you risk everything for me?”
“Because you’re mine,” I say without hesitation. The words come out rough but they feel right.
Her cheeks flush, and she blinks rapidly, trying to mask whatever emotion is flashing across her face. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”
“So don’t say anything.”
She hesitates, then sits beside me on the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “You should rest,” she says, her voice shaky.
I nod, leaning back against the headboard. “So should you.” I take her hand in mine and she shuffles up, leaning against my side. I kiss her forehead, letting my eyes close. “Thank you for stitching me back up.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies. “I mean it though, don’t go getting yourself killed. Listen to your wife, she knows what she’s talking about.” She scowls at me. “Hang on.”
“What?”
“You have a medical team on standby to deal with me. Why not go to them to get stitched up if you don’t like hospitals?”
I wink. “Maybe because I wanted to check out my wife’s sewing skills.”