Page 20 of Maximus

She remembered. “How do you know so much about art?”

There was a long pause, so long she turned back over, audibly hissing at the effort. “How?”

He tapped his head. “I can become what or whoever I need to become. My intellect is said to be off the charts. If I need to become a specific entity, I study, learn the right language and information, and then I am … transformed.”

“That’s what you meant when you said your Russian was self-taught?”

He nodded.

“How long did it take you to learn about art and to speak Russian?”

“I taught myself Russian when I was thirteen. It took a week to master. To become an art expert, a month.” He shrugged. “I’m not sorry for going after Abrasha. He’s evil in its basic form, but I’m so sorry Sokolov attacked you because of me. I told you the truth whenever I told you how I felt about you. You matter to me.” He shook his head. “Not many do.”

“I need to think.” She turned away from him.

“I understand. I’ll leave.”

“No!” She gasped in pain when she tried to grab him. “No, please, don’t leave. Just give me time. I …” She looked at the door. “I don’t want to be alone here.”

Max looked at her. While his eyes were intense and angry, he touched her cheek gently. “You’re safe. I won’t let him or anyone else close to you. I’ll be here until you tell me to leave.” He stood up. “I do care about you, Elena. I didn’t exaggerate that, nor did I lie about it.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I believe you, but I’m… overwhelmed. Please give me some time.”

He nodded and quietly left the room. She carefully moved to a semi-comfortable position and stared at the wall. She knew Abrasha was a powerful person. She understood the hesitation in people’s eyes and knew that normal people didn’t travel with five or six bodyguards. She’d buried her head in the dirt and built a life around the art she loved.

But at what cost? Was she enabling his cruelties? The paintings he bought for outrageous prices were worthless. Were they part of his crimes? She thought of the conversations she’d had with Abrasha. He was used to giving commands and expected people to follow them.

When she’d started working for him, Elena shivered as she thought of Abrasha’s stern warning to Artem Sokolov. She’d overheard Abrasha threaten to kill him if he touched her without permission. The warning stuck with her for years. She always gave Sokolov a wide birth. That wasn’t difficult on a daily basis. She only dealt with the man while transporting paintings to the showing venues. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care—her carefully constructed paper mâché world had crumbled. Sokolov’s fists had destroyed it.

Her mind wandered to Max. Was that his real name? How did he expect to arrest Abrasha and extradite him from Russia? What type of political pressure did his global security companyhave? She doubted the Russian government would be pleased that he was in the country and stalking one of its billionaires, which put Max in danger. Her heart raced, beating hard against her ribs. If Sokolov investigated Max, would he find out who Max was? She’d given Sokolov Max’s name. Oh, God … she had to warn him.

Elena carefully sat up and swallowed hard as she waited for the tiny fiend with a hammer and chisel inside her brain to stop bashing at her skull. Using the wall and furniture to support her, she shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the light.

Oh, God.The reflection staring back at her was horrid. Blood clotted in her nose, although it looked like someone had tried to clean her face. A waffle pattern from the bottom of Sokolov’s boot was mottled red on her cheek. Her face was puffy, and the whites of her eyes were spotted with blood, but her neck … oh, her neck. She traced the finger marks that were clearly visible on her neck. She was lucky to be alive. The thought popped into her head, and she nodded slowly in agreement with her inner voice. She was very lucky Sokolov had stopped when he had. She'd never know why she’d taunted him when he was leaving. The comment was her truth, and she’d needed him to know it. She might die, but he’d die first. That was a fact she knew in the fabric of her being.

She washed her face using cold water, which felt amazing against the heat of the bruising. After taking some pain relievers, she combed her hair and thought about what she would say to Max. How could she trust he’d told her the truth about his feelings for her? What proof could he provide? What proof did she want from him? Was that even a thing? Her mind batted all that away as she recalled she’d told Sokolov his name, and the chief of security would be searching for him.

It took far longer than it should have to change her shirt. Her neck and shoulders were so sore that moving them to shrug inand out of her clothes was an effort. She opened the bedroom door and used the wall for support as she went to the living room.

Max was in the kitchen, and he turned to look at her. “I’ve heated the water. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” Elena moved to the chair and slowly sat down. Max had a cup in front of her by the time she’d adjusted enough to be somewhat comfortable. “I told Sokolov your name. You’re in danger. He’ll track you and try to confirm you are who you say you are.”

Max sat down on the couch and leaned on his elbows as he looked at her. “Max is my real name. Stryker isn’t. My cover is unbreakable. He won’t find anything except what I want him to find.”

She reached for her tea, but he handed it to her before she moved too far. She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic and stared at the liquid. “What’s it like being you?” She wanted to understand. Her heart was begging her to find a way to live with the fact he’d used her as a means to an end. Even if his feelings were real, the fact he’d used her and continued his job remained.

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I know how to explain it. I am who I am. I’ve never known anything different.”

“Your work for this agency. What exactly do you do?” She was grasping for anything she could hold as fact.

“Normally, I sit behind my computers and ensure things run as they should and bad actors don’t infiltrate systems. I wanted to learn the art of this particular branch of service, so I convinced my superiors to let me train. I did, and I’m used on very rare occasions. To them, I’m more valuable behind the screens.”

“But you’re more important here in this situation. Why?” She sipped the warm tea and closed her eyes, letting the warmth soak through her.

When she opened them, Max was staring at her. “Because I could infiltrate the weakest link in Abrasha’s closest set of associates.”

It took her a few seconds to realize she was that link—the weakest of his associates. The thought stung, and she took another sip of her tea. “Was it always your thought to make me fall in love with you?”

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