Page 10 of Fatal Bonds

One of Maks’s eyebrows quirk, as if he’s skeptical about the sincerity of my compliment.Relatable, I need to be relatable. Flattery isn’t going to get me anywhere.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s cooked me breakfast. Maybe since my mom passed.” It still makes my heart twinge to talk about it, the memories of those final days in the hospital, when the cancer was ravaging her from the inside and everything hurt. Generally, I try to remember who she was in her healthy years, the smiles and laughter. But anytime I mention her passing, I get that same sad image of her sunken eyes, the way her skin sagged off her bones like a wool sweater that got too wet and lost its shape.

“You were close,” Maks observes, his tone shockingly gentle, and when I meet his eyes, I’m struck by the depth of understanding in them.

I nod, swallowing hard before taking another bite.

“How old were you when she died?”

“Fourteen.” I shake my head. “She was already at stage four by the time they caught her cancer.”

“That must have been hard.”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and that same familiar consuming sense of loss rises in my chest as I realize I’m opening up to Maks in a way I haven’t opened up to anyone since moving to Chicago. None of my work friends even know my mother’s gone. It’s been a conscious choice on my part, to keep people at more of a distance—then losing them won’t be as hard. It feels strange to talk about something so meaningful with the man holding me captive, but I didn’t expect to feel so emotional about it.

Clearing my throat, I brush a tear from my bottom lashes and keep my eyes fixed on my plate. “It was.”

“Your father never cooked breakfast for you?” he asks, seamlessly redirecting the conversation, and I’m relieved. This whole ‘make yourself relatable’ plan makes me feel too vulnerable.

I snort, thinking about my father. “No, he never cooked breakfast. Maybe he would have if he were ever around, but he only stopped by the house long enough to sleep.”

“Not much of a family man then?” Maks asks.

I laugh. “Oh no, he was a big family man, actually. In fact, I think he might have had two or three of them besides me and Mom.”

Maks’s eyebrows rise in surprise, his back straightening, and I wonder just how poorly I’m doing at coming across as relatable. Mostly, I just sound bitter. I need to refocus before I lose my opportunity.

“So, what about you? Are you a family man?”

The shift in his expression is instantaneous, and it makes my blood run cold. The soft understanding in his eyes shutters, his face stiffening as his lips press into a tight line. Suddenly, that harsh edge is back, and it calls attention to the hint of gray at his temples, the difference in our ages that I’d stopped thinking about for a moment. Maks is old enough, he easily could have a family—or even had one and lost them. Judging by the shift in his demeanor, I must have touched on a sensitive subject.

“No,” he says flatly, rising from his stool. “I’m not a family man.”

My pulse flutters, my stomach knotting as I see my opportunity slipping through my fingers. “Are you leaving?” I jump up too as I follow him toward the door of my cell, anxious about being left here alone again.

“I have responsibilities to attend to,” he states, his voice cool and devoid of emotion.

“But—will you be back?” I hate how desperate I sound, how scared, but not knowing is killing me.

Maks stops, turning abruptly to face me, and I nearly slam into him as he fills the enclosure’s doorway. My heart skips a beat as I trip, and before I have a chance to fall, his hands grasp my forearms, stabilizing me. The oxygen vanishes from my lungs as I look up at his stern, handsome face, electricity racing across my skin where it touches his.

“I’ll be back with dinner,” he says, his voice gruff. Then he releases me, stepping back to lock the cell door behind him, and he leaves without a backward glance.

5

MAKS

“Maks?”

Lindsey’s voice is tentative as it greets me as soon as I open the basement door. It’s later than I would have liked, but my day consisted of putting out one fire after the next, and I couldn’t break away any sooner than I did. So it’s nearly nine o’clock by the time I manage to bring her a bag of takeout from Aurelia’s. I could have sent one of my men to feed her now that I know what she overheard, but Iwantto see her, and bringing her dinner is a good excuse.

“Sorry it’s so late.”

I find Lindsey standing at the front of her cell, her delicate fingers wrapped around the bars as her eyes follow me down the steps. All three blankets are draped across her shoulders, her heels kicked haphazardly across the floor, and her bare legs exposed below her tweed mini skirt. She looks like she’s been pacing.

“What time is it?” The question needles at my conscience. Normally, I don’t have sympathy for the people I keep down here. But Lindsey hasn’t done anything to deserve her discomfort. She’s just a victim of circumstance, who had the bad luck of crossing paths with me at the wrong time.

“Eight fifty-three.”

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