Page 14 of Fatal Bonds

Maks chuckles affectionately. “It’s her favorite kind.” He puts several pancakes on my plate before adding one to his. “You’re perceptive.”

I shrug. “Part of my job is understanding what drives people, what motivates them to do things, so I spend a lot of time reading between the lines.”

“Have you figured out what drives me?” Maks asks, his tone playful, but there’s an undercurrent to it, an electric tension that makes my pulse quicken.

“Not entirely. Not yet,” I say, flashing him a smile to try and keep the mood light. But the truth is, my life might just depend on me figuring that out.

If I find what motivates Maks, I can steer him toward the idea of letting me go. That’s why I need to keep him talking. If he trusts me enough to let me come upstairs for food, I’ll take that as a good sign. I’m headed in the right direction. I just need to be careful not to misstep. I easily could have over his front-door test. I’m confident that’s what it was, a way to see if I would break a promise. Thankfully, I passed, but it’s a good reminder that I’m not having breakfast with a friend. I’m the prisoner of a Bratvapakhan, and at any time, he could decide it would be more convenient to kill me than to keep me here.

“You’re not all dressed up in your usual suit,” I observe, and I bite back a moan of appreciation as I take my first bite of his pancakes. They’re melt-in-the-mouth, fluffy, buttery goodness with sugary syrup on top, and when I blink, my eyes stay closed a fraction longer than necessary as I savor the sweetness.

“That’s because of your surprise.” Even without looking, I can hear his smile. “It involved a bit of physical labor to get it ready.”

My eyes snap open. “Wait, this isn't the surprise?”

I shouldnotfind his smirk as sexy as I do. He’s my prison guard, my kidnapper, not to mention nearly old enough to be my father. But that doesn’t stop the traitorous flutter in my stomach. I like Maks’s playful side, and I can tell from the heat in his eyes—he likes to catch me off guard.

“No. But breakfast first,” he says.

I point my fork at his plate of pancakes.“Eat faster.”

Maks chuckles, the sound deep and inviting, and I do my best to ignore the shiver that races up my spine in response. Focusing on my food, I get to work finishing the meal he cooked. The possibilities keep racing through my mind, one after another, and I tamp down the least realistic ones—like maybe he’s decided to let me go, that this will be our last meal together. A trickle of disappointment follows that final thought, and I try not to look into it too hard.

Maks doesn’t bother finishing his pancakes. When I’m done with mine, he rises from his chair and ushers me into the entry and up the stairs to the second floor. A nervous quiver starts in my stomach as we head to the more personal area of the house—the bedrooms. It makes me think about the flirtatious banter that seems to be a natural part of our interactions. Maybe he’s decided it’s time to put that unspoken chemistry into action.

“Second door on the right,” Maks says behind me.

I obey, noting the hasp latch and padlock on the outside of the door as I turn the handle and swing it inward. The good-sized bedroom looks like the master suite, with a bathroom off to the left and a queen-sized bed filling the center of the room. The furniture is bare of lamps, the space clean of anything I might be able to pick up and use as a weapon. A small stack of books occupy the bay window that looks out at the backyard. Someone has bolted bars across the window, and I get the distinct impression this is just a fancier version of a cage.

“I thought you might be more comfortable here,” Maks says. “Those books are from my niece’s library, but if you want different reading material, just let me know.”

I turn to Maks, oddly touched, and at the same time, it gives me the sinking confirmation that I’m going to be here a lot longer than I’d hoped. His expression is guarded, his eyes watchful as he waits for my reaction.

“There’s a shower and a few changes of clothes as well,” he adds, breaking the silence as he pulls out a drawer to reveal a thick cream-colored cashmere sweater. It looks high quality and expensive.

“I don’t know what to say,” I murmur. God, a shower sounds good right now, something to chase away the bone-deep chill that I’ve had since I stepped out of Maks’s club. Bundling myself in a comfy outfit and curling up with a book also sounds painfully tempting. But all the excitement over my surprise and the relief of having a nice bed to sleep in slowly drain from my body.How long does he plan on keeping me here?

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “I have meetings this afternoon, but I’ll be back to check on you this evening. We can talk more then.”

I nod, watching as Maks turns to leave the room. Only after I hear the padlock click shut do I release the breath I’m holding, and as his footsteps fade down the hall, I can’t stop the tears any longer.

I’m startingto doubt Maks’s conviction to kill me. It’s been four days since he moved me into the upstairs bedroom, and he still hasn’t done it yet. If he wanted me dead, it would be all too easy, but I’m still here. He’s visited me every morning and night, bringing me food from the best restaurants, and giving me any books I want. The clothes and bed in my new room aren’t just better than my previous situation, they’re far nicer than any I’ve ever owned. I could almost fool myself into thinking this is an extended vacation in some luxury hotel—if not for the bars on my windows and the lock on my door.

Maks’s visits have become the highlight of my day, and not just because of the food. I think I might go crazy with boredom if he didn’t stay and talk to me. It doesn’t matter that he’s fifteen years older than I am and from a completely different world than mine. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, as long as I avoid diving too deep into his personal life. But even there, he’s starting to open up and trust me. He doesn’t trust me enough to let me go, and I’m starting to think it might never happen, but I’m trying to hold out hope.

The sound of a door slamming below me makes my heart skip a beat, and I look up from my book, my pulse fluttering in anticipation of Maks’s morning visit. He’s late today. I was starting to wonder if he wouldn’t come. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs a minute later, and I set my book aside, rising from my seat at the bay window.

“I was starting to think you forgot about—” My playful words die on my lips as the door opens, and rather than Maks, his bald behemoth of a man steps inside.

“Boss sent me to feed you,” he grunts, tossing a package onto my bed that looks like it contains a greasy breakfast sandwich.

“He’s not coming?” I ask, my heart sinking as the residual adrenaline hums through my veins.

Maks’s man just shakes his head and crosses his tree-trunk arms as he stands in the doorway.

“N-normally, he lets me eat at the dining room table.” It’s a silly detail to challenge, and I can’t imagine sitting with this guy is going to be better than eating up here on my bed, but I’m in this room too many hours of the day, and the change of scenery actually matters to me.

His brows press into a deep frown, and I wonder if I’m pushing my luck. I should just shut up and be grateful I have breakfast. But then his arms fall to his sides, and he shrugs.

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