Page 21 of Fatal Bonds

The sex was out of this world, but as I come down from the high of my release, all the reasons I shouldn’t be attracted to Maks come flooding back to me. He’s too old for me. He’s a dangerous criminal—the head of a Bratva, no less. He’s kept meprisoner, locked in a bedroom fordays. Not to mention he’s intending to commit cold-blooded murder, which is why he kidnapped me in the first place. To a sane person, these would all be major red flags—reasons to run for the hills, not beg him to fuck me. But aside from the whole planning-to-have-someone-murdered thing, knowing what I know about him only makes him more enticing.

The sound of his zipper brings me back to reality, and I reach shakily for my clothes he piled on his chair so I can dress. I don’t see my panties, but rather than take the time to look, I pull on my leggings without them, suddenly feeling exposed. Because while Maks is buttoning his dress shirt, I don’t have on a stitch of clothes.

“What are you going to do with me now?” I ask, biting back a groan as I rest my hips on the desk and reach back to hook my bra.

The question fills me with a sense of defeat, but it’s time to face reality. I can’t keep running. Even if I tried leaving Chicago, I have no clue where I would go or how I would get there without Maks or the Italians finding me first. I can’t go to the police. I can’t go back to my normal life and pretend this never happened. My life is in Maks’s hands, and I’m worried that everything that’s happened today will only make matters worse.What if he decides to put me back in that cell?A shiver races down my spine as I think about how cold and unpleasant that was.

Maks’s sharp blue gaze finds me as I pull my hoodie over my head and down around my waist. He lets the silence linger as he combs his dark hair back with his fingers, revealing the hint of white at his temples.

“Take you home,” he says simply as I finish dressing, then he scoops the belt up off his chair and threads it back through the loops.

The word ‘home’ triggers butterflies in my stomach, and I swallow hard because I’m sure he doesn’t meanmyhome, my apartment, which I miss so much at this point it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. I’ve never been much of a homebody. I prefer going out and socializing to staying in and watching a movie by myself or something. But after days of not going back to my familiar space and no end of that in sight, it makes me homesick for the tiny space I’ve been renting this past year.

I can’t say any of that around the knot in my throat, though, so I assume he must mean the home I’ve been locked in since his man snatched me from the back alley of this club. Maks presses his phone to his ear and says something in Russian, then hangs up and steps forward to wrap a hand around my upper arm.

“I’m not going to run,” I insist, tugging away from him, but he keeps a firm grip as he guides me toward the office door.

“I know,” he states flatly.

From his tone, I would say he means he won’t let me—not that he’s taking me at my word. My stomach sinks as I come fully back to the reality of my situation. Any slim chance I might have had of escaping my fate has vanished. Whatever happens to me now, I’m completely at Maks’s mercy.At least I’m not dead.If I’d been any less lucky and those Italians had caught up with me, I’m sure I would be right now. So, as strange as it might sound, in a way, I owe my life to Maks.

As soon as the office door swings open, warm embarrassment creeps up my neck. The men he excused from his office are all standing in the hallway, their faces carefully expressionless as they wait for their meeting to resume. In the heat of the moment, I didn’t even think about anyone possibly being on the other side of the door, but I know from experience how easy it is to hear something you’re not supposed to in this hall. If they heard us, though, they’re much better at hiding the fact than I was.

“We’ll speak in the morning,” Maks says, excusing the men, and they give a collective nod before dispersing.

He steers me toward the back of the hall, and I press my lips together as the cold, hard polished marble floor makes my feet throb. After hours of being frozen followed by pounding hard pavement, my soles feel bruised and raw. Now that I’m paying attention, each step feels tender, and I can’t manage to hide my limp as my feet scream for me to stop the abuse.

Glancing down at me from the corner of his eye, Maks slows. Then, releasing a heavy breath, he stops and scoops me up off my feet in a bridal hold. Heat rushes through me, and not just out of embarrassment. Being this close to Maks does things to my body I’m not entirely prepared to admit—even more so now that we’ve had sex. His strong arms feel like iron around me, and he keeps his eyes fixed forward.

He carries me out the back door, into the alley I tried to escape through, and a black Escalade is already waiting for us there, the motor idling. The driver steps out to open the back door, and Maks deposits me onto the seat before closing me inside. Then he rounds the back of the vehicle and gets into the seat beside me. It’s a silent drive, and this time, I keep my eyes focused on the scenery out the window, learning the streets along our path. I don’t intend to be lost and helpless if I ever get a chance to run again. But the drive is less than ten minutes, and the driver pulls up in front of one of the towering high rises along the Magnificent Mile—a street I’m very familiar with.

Heart skipping a beat, I sit straighter and turn toward Maks. “I thought you said you were taking me home.”

“I am,” he states, opening his door. “This is where I live.”

My pulse thunders in my ears as I turn to look out my window and follow the building high up into the sky. One of Maks’s men opens my car door as Maks reaches me, and he scoops me up again before I’ve even finished stepping out onto the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” I murmur, heat climbing into my cheeks again as two of his men fall in behind us—guards to protect him, I would assume.

“You’re welcome.”

The porter doesn’t even blink as we pass. He just holds the door open for Maks to carry me inside. The lobby is expansive, with thick pillars rising to the vaulted ceilings and polished marble floors set in an eye-catching cream and brown pattern. The dark wood molding along the bottom half of the wall gives the open space a classic, sophisticated touch that makes me feel underdressed in my hoodie and leggings.

As we reach the elevator, Maks’s men stay on the first floor, punching the call button and watching until the doors close behind us. Only after we’re sealed in the elevator alone does Maks set me down. Wordlessly, he fishes for his wallet and pulls out a plastic card, flashing it across a magnetic strip near the operating panel. A green light blinks, granting us full access, and Maks presses the button for floor sixty-seven—only a few shy of the highest number on the board.

Tension crackles between us in the silence as the elevator carries us up. My breath catches in my lungs as I shift nervously from foot to foot. I’m not good with awkward pauses—even less so after sex. I don’t know where we stand, if Maks has forgiven me for running, if he’s still angry with me for asking him for protection afterward, or if my punishment and what happened afterward means we’ve moved past it and, if so, to what.

“When you said ‘home,’ I thought you meant the room where I’ve been staying,” I say when the impossibly long trip up becomes too painful to stay quiet.

“Clearly, I can’t just leave you locked up anymore and trust that you won’t take off the next time I can’t deal with you myself, so I won’t be letting you out of my sight.”

Maks’s sharp blue eyes hold mine until I drop my gaze, my discomfort increasing.

“Right,” I mutter, looking at my dirty feet. They seem out of place on the immaculate floor.

The elevator comes smoothly to a stop, the doors sliding open with a soft ding, and I look out at my new prison and gasp. The foyer is beautiful, with a crystal chandelier hanging over a modern glass table that showcases an elaborate live-flower bouquet in a massive cracked-porcelain vase. Beyond, the floorplan opens up to a living room with plush white couches and a wall of windows looking out over the city of Chicago. To my left, a curving staircase leads up to a second floor.

Maks guides me past it into the main room, his fingers light on my upper arm as he steers me around a corner and down the hall.

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