Page 34 of Crowned

“You can have one.”

He tries to pour wine into my glass, but I cover it with my hand. “Honestly, I’m not drinking these days.”

“Probably a good idea. You’ve filled out since I last saw you.”

He laughs, and the smile drops from my face. Commenting on a woman’s weight, what a charmer. We knew each other as children, and I remember how he once had a meltdown over losing a game of snap. He probably hasn’t changed much.

Maxim does most of the talking over dinner, and he doesn’t seem to notice or care that I’m giving monosyllabic responses to everything he’s saying. When I do manage to slip in a question or two to try and steer him in a useful direction, he either gives me a vague response or ignores me completely.

Our evening finishes and I’ve discovered no leverage over Maxim or thought of any way to persuade him to keep my presence here a secret.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offers, and leads me down a narrow side street. I get into his car with the vague hope that I might still discover something useful.

Instead of starting the engine, though, he leans over the handbrake and his mouth lands clumsily on mine. I wince and try to turn my head away, but he clamps his hand on the back of my neck. Despite my endless fantasies about Russian men, I feel no attraction to Maxim. Negative attraction to Maxim. The thought of sleeping with him makes me want to rip my flesh off with my nails.

I tear my lips from his, unable to hide my disgust. “Never mind. Goodnight.”

But as I reach for the door handle, he grabs me and pulls me back. “Come on, Lilia. We’re miles from your father and mine. We can have a little fun.”

How stupid does a man have to be to imagine there is any chemistry between us? As he tugs at my dress, I realize Maxim either doesn’t believe I couldn’t be attracted to him, or he just doesn’t care.

Before I know what’s happening, Maxim’s found the lever on my seat and it jolts backward, laying me flat with it. My eyes open wide in panic as memories cascade through my mind. Ivan pawing at me. Screwing me while I gritted my teeth and cried. Discarding me on the sheets without a word.

“Stop it. Don’t.” But my cries fall on deaf ears as I fight to push him off me.

Maxim grabs my waist to pull him closer and he feels my swollen stomach. “What the fuck? Are you pregnant?”

Suddenly, the pressure of his body looming over me is gone, and I breathe a sigh of relief. All I want now is to go home, so I reach for the door handle once more.

But Maxim grabs hold of my wrist. “What the hell is this, Lilia? Did you think you could trap me into marriage while I raise another man’s bastard?”

My eyes open wide with surprise. “I’m five and a half months pregnant. How stupid would you have to be to believe this child is yours?”

But Maxim isn’t listening to me. He’s staring at my body with utter revulsion, as if he’s seeing all his dearest plans go up in smoke. He must have become attached to the idea of marrying into the Brazhensky family, and now I’ve ruined it.

His furious gaze snaps to mine. “Did you just call me stupid, you fucking whore?”

Without waiting for my answer, he grabs me again, pushing me down against the seat and tearing at my clothes. I fight him with everything I have, clawing at his hands and trying to knee him in the balls. I’m not winning. Maxim is. He reaches beneath my dress and rips my underwear off with a tearing sound. He reaches down and fumbles with his pants and the sight of his ugly, angry-looking penis makes my blood turn cold.

Oh, no.

Oh,fuck.

Every time that Ivan shoved himself painfully, cruelly inside me comes flooding back. His elbow jabs my belly and fierce anger and self-protection rise up in my chest. My baby. This man will not harm my unborn child. I won’t lose another one. I fumble around by the door for my handbag, desperately trying to hold Maxim off as I shriek, “Don’t fucking touch me! I’m warning you.”

Maxim’s face is clenched in fury. He grabs hold of my legs and forces them open just as I find what I’m looking for.

A weapon.

These days I’m never without a weapon, and my fingers close on cold steel. I lift my fist and a long, thin dagger flashes in the dim light.

“I said get off me, Ivan.” I plunge the stiletto into the side of his neck, and his eyes go wide. He gasps, and it turns into a gurgle as I yank the dagger out again. Blood sprays all over me, the interior of the car, the windshield.

He scrabbles at the side of his neck, fear and confusion making his eyes comically wide. Nothing about this situation is funny, but hysterical laughter bubbles up my throat as I watch him topple onto me in slow motion. I’m shaking with laughter as he collapses over me, blood trickling down my face.

I just killed a man.

Maxim is an unresponsive weight on me, and suddenly everything is as still as a grave. Blood trickles from his throat and down over my chest. My laugh turns into a sob.

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