Page 17 of Fatal Bonds

“I don’t think so,” I say, backing away more quickly now.

Irritation flashes across the nearest man’s angular face, and from the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of a blade as the driver flicks a pocket knife open.Double fuck.This day could not get any worse. Spinning on the spot, I don’t wait to see where things might go from here. I run. Cusses follow me down the street, then a shouted command in a language I don’t understand. I hear doors slamming just as I round the corner.

Heart pounding, I don’t slow down as I dip into an alley, praying it will let me out on the other end. I’ve run more today than I think I have in my entire life, and it’s catching up to my bruised bare feet. But my survival instincts keep driving me forward, pushing me past my limits as I reach the far street and scan frantically for that homeless shelter the young priest mentioned. If I can just get there, maybe I can hide. But I don’t see it, so I keep running, zigzagging between streets and alleys until my lungs are burning and my feet feel like they’re going to fall off. I can’t stop, though. Every time I do, I hear footsteps in hot pursuit.

Then, out of nowhere, I turn onto a street I recognize.You have got to be shitting me.High above me are the tracks for the Purple Line—and just a block farther is the glowing sign marking the front entrance of the Dungeon. There’s no way in hell that running to Maks for protection is a good idea, but when I glance behind me and see the men I’m running from—the blades they’re carrying—I know I’m out of options. Maks may or may not decide to kill me now, but if I don’t ask for help, these guys most definitely will.

“Shit!” Quickly looking both ways, I cross the busy street, dodging between the cars to put as many obstacles between me and the Italians as I can. Then, sprinting right past the nightclub’s bouncers, I burst inside the Dungeon.

My feet skid across the slick surface of the black marble floor, and I slow down only long enough to rip the tattered cozy socks off before I launch myself down the hallway of sparkling twinkle lights embedded in the ceiling and into the club. The dance floor is a little less crowded tonight, meaning it’s probably a week night, and I catch several odd glances as I launch myself into the open space. I must look like a crazy person, but I don’t care. I make a beeline for the back of the club, hoping desperately that Maks is here.

My heart sinks when I look up toward his table in the VIP section and find it empty. Fear grips me as I realize my Hail Mary might not work. But I won’t quit until I’ve exhausted all my options, so I turn toward the hallway I stumbled down the last time I was here. From the corner of my eye, I see several beefy-looking bouncers joining forces with the Italians who spot me across the dance floor. I don’t have much time left before they catch me.

Raking in lungfuls of air, I force my legs into a sprint one last time until I find the door I’m looking for, and I wrench it open.

“If she’s still not home, she might have gone to a friend’s house, so?—”

Maks’s deep voice comes to an abrupt halt as I freeze in the doorway, panting. His sharp blue eyes find mine, and his strong features tense, lips pressing into a thin line as he straightens behind his desk, his palms leaving its surface as he stands to his full height. The three men standing with their backs to me turn, looking for what made him stop short.

“Please, Maks, I need your help.” I glance back into the hallway before racing across the room. “They’re going to kill me?—”

The door slams open, hitting the wall behind it as the men who have been chasing me finally catch up. Breathing heavily, they stop just inside the door, their gazes furious. Rounding the edge of Maks’s desk, I grasp his hand.

His eyes darken, his jaw clenching until the tendons jump beneath his skin as he looks down at our twined fingers, then his gaze slowly returns to my face. Fury blazes in their blue depths. “And why should I protect you when you manipulated me, made me think I could trust you, and then ran the first chance you got?”

“Please, Maks, I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I’ll do anything. Just don’t let them take me.” Tears pour hot and heavy from my eyes as I feel my last desperate hope slipping through my fingers.

All eyes remain on us as silence fills the space, broken only by the ragged breathing of those involved in my chase.

When Maks finally decides to speak, he shifts his gaze away from me to look at the three Italians. “I’ll handle her,” he states flatly.

“That’s what you said the first time. Lucian told us to take care of it?—”

“And I saidIwill, so unless Lucian wants to come argue with me himself, you can get the fuck out of my club and tell him the problem’s been solved.”

The Italians exchange quick glances. Then the leader of the group jerks his chin, indicating it’s time for them to leave. He casts one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing at me before he exits the room.

“Everyone out,” Maks commands, his voice flat and deadly.

The hair lifts along the back of my neck, and a cold shiver races down my spine as his men follow orders without question, filtering from the room and closing the door behind them. Only then does Maks turn to look at me, and when he does, his gaze steals the air from my lungs. My fingers feel like ice as I realize I’m still clinging to his hand. I drop it quickly, hiding my hands behind me as I take a step back.

“I’m sorry for running,” I whisper, my pulse fluttering.

His eyes blaze with a fire that makes my mouth go dry, and I lick my lips. His gaze drops to observe the motion, and my stomach quivers as a new kind of heat mingles with the burning anger in it.

“Bend over my desk,” he says, his tone dangerously low. “I told you I would punish you the next time you lied to me. You need to learn what happens when you break your promises.”

I gasp, my jaw dropping open. “You can’t be serious. I’m not going to bend over and let you punish me for your own filthy satisfaction. You’re practically old enough to be my father.” I sound like a petulant child, but I know the retort gets under his skin when he takes a deliberate step toward me.

“You deserve a lot more than that for running away and then asking me for protection when things don’t work out the way you hoped.”

“Can you blame me for running?” I demand, my temper flaring as he towers over me, his blue eyes narrowed. The look should instill fear in me, but right now, my instincts tell me to stand my ground. “You were holding me prisoner,” I point out. “No sane person would stay just because they said they would. I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it. How should I know you own the police department along with half of Chicago?”

“You said you would do anything if I let you live,” he states flatly. “If you want to back out of that as well, then I would gladly turn you over to the Italians, who will do with you what I should have done from the start.”

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize the corner I’ve backed myself into. He’s testing me again—just like he did with the locked front door—he’s seeing if I’ll go back on my word a second time. “Fine.” Grudgingly, I approach his desk and bend over the edge until my cheek finds the cool wood, the corner of my glasses clicking softly against the smooth, hard surface. My stomach quivers at the unexpectedly vulnerable position, and my body warms as I feel his eyes traveling over me.

“Hold on to the edge,” he commands with an authority that leaves no room for argument.

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