Page 24 of Hunter

I swallow hard, glancing again at the intimidating equipment. My feet stay rooted to the floor. I wanted to do this—I still do—but suddenly, the idea of sparring with Maxim in the middle of this fortress feels overwhelming. My shoulders slump. What did I get myself into?

I shake my head slowly, inching backward toward the door, my heart pounding harder with each step. This is not what I agreed to. Maxim has a way of turning even the simplest request into a spectacle, and I should’ve known better.

The door creaks open behind me, and I jump. A maid walks in silently, placing a couple of water bottles on a nearby table. She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t hesitate, just slips back out the way she came. I barely have time to register her exit before Maxim’s growl cuts through the air.

“That’s it. You’re going into that ring, even if I have to drag you in myself.”

“Maxim—” I don’t even finish the sentence. His hands are around my waist, and before I can fight him off, I’m slung over his shoulder like I weigh nothing.

“Let me down.” I scream, kicking and thrashing, but it’s useless. He strides into the ring and tosses me onto the mat with maddening ease.

The soft landing does nothing to cushion my anger. I sit up, my palms pressing into the mat for leverage as I rise to my feet. My heart is racing, and heat rushes to my face as I glare at him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, charging toward him.

“That’s right, krasavitsa. Get mad,” he says, bouncing from foot to foot, his fists tapping together like a boxer waiting for his match.

For a moment, its absurdity catches me off guard. He looks ridiculous—like a gorilla hyped up on caffeine, waiting for someone to throw him a banana. A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, the sound loud and unexpected.

Maxim freezes mid-bounce, his head tilting to the side, studying me like he’s deciding his next move. A smirk plays on his lips, just for a second, and my stomach twists.

“Don’t,” I warn, taking a wary step back.

But he does.

He lunges at me lightning-fast, and I let out a startled squeal as I pivot and sprint for the ropes. My escape is hopeless, but I try anyway. His hand grabs my ankle, and before I can twist free, he pulls me backward.

The moment my head hits the mat, the world shifts.

I’m not in the gym anymore.

I’m back there.

The cold, rough cement scrapes against my skin as my hands drag me across the floor. I claw at the ground, desperate to find something—anything—to stop them. My nails catch on the cement, peeling away from my fingers one by one. The sting is sharp, brutal, and unrelenting.

I hear myself screaming and begging, but the only response is laughter, cruel and echoing.

I can’t breathe.

My chest tightens, the air around me growing heavier and heavier. My vision blurs, and all I can feel is the agony of being powerless again.

Please stop. Please.

A sob breaks from my throat, raw and jagged, as the memory tightens its hold.

Somewhere in the haze, I feel arms around me—warm, firm, solid. They’re rocking me gently, and a voice whispers close to my ear.

“Breathe, baby. Please, just breathe for me.”

But the voice doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real.

What if I didn’t escape?

What if this is all a lie—a trick my mind has created to shield me from the truth? What if I’m still there, locked in that room, broken and begging for mercy?

The thought tears through me, and panic surges like a tidal wave. I thrash against the arms holding me, my nails digging into flesh, fighting with everything I have.

“Let me go.” I scream, but my voice is drowned out by the pounding in my ears.

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