Chapter 20
Nika
Morning arrives with gray skies and the lingering scent of roses. Instead of calming me like usual, the floral fragrance reminds me of last night.
I always suspected Max was a psychopath, but I didn’t realize he was this fucking crazy.
One moment we were having fun in the gym, and next thing I knew, he chained me to the bed again, giving me a peep show while he showered. I barely had time to process the marks on his body before he reappeared, sprinkling crushed rose petals on my bed.
His scars paint the portrait of an abused child who grew up to be a Bratva weapon.
Now I understand how Max became Max. They tortured him into this shape. Molded him into a monster, a killing machine who sees everyone other than his owner as an enemy.
I’ve never experienced anything like I have with Max. Up until now, my life has been simple. Fueled by cold rage I harbored for my father, revenge drove my every action.
Sympathizing with Max’s pain doesn’t mean I’ll let him win.
I need to get a grip and concentrate. The discipline Dimitri drilled into me for most of my life is still present, waiting for me to reclaim it.
Which means setting aside the heavy emotions and, more importantly, putting a lid on the scalding-hot cauldron of lust Max has stoked for the last week. Last night, in the gym, I would have kissed him if he hadn’t panicked and shoved me off.
Who even knows what else would have happened.
After spending almost the entire night thinking, I know what I should do.
Max sleeps on the couch, his right foot hanging off the edge just like last night. That position won’t do his ankle any favors.
He shivers in his slumber, small tremors quaking his body every few minutes. He’s yet to grab a blanket or pillow, still bedding down with his parka. I’m not about to tell him where the linen closet is if he hasn’t found it yet.
Every night, the fire burns down to nothing. Currently, it’s not even producing enough heat to ward off the chill creeping in from outside.
Good thing my blankets are nice and thick. By using my teeth, I can pull them up over my shoulders.
Max might not be too exhausted to spar with me, but every bad night costs him. The toll the hike and injuries took on his body is adding up. Gray shades his skin, and dark circles hang under his eyes. His hands clench and open until he wakes with a jerk and spots me staring.
I don’t shift away.
Without a word, he rises and limps over to the fireplace. As he crouches, his right ankle flexes outward under his weight. Somehow, he manages to maintain the pose as he stacks the last of the dry wood onto the fire.
I don’t speak as he peers out the windows. After days of constant accumulation, the snow has finally tapered off. A vicious wind howls outside the house, reshaping the snow drifts.
He knows what needs to happen…he just doesn’t want to do it.
I don’t blame him, but that doesn’t stop me from poking the bear. “The axe is mounted by the back door. There’s more uncut wood next to the driveway.”
Without looking at me, he straightens. I catch his wince when the weight hits his bad ankle. Squaring his shoulders, he hobbles over to his winter gear, suits up, and vanishes.
I twist, tugging at my restraints as I settle into my warm bed to wait.
Max’s outline forms a dark shape on the other side of the snow-covered window as he trudges to the woodpile. Then comes a constant plunk from outside.
That’s right. Wear yourself out so I can get out of here.
At one point, his silhouette stumbles and drops to one knee. For the first time since he broke into my sanctuary, I have a new urge.
Not to kill him or screw him, but to help him.
To pull him up out of the snow and get him inside so he can recover from the cold and exhaustion.
That new instinct terrifies me more than anything he’s done to me, more than my urge to jump him and climb him like a tree. This impulse to care means I’m starting to view him as more than my enemy.
I absolutely cannot allow that to happen. Everything I’ve worked for these past fifteen years has come to this.
But…struggling is one thing, and collapsing is another.
If anyone’s going to take him down, I want it to be me. Not Mother Nature. That bitch gets enough deaths every year.
Max gets up again, positions another log, and splits it. Then the next one. And the next. He chops for what feels like hours.
I wait here—because I can’t do anything else—with my ears perked.
Finally, the garage door opens, followed by a heavy drag.
Is he limping?
Pushing the covers down, I hold my breath and lean as close as I can to the door.
After a squelch of wet boots and the chirp of rubber on tile, he’s in view.
Spattered in snow, angling to one side, Max tugs a blanket folded in half and filled with wet, chopped wood. He staggers and nearly collapses twice before he can set his burden down.
When he does, ice- and snow-covered wood spills out in front of the fireplace. It would have been easier to bring the cumbersome load in through the front door. Considering he didn’t, I suspect he replenished the garage’s stash before coming in with this bit.
He takes off his snow gear, laying each piece out the same way as before.
Only then does he sit on the couch with a slight grunt, his face raw from the wind and red and white in patches. “Why in the fuck do you live up here?”
I bite my lip to suppress my laugh. “I like being alone.”
“But you’re not alone.” He jerks his chin toward the hall and the other bedroom. “Tell me about Dimitri.”
Nope. Not going there. Dimitri is my lifeline, my trump card. If I can’t overpower or outsmart Max before the snow melts, Dimitri will help get me out of this.
I’ve got to shift Max’s focus, to keep him here in the present. “Max, you’re burning out. You can’t continue like this. Just give me the locket and go. It’ll be like we never met.”
He gives a short, guttural chuckle while tossing a few logs on the fire. The wet wood sputters and steams, but flames ignite soon enough.
“Face it. You’re shaking. You’re weak. You need to rest.” Once he finally passes out, completely, I can escape. If I work on the zip ties long enough, they’ll break. Then I can steal the handcuff keys from Max, grab the set to my truck, and get to my vehicle.
But Max doesn’t yawn or stretch. Doesn’t show any sign of softening or flagging.
Instead, his expression hardens as he narrows those icy eyes. “Weak? No, Nika. I’m just tired of your bullshit.”
He stalks to the bed.
I try to scramble back, but I have nowhere to go.
Max puts one knee on the mattress and hunches forward, encroaching on my personal space. He pulls a gun from behind his back and waves it near my cheek.
I grimace and lean away. “Congratulations. You have another gun.”
“This one isn’t mine. I got this perfectly cleaned and maintained Russian Makarov from a locked drawer in your comms room.” His eyes bore through me with his typical cold intensity. “Another lie, Nika. You told me you didn’t have guns.”
What’s he talking about? “I don’t have any guns.”
I’ve never even trained with guns. What’s the point of having a weapon I don’t know how to use?
He taps the barrel against my forehead. “Someone does.”
Dimitri…but…why would he? When we first moved into this house, I specifically said no firearms. Having them would prove too risky.
Protection…
That has to be the real reason. After all, Dimitri knows how to use guns. Despite my insistence on going after Roman, Dimitri’s dedicated his life to protecting me.
The gun is just backup. Just insurance in case the worst-case scenario happened. In case someone found the house before I was ready.
But why wouldn’t he tell me?
“Now, Nika.” Max’s address pierces through my spiraling thoughts, his voice low and lethal. “It’s question and answer time.”