Chapter 2
Max
Frigid rain hits the concrete, the day’s temperature barely above freezing. Chicago’s bad enough in the late fall, but on my trek to the West Coast, I’ve driven straight into a fucking polar vortex.
No snow yet, but that’s what the forecasters in Seattle have predicted.
Trust this city to turn something as manageable as snow into the gloom of nonstop rain that transforms to ice on impact.
Normally, I hate long-distance jobs. Driving for hours on end is a pain in the ass, and I’d rather stay close to home where I can protect Roman.
But this time, I have a damn good reason for traveling.
I get to collect the bitch who’s played my Pakhan for a fool for the past year. Roman ordered me to bring her back alive. I respect that.
I also respect my need to see the brat pay for all the pain she’s caused our family. For all the trouble, the fucking riddles, the deaths.
Maybe after I bring her home tomorrow, he’ll let me kill her. Deep down, I realize the odds of that happening are unlikely. This woman may have betrayed us, but she’s still Roman’s daughter.
That doesn’t change the fact that the witch is yanking us around. Arranging a meeting to hand over the stupid piece of jewelry I brought, only to constantly change the time and location, sometimes to spots that are hundreds of miles away. I’ve given up on trying to figure out her reasons.
The newest place’s Fort Leavenworth. If it weren’t so late, I’d head out that way.
I release a heavy sigh. The glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror sours my already foul mood.
My dark hair hangs limp over my ears. I probably need a haircut. I haven’t shaved today, so my beard is starting to show, lending my face a darker, grimmer quality. Gray bags hover beneath my eyes, contrasting with the icy blue irises staring back at me.
My exhaustion shows.
That’s why I’m stopping to book a room and grab a hot meal. Maybe I’ll also find a bar and order a drink or two. If I’m lucky, I’ll hook up with the first pretty woman I meet. After all, I’ve never had any issues getting laid.
And right now, I could really use some stress relief.
I roll onto the fifth floor of a parking garage in the middle of town. The location’s within walking distance of several hotels.
Killing the engine, I snag my bag from the passenger seat and swing out of the truck. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Rainwater runs down the garage walls in thin trickles, blowing in from the open sides and flowing toward the center drains.
I close the door, and the click of the lock echoes in the concrete space. I scrub a hand over my bleary eyes. Considering my fatigue, maybe I’ll skip the stress relieving activities. Food, a hot shower, and sleep sound pretty fucking fantastic. I adjust the bag on my shoulder and step—
Pain lances the back of my head. The strike propels me forward, and my knees shriek as they slam into concrete.
My hand shoots out and brushes a leather-clad foot.
I lunge for the ankle, the leg, anything to grab and break.
But the appendage has vanished, snatched back before I could secure my grip.
I throw myself against the car next to me as I drag my gaze up from an ankle to a knee, a thigh, and then the shapely hip of a woman lying on her side.
Dressed in all black, she nearly blends in with the roof of the SUV beside me.
The rest of the details filter through my brain as I dodge a heel aimed right at my nose.
Five-eight, maybe five-nine. Athletic build. Lean muscle under tactical pants that hug long legs. A formfitting black jacket over a thin torso.
And holy shit, her face. “Beautiful” doesn’t do her justice.
Striking. Ethereal. Elegantly otherworldly with her pale, almost luminous skin, high cheekbones, and those full red lips pressed into a concentrated line. More of a threat than a smile.
She’s young. Mid-twenties, maybe.
Dark, bottomless eyes stare right through me, cold and glittering in the fluorescent lighting.
White hair the color of frost and sun-bleached bone falls over her shoulder from a high ponytail, the tip soaked and dripping.
Recognition sets in.
Though I’ve only ever seen her in the video she sent Roman, where she admitted her misdeeds and demanded her mother’s locket, I could never forget that hair or face.
A stunning woman. A harbinger of death.
Anika Kozlov.
The Pakhan’s daughter. The one who supposedly died fifteen years ago on Chaos Island. The one who used false evidence to frame Sasha, who forced me to pull the trigger on an innocent young man.
The woman I’m supposed to bring back to Chicago.
I’ve never considered myself lucky, but there’s a first time for everything.
“I heard stories about a sweet little girl. Just look at you now, Nika. All grown up.” I don’t understand why the nickname rolls off my tongue so easily, but I roll with it.
I dodge a flurry of kicks as she lurches and slips along the roof of the vehicle next to mine.
All I can do is duck and weave until I’m finally out of reach of those long legs, and she slides to the floor.
I studied that video for hours, listening to her voice, watching every change of expression. From the way her mood shifted on a dime, I viewed her as psychotic.
Now, staring at the woman who orchestrated this entire mess—her focused gaze, her deadly aim—I wonder if every second was a performance.
“The locket.” Just like in the video, ice laces her tone. “Give it to me.”
Who the fuck does she think she is?
Just because the Pakhan—a devoted and destroyed father—listened to her demands doesn’t mean I will.
That’s why I’m the perfect man for this job.
Not because I will blindly do Roman’s bidding, but because I’ll protect him from himself and his own shattered feelings if necessary.
I switched off my emotions decades ago. I won’t weaken in the face of a woman’s wiles.
I open my mouth, debating what to say. She advances before I make up my mind.
Fast.
My adrenaline spikes, tingling in my limbs and sharpening my concentration. Her roundhouse kick streaks for my ribs in a blur of motion.
I raise my arm to block, but she adjusts mid-strike. Swiveling at the knee, her leg swings up and connects with my shoulder instead. Without my evasive tactic, she would have nailed me in the head.
I absorb the hit, drop my pack, and use the momentum to gain distance. Almost as if she’s reading my mind, she intercepts me. I lurch toward a nearby rusted-out pickup truck, attempting to put a metal barrier between us. She reaches my destination before I do.
How the hell is she this quick?
My hand smacks the truck’s hood as I pivot. A second later, she’s on me, her fist flying at my face.
I duck and throw a low punch at her stomach. Air whizzes over my head, ruffling my hair.
She twists to take the blow on her upper hip rather than center mass. There’s no softness, only hard muscle.
Her smooth, economical movements suggest years of training. Of perfecting violence.
She’s good.
Facing off with someone who’s close to my league really gets my blood pumping.
I feint left, then go right, aiming a jab at her jaw. She evades and counters with a blow to my throat that grazes her knuckles across my Adam’s apple.
Too close. Way too close.
Impressive, Nika.
I grab for her wrist, catch bone, and twist.
Her body follows the motion. Using my own leverage against me, she spins in instead of away. A second later, her elbow comes up, pointed at my face.
I parry with my forearm, pain jarring up to my shoulder as I shove her back. She stumbles just long enough for me to seize the advantage and slam into her.
We hit a concrete pillar, with her back suffering the bulk of the impact. The air blasts from her lungs in a loud oof.
For a half-second, we’re locked together as we exhale in heavy pants. Her heartbeat flutters against my ribs. The heat between us warms the layers of fabric keeping us apart.
In the pause, I breathe in her scent.
Rain and roses. Clean and floral and completely wrong for this moment, this place, this violence.
For a single instant, she derails me.
Which is long enough for my brain to register my body reacting in ways it has no business reacting.
Heat floods through every limb, coiling deep in my stomach as I stare her down. Damn the pain in my shoulder and head. She’s gorgeous and dangerous, and part of me wonders how close I can get to her fire before I get burned.
As her rich brown eyes lock on mine, surprise flickers across her features.
Did she notice my reaction? Does she feel this spark too? This strange, unwanted undercurrent running between us, drawing me toward her like a magnet?
I inch closer, my arm locked against her throat. “What’s the matter, Nika? Do I take your breath away?”
She sucks in air, her eyes flashing with what might be interest. “Screw you.”
Her knee drives up toward my groin.
Guess I need practice reading the room.
I twist to take the hit on my thigh instead, and the impact numbs my leg from hip to big toe.
She uses the opening to break my grip and slide out from between me and the pillar. She follows up with a palm strike to my nose. Blocking, I counter with an elbow meant for her chin.
She dances back.
Literally dances. Even on the wet concrete, Nika is a study in fluidity and control. How the hell does she not slip?
We circle each other again.
“You’re Roman’s Mad Max.” Even though I just rammed her into a concrete pillar hard enough to crack ribs, mockery drips from her words.
My chest twists at the nickname. Not many people are brave enough to call me that to my face.
I dip my chin. “I am. And I’m going to kill you.” I’m bluffing, but she doesn’t know that.
“Try it.”
This time, she doesn’t hesitate.
Just demonstrates raw, savage aggression.
She goes low, like she plans to sweep my legs. I jump back as she transitions and rises into a spinning kick that would’ve taken my head off if I hadn’t ducked.
She doesn’t hold back. Neither do I.
The brutal, almost choreographed tango of violence boils my blood like nothing else.
I snag her jacket and yank her toward me. She uses momentum to drive her fist into my solar plexus. Pain explodes through my chest, locking air in my lungs and loosening my grip.
After she slams a car door into my arm, I kick that same door back toward her. She barely gets her leg out of the way before the door booms shut with a metallic, resounding crash.
She grabs the extended side mirror of a nearby truck and blocks my next punch.
My knuckles slam into the glass.
Fuck me, that’ll leave a mark. “That all you’ve got?”
She rolls her eyes.
As she dodges the mirror I just broke, I catch her with a backhanded fist. Then Nika vaults a car hood, putting the vehicle between us.
Brat. “Hey, you started this fight.” I follow at a slower speed, my leg still half-numb from where she kneed me. “Stop running, Nika.”
“Who said anything about running?”
When I round the car, she glares at me from the other side.
I’m close enough to glimpse the way her lips part as she breathes, how the sweat trickles down her neck despite the frigid air.
My heart races.
There it is again. That magnetic pull between us. Part of me wants to headbutt the shit out of her, but the other half?
I rake my gaze down her body, imagining for a second what it’d be like to bend her over the hood of my truck and fuck the fight right out of her.
The moment shatters when she lunges. We battle on, panting clouds into the cold air.
Because I’m stronger, she’s forced to move when I land a hit. When she strikes, I take the blow and keep coming.
Still, she’s faster, and she uses the environment like an extension of her own body.
Every car, every pillar, every slick surface becomes a weapon or a shield.
She reaches behind her back and produces a knife with a black handle and a six-inch blade that’s serrated on one edge and smooth on the other.
Nika angles the blade up like this isn’t her first rodeo.
The wind continues to spit rain at us from the open sides of the parking garage, water droplets transforming the blade into a liquid silver continuation of her arm.
“Last chance.” She keeps her voice steady, like we’re discussing dinner options. “Give me the locket while you still have a hand to do so.”
I shift my weight. Can I close the gap before she attacks?
How quick is she with that knife?
Either way, I’m not forking the locket over to the woman who destroyed Sasha and terrorized the family. She deserves to pay for her actions.
My fingers twitch. “Come and get it.”
When Nika’s lips curve into a bloodthirsty smile, my dick throbs in response.
At this rate, I can’t decide what my body wants to do more…fuck her or fight her.