Chapter Three
When Lena woke, it was to a ceiling she didn’t recognize. For a moment, she lay perfectly still, staring up at the cracked plaster above her.
A thin line ran across it like a fault line, splitting the surface into uneven halves. The light was wrong too.
It was dim, filtered through what looked like stained curtains, the color dull and greyed, like the day itself had been drained of warmth.
Her body felt slow and heavy. There was a faint ache at the side of her neck, dull but persistent. She frowned, her mind sluggish, trying to piece together how she had gotten here.
She was sitting on a bed, in a room that wasn’t hers. Panic stirred, slow at first, then rising sharply. Lena pushed herself up on her elbows, breath catching as she took in her surroundings.
The room looked really worn, the kind of worn that came from time rather than neglect. The walls were discolored, paint peeling in small patches near the corners.
The furniture was mismatched. There was an old wooden dresser with one crooked drawer, and a chair in the corner with torn upholstery, its stuffing peeking out.
The air smelled faintly of dust and something metallic underneath it.
This wasn’t a home, she realized, but a place people passed through, or hid in. Why did her mind immediately think of that?
Her heart started to pound. Where was she, and how had she ended up here?
Her breath hitched, then the memory came back all at once. Lena recalled the penthouse, the body, the gun, and finally him. Maksim.
Lena sucked in a sharp breath, her chest tightening as panic surged fully awake.
“No!” she whispered.
“Good. You’re awake.” The familiar voice cut cleanly through her spiraling thoughts.
She froze. Slowly, Lena turned her head. Maksim stood near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged in this broken, quiet space. Her pulse spiked.
Everything came rushing back in a violent wave.
The way he had looked at her, and the abrupt way he had decided it was fine to take her and keep her. She curled her fingers into the thin bedsheet.
Her first instinct was to scream at him in anger, but what would that solve?
“What ... what is this place?” she asked, her voice rough.
Maksim pushed himself off the doorframe and stepped into the room.
“My safehouse,” he said simply.
Safe. Yeah, right. The irony twisted in her chest.
“And me?” she demanded, fear sharpening her tone. “What am I doing here?”
His gaze settled on her, steady, unflinching.
“You are my temporary prisoner.” The words were delivered with the same calm precision as everything else he said. There was no hesitation or apology.
Lena stared at him.
“Until when?” she asked, her voice rising despite herself.
“I decide when,” he said, tone cold and final.
Did he think she was just going to accept that answer? Something inside her snapped. She moved before she could think.
Lena swung her legs off the bed and lunged toward the door, adrenaline burning through the lingering haze in her body.
Freedom was just a few steps away, but Lena didn’t make it. Maksim caught her easily, and she’d forgotten the sheer strength of him.
He closed one hand around her arm, the other bracing her before she could slam into the wall. The movement was swift, controlled, practiced.
“Let me go!” she gasped, struggling against him.
“It’s no use,” he said quietly.
She fought anyway. Kicking, twisting, pulling against his grip with everything she had. He didn’t tighten his hold or hurt her.
Maksim simply held her, like he was an immovable and unyielding brick wall, one Lena realized she couldn’t break through.
Her strength burned out quickly, panic eating through her energy faster than she could sustain it. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her body trembling with the effort.
Slowly, inevitably, the fight drained out of her. Maksim didn’t release her immediately. He waited until she sagged slightly in his hold, and her resistance turned into something softer. Defeat.
Only then did he let go. Lena stumbled back a step, her chest heaving. She glared at him, anger flickering weakly beneath the fear.
He watched her like she was something puzzling. Prey, perhaps, or a variable that he didn’t account for. Lena swallowed hard. Fine. If she couldn’t overpower him, she would outlast him.
Lena was a survivor. She survived her dad’s death, even though it devastated her, and she plowed through a shitty job, but it paid the bills. She straightened slightly, forcing her breathing to slow.
“Fine,” she said, the word tasting bitter. “I understand.”
His eyes narrowed just slightly, like he didn’t believe her. Good, because she didn’t want him to. She just needed him to underestimate her.
“I’ll show you around,” he said after a moment.
There wasn’t much to show. The apartment was small, cramped, and carried the same worn-down atmosphere as the bedroom.
A narrow hallway led to a tiny kitchen, a bathroom with flickering light, and the front door was reinforced, she noticed immediately. Maksim gestured toward it.
“I control the lock,” he said.
She frowned. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small device. With a subtle press, there was a quiet mechanical click from the door.
“Magnetic system,” he added. “You cannot open it without this.”
Her stomach dropped. Dang it. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Why did she think it would be?
Then right on cue, her stomach let out a low, traitorous growl.
Lena froze, completely mortified. Maksim flicked his gaze to her midsection, then back to her face.
“I’ll make something,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Food.” The word sounded almost foreign coming from him.
She stared at him as he moved into the kitchen. For a moment, she didn’t follow. Then warped, unwilling curiosity pulled her forward.
She leaned against the doorway, watching him. Lena was trying to understand how someone who had stood over a dead body without blinking could now move through a kitchen like this. It was just so weird, seeing him in a domestic setting.
“Why are you watching me so intently?” he asked without looking at her.
“In case you poison me,” she shot back.
A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face. It softened nothing, but it changed something. He turned on the stove, setting a pot of water to boil.
The movements were precise and economical, like everything else he did. He opened a cupboard, retrieving pasta, then another for a jar of sauce.
Lena watched the flex of muscle beneath his shirt as he moved, the ink at his wrist shifting with each motion. Dangerous, everything about Maksim was dangerous, and yet Lena still couldn’t get over the fact that he was cooking her dinner.
The contradiction made her uneasy. Was this some kind of twisted game for him then? Maybe he did this often, kidnapped women, played house with them, only to end up ... no. Lena’s thoughts were going haywire.
He plated the food once it was done, setting it down on the small table. Then, without a word, he picked up a fork and took a bite. Proof that the food wasn’t poisoned or tampered with.
Lena hesitated for only a second before hunger won. She sat down and ate. The first bite surprised her. It was good, not just edible, but actually delicious.
It was warm, rich, grounding in a way she hadn’t realized she needed. She swallowed, glancing up at him. Lena hated the grin on his face.
“Why did you kill him?” she asked, quickly changing the topic.
Maksim didn’t answer immediately.
“Your client betrayed the Bratva,” he said finally. “My brothers and I decided he had to be made an example to our enemies.”
Her grip on the fork tightened. “And you’re just ... telling me that?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of it unsettled her more than if he had lied.
“Why?”
He looked at her. “Because it does not matter.”
A chill ran down her spine. She hesitated, then pushed anyway.
“You mentioned brothers.”
His gaze sharpened slightly, but he answered.
“We are close. I would do anything for them,” Maksim said. He paused, then continued, “Our father died early.”
Something in his tone shifted, almost imperceptibly. It was like a door that had been shut long ago, was suddenly opened a fraction. Lena studied him, swallowing when he met her stare.
“And you?” Maksim asked. “You have family?”
Her stomach twisted. Suspicion flared immediately. He wanted something. Information, leverage to use against her probably. She might be part of his dangerous world now, but she wasn’t stupid.
“My dad,” she said.
“You and your father were close?” he asked, his gaze lingering on her a second longer than necessary.
Lena tightened her grip slightly around her fork.
“Yes,” she said, more quietly this time. “I always thought that no matter how shitty the world became, at least we had each other.”
Shit. Why did she tell him something so vulnerable? The words had just slipped out by accident.
A flicker of something crossed his expression. It was interest, maybe, or recognition. It was gone too quickly for her to name.
“What about you?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Your father?”
The question hung between them. For a moment, Lena thought he wouldn’t answer. That she had overstepped, that she had asked something she wasn’t meant to.
“He was a cold bastard,” Maksim stated, his tone flat.
Lena blinked, as she hadn’t expected honesty, not like that. Her first instinct was to think, so are you. The thought came sharp and immediate, almost reflexive. Luckily, she didn’t say it.
Hell, she didn’t dare. Instead, she watched him more carefully now, searching for cracks in the armor he wore so effortlessly.
There was nothing obvious. No grief or bitterness openly displayed, merely that same controlled stillness he carried like a second skin. Yet, something lingered beneath it.
“He raised us to be useful,” Maksim continued after a moment, almost absently. “Nothing more.”
Lena’s chest tightened. Maksim was her enemy, and she felt sympathy for him. Useful, not loved, protected, or respected.
She looked down at her plate, appetite fading slightly as the word settled into her. Her father had never been much of anything by the world’s standards.
He wasn’t wealthy, didn’t wield any power or influence, but he made her feel like she was the most important thing in the world to him. The contrast sat heavy in her chest.
“Your father would worry about you then?” he asked.
“No, he’s gone.” She didn’t soften it, or elaborate. Lena didn’t want to give him anything he could use.
Maksim nodded once.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “It must be lonely.”
The words landed strangely. It was not mocking or empty, but as if he really meant his apology.
Lena looked down at her plate, and at the food she was eating in a stranger’s safehouse. It was a reminder that the man across from her could have killed her and didn’t. The question was why?