Page 84 of Hunter

I gasp, leaning back as far as I can to put space between my face and the weapon.

“Must you people be so dramatic?”

The voice pulls me back to reality, anger quickly replacing my panic. I drop my head against the headrest with a groan.

“Luca, you fucking idiot,” I snarl as I lower the window. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Ever heardof calling or texting like a normal person? Not creeping up to my car and tapping on the window like some deranged psychopath?”

Luca has the audacity to smirk. “Maybe if you weren’t so engrossed in whatever smut you’re reading, you would’ve noticed I did text you. Check the group chat.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, and I fumble for my phone, which I’d dropped to the floor during my panic. Sure enough, when I open the app, there’s a message from Luca in the group chat.

Wait. When did we get a group chat?

A vague memory surfaces of me, half-asleep at four in the morning, muting the notifications. Andrei and Luca had been spamming it with their constant, pointless banter. Those two have the weirdest, borderline-creepy bromance.

Maxim’s voice breaks my thoughts. “The plan for tonight is to put a bullet in your foot for scaring the life out of Sophia.” His tone is flat, but his eyes burn with annoyance.

“Why must you always resort to death threats?” Luca counters, clearly unbothered. “We both know you’d miss me too much. You’d feel remorse for killing your best friend.”

Maxim snorts. “Are you on drugs?” He lowers the gun but doesn’t put it away. “When the hell have I ever given you the impression we’re friends?”

Luca gasps in mock horror. “You wound me, Volkov.” He makes an exaggerated gesture of wiping away a tear. “Now what am I supposed to do with the matching friendship bracelets I bought us?”

Maxim glares at him, but there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. “You’re insane.”

“And you love me for it.” Luca grins before his expression turns serious. “Alright, enough stalling. Can we focus? We’ve got work to do.”

“What’s happening tonight?” I ask, cutting through their back

They both turn to look at me, a deadly glint flashing in their eyes. Whatever they have planned for tonight, it’s not a casual outing.

“We finally found someone who’s been slipping through our fingers,” Luca says, his tone laced with satisfaction. “He thought hiding underground would keep us off his trail, but he was wrong. The moment he resurfaced, we got him.”

I blink, my mind racing. This has to be about the middleman Maxim mentioned the other night—the one they’ve been hunting for months. He’s the man who brokered the deal with Marcos Antonelli, acting on behalf of a shadowy boss to orchestrate chaos.

“You found him? The middleman?”

Maxim gives me a curt nod, his jaw tight.

True to his word, Maxim has been transparent with me, slowly peeling back the layers of his world. In stolen moments together, he has shared glimpses of his life—his violent upbringing, the monstrous deeds his father committed to shape him into what he is today, and the dark, brutal things Maxim has done in turn. Sometimes, he dives into the gritty details; other times, he holds back, his expression haunted.

I know there’s still so much he hasn’t told me. It’s in his eyes every time he looks at me—an ocean of secrets he’s desperate to unload but hasn’t found the right time or way.

And time is what we’ve been short on. If he’s not off chasing leads with Luca or rushing to Andrei’s side, we’re surrounded by people. Luca’s wife, Cecilia, has been a frequent guest, and while I’ve grown close to her over the past month—bonding over shared experiences—it’s not the same as having Maxim to myself. Part of me is relieved by the distractions. My heart can only handle so much horror at once. But another part of me is selfish, craving uninterrupted time with him, yearning for a future where we’re not constantly looking over our shoulders.

It has been this way since the start. The “sharing nights,” as I jokingly call them (much to Maxim’s irritation), weren’t meant to be anything more than a space for him to open up. But even that arrangement felt risky at my house, where temptation loomed large. I’d voiced my concerns to Maxim, and he promised to find a better solution—one that would respect my decision to take things slow. I didn’t expect him to turn it into a romantic gesture, yet that’s exactly what he did.

A memory washes over me, softening the tension of the moment.

It was a week later when Maxim texted, telling me to get dressed because he was picking me up in two hours. I’d assumed he was still out of the country with Andrei, so hearing he’d come home early—just because he missed me—already made the night feel magical.

When I opened the door, he handed me a blindfold.

“I’m taking you on our first official date night,” he said, his voice low and playful.

I’d been confused. “But we already had our first date at your restaurant,” I pointed out.

“That wasn’t a real date,” he replied, stepping closer, his ocean-blue eyes locking onto mine. “Luca interrupted it. It doesn’t count.”

---