Page 29 of Hunter

I stay rooted in place, watching her go. My heart feels heavy, torn between the love I have for her and the crushing guilt of knowing I’m the reason she’s fighting this battle at all.

TWELVE

MAXIM

Pulling up to the front of the resort I found three hours away from Miami, I step out of the car, leaving Sophia inside to rest. We made it here in just under three hours, shaving forty-five minutes off what the GPS predicted. It was a quiet ride—too quiet for my liking. We made small talk a couple of times, commenting on the open sky and the shimmering ocean that stretched out along the road. But mostly, she stared out the window, lost in her thoughts, before eventually drifting to sleep.

I glance back at the car, at her peaceful face, the rise and fall of her chest as she naps. I need this trip to be perfect. It has to be. She needs it.

Her routine back home—waking up, showering, slipping back into pajamas, and retreating to bed—isn’t helping her heal. My house is no better, with my men constantly coming and going. And her home? It’s a prison of memories, each one suffocating her. A change of scenery, fresh air, and the soothing sound of the ocean—that’s what she needs now.

Stepping into the lobby, I’m immediately greeted by a short, round man with a sweaty forehead and a Hawaiian shirt stretched far beyond its limits. The garish floral print doesn’t dohim any favors, and I can practically hear the buttons screaming for mercy.

He strides toward me, his hand outstretched. “Good afternoon, Mr. Volkov,” he says, his tone cheerful but overly eager.

I take his hand, shaking it firmly. “Good afternoon.”

“Welcome to Sunny Dayz Resort,” he continues, releasing my hand and stepping back. His gaze flickers to the car briefly, no doubt wondering about Sophia.

I take the chance to glance around the lobby. The tropical theme is almost overwhelming. A wooden swing is suspended in the center of the room, fake palm trees are scattered in odd corners, and brightly colored cushions adorn rattan chairs, flanking either side of the check-in counter. The smell of citrus and coconut hangs heavy in the air, no doubt piped in through the vents.

The manager clears his throat nervously, and I turn back to him, catching the sheen of sweat forming on his temples. My patience thins. “Is everything ready?” I ask, my voice low and deliberate.

“Yes, sir,” he says, his voice hitching slightly. “There are no other guests at the hotel, as per your request, and only a handful of staff remain on duty—just enough to ensure everything runs smoothly for you and your…” He hesitates, his eyes darting toward the car again before he leans in slightly. “…your girlfriend.”

The word sets my teeth on edge, but it’s the way he says it—like Sophia is a prize he’s evaluating—that ignites the flicker of annoyance into a full blaze.

“She’s one lucky wom—” he begins, but I cut him off before he can finish.

“You should learn,” I say, dropping my gaze to the name tag pinned to his straining shirt. “Richard, is it? To think before youspeak.” My voice hardens. “And keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.” I step closer, my eyes narrowing. “If you must know, I’m the fucking lucky one.”

The weight of my words hangs in the air, and for a moment, he’s silent, swallowing hard. His face pales, beads of sweat now freely trickling down his temple.

Before I can say more, a light touch lands on my shoulder. I know it’s Sophia before she even speaks.

“Maxim.” Her voice is soft but steady, pulling me back from the edge.

I turn to her, my scowl easing as I take in the sight of her. She looks up at me with those wide, curious eyes, her hair tousled from sleep, and my chest tightens. She shouldn’t have had to wake up to this.

“I’m hungry,” she says simply, surprising me. I expected her to chastise me, to tell me to let the man go or to stop being such an asshole. But she doesn’t. Maybe she doesn’t want to make a scene.

Her words remind me why we’re here—to help her feel better, to let her breathe again—and I force myself to let go of the irritation coursing through me. I glare at Richard one last time before jerking my hand in a dismissive motion.

Richard stumbles back a step, his face flushed, but he recovers quickly. “Y-Yes, of course,” he stammers, straightening his shirt. He turns to Sophia, offering a weak smile. “Welcome to Sunny Dayz Resort, ma’am.”

Sophia nods politely but stays close to me, her arm brushing against mine.

“The room key is with Patricia at the front desk,” Richard adds quickly before scurrying off, disappearing down a hallway like a rat retreating to its hole.

I shake my head, muttering under my breath as I guide Sophia toward the counter. Her fingers brush mine, and I glancedown to find her looking up at me with the faintest hint of a smile.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice almost lost beneath the faint hum of the lobby’s ceiling fans.

I don’t ask what she’s thanking me for. I lean down and press a kiss to her temple.

“You’re welcome, krasavitsa.”

“Wait here,” I tell Sophia. She nods and walks off toward the swing in the middle of the lobby, her fingers brushing the chains as she sits down. I watch her for a moment before heading to the counter.

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