Page 101 of Hunter

Maxim grunts in pain, snapping me out of my daze. Jenny is gripping his chin, her nails digging into his skin.

Shit. That’s exactly what I was trying to avoid.

I was so lost in my head, I didn’t even notice when she moved.

“I’ve been waiting a very long time for this, Maxim,” she sneers, slapping him hard across the face. The sharp crack echoes in the room.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” I scream, my throat straining with the force of it. My voice breaks, sending me into a coughing fit, but Jenny’s only reaction is a smug smile.

I take a step forward, intent on reaching her, unsure of what I’ll do when I get there—but I’ll do something. Dying by my gun would be too easy for her. I need to feel her life leave her body with my own hands.

Wow, Sophia. That’s dark. You’re crossing a line.

I don’t care. She has been playing us like chess pieces for months, tormenting me for years. I’m done. The only way to stop her is to end this, to end her.

Hands wrap around my waist, jerking me back before I can take another step. “Let me go!” I scream, kicking and thrashing, but the grip only tightens. From the corner of my eye, I see Maxim struggling harder, the ropes cutting into his skin, red seeping through with every pull.

“Tie her up,” Jenny orders calmly.

I’m dragged back and forced into a chair, my arms wrenched behind me. The ropes bite into my skin, and my chest tightens as panic claws at my throat. My mind flashes back to that dark place, those endless nights of being tied up, helpless.

Breathe, Sophia. You’re not there. This is different. You’ll make it out of this.

The feeling of Maxim’s gaze burning into me helps pull me out of the spiral. I open my eyes, turning to him.

“I’m okay,” I mouth.

But the fear in his eyes doesn’t waver. His jaw clenches, his body taut with barely restrained fury.

The screech of a chair being dragged across the floor cuts through the tension. Jenny pulls it into the center of the room, stopping directly in front of us. I roll my eyes at her theatrics. She’s trying to unnerve us, but it’s not going to work.

“Why are we here?” I ask, my voice steady despite the chaos around us.

Jenny doesn’t answer me. Instead, she reaches over and rips the tape from Maxim’s mouth.

“I want what rightfully belongs to me,” she says, her voice cold and clipped. “As the eldest offspring of Isaak Volkov.”

Maxim barks out a harsh laugh, his lip curling in disdain. “You want to rule a mafia empire that sees women like you as nothing more than a piece of ass?” He shakes his head, the derision in his tone cutting. “The moment you try to act like a boss, they’ll put a bullet between your eyes, Jennifer.”

Jenny leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, an odd expression flickering across her face. For a moment, I think she’ll lash out, but she doesn’t. She just watches him, letting him continue.

“The second you tell them what to do, they’ll laugh in your face,” Maxim presses, his voice sharp. “You may claim to be my father’s daughter, but that means shit to them. You’re nothing to them, Jenny.”

“Oh, Maxim, Maxim, Maxim,” she says, shaking her head with a mocking smile, as if he’s a foolish child.

“Most of your men already belong to me,” she says casually, her voice dripping with venom. “They’ve been taking orders from me since our father died.”

My head jerks back, my eyes widening in shock. I glance at Maxim, hoping for some denial, some reassurance she’s lying.

He scoffs, his expression hardening. “You’re a lot of things, Jenny, but I never thought delusional was one of them.”

Jenny crosses her legs, the picture of calm confidence. “Dear brother, the only one delusional here is you.”

Maxim’s posture stiffens, his jaw tightening further. He’s trying to maintain control, but I can see the cracks forming in his calm facade.

“Enlighten me,” he says, his voice low, dangerously calm.

Jenny smirks, leaning back in her chair. “The older generation of the Bratva—the ones who’ve been part of this world since our father became pakhan—no longer believe you’re fit to lead.” She pauses, tapping a manicured nail against her chin, pretending to search for the right word. “They think you’re…too soft to take his place.”

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