Page 5 of Fatal Bonds

Passing our table from that first night, I can’t help but glance up one more time to see if Maks has appeared. But the table where he sat is completely empty—as if it’s waiting for him to show, just like I am.He’s too old for you anyway. Not to mention, you’re not looking for a relationship,I remind myself. The second part makes me snort. I’m not entirely convinced Maks would be the relationship type even if I were. He wasn’t looking at me like I would be his next girlfriend. He was looking at me like he wanted to consume me, body and soul.

Heat pools in my belly at the memory of his eyes raking possessively down my body, the feel of his finger brushing lightly against my leg to tuck my credit card into my sock. Even that seemingly innocuous touch turned me on. But his eyes told me that was only a taste of what he could make me feel—if I let him. A shiver races up my spine, and not for the first time, I regret keeping my rule that night. No other man has stuck in my mind like Maks.

I tear my eyes from the VIP section, focusing on the hallway to my right in my quest for the bathroom. The music dies down as I enter the empty corridor, my heels rapping sharply against the marble. I hold my breath, my steps slowing as I suddenly feel too loud. Biting my lip, I keep one hand on the wall to balance as I walk on the rubber of my soles, avoiding my stiletto heels as much as I can. I bite my lip to suppress a giggle, feeling silly as I tiptoe down the hallway like I’m a teenager sneaking out of my parents’ house. I’m not entirely sure why it feels like the smart thing to do. But the loud, jarring steps echoing around the empty space gave me the creeps.

One shortcoming of the Dungeon?They could really use better signage. I’m halfway down the hall and still can’t tell which doorway leads to the restroom. The door to my left is open just a crack. Clearly, someone’s gone that way before, and I reach for the handle, then I hear a low male voice on the other side and freeze.

“I’m working on it, but what you’re asking is impossible without starting an all-out war,” the man states, his voice as smooth and calm as the surface of a still lake. His accent isn’t the same as Maks’s was, but he definitely has one—Spanish maybe?“He’s impossible to reach behind those high walls. I’d be burying myself right along with him.”

No, definitely Italian.My stomach drops as the meaning behind his words registers a moment later.What does he mean by burying himself along with someone? He can’t mean literally, right?It’s probably just my overactive imagination after all the rumors Claire fed me, but the hair raises on the back of my neck, and I lean closer, my breath catching as I try to make sense of what he’s saying.

“I told you I would support you, that I would provide you with whatever resources you need, and now you’re telling me the job’s impossible? You work for him. You’re seriously saying you can’t find a single vulnerability in his defenses when you’re welcome inside his home?”

My heart skips a beat at the growled accusation, the words turning my blood cold. Whatever kind of meeting I’ve stumbled upon is clearly not something I was meant to hear. I should be backpedaling as quickly as I can before someone finds me here, but I can’t seem to tear myself away. From the sound of it, these men intend to hurt someone—a man who employs one of them.

“It’s not impossible,” the Italian insists. “I just need more time, more information. Taking him out in his home would be a suicide mission, so I want to look for a more public event—somewhere we can fade into the crowd after, or snipe him from a distance.”

A violent shudder racks my body, and I press a hand over my lips to muffle the gasp that escapes me. They’re not just talking about betraying someone. They intend to kill him.

“Then what is it you want from me?” The second voice sparks a sense of familiarity now that it’s not ragged with anger, but the cold, flatness of the deep baritone makes goosebumps erupt across my flesh.

“A way into his office without being recognized,” the Italian states confidently.

“You think he wouldn’t recognize my men any better than he does yours? He knows I want him dead. Any hint that I’m involved would blow the plan wide open. I would have a better chance of killing the pope.”

“I’m not suggesting you or your men get involved. I was only hoping you might know someone trustworthy outside our opera?—”

“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing back here, little girl? You’re not where you belong.”

I jolt, my entire body going rigid at the accusatory snarl behind me. I’m intensely aware of the fact that the conversation I was eavesdropping on has gone deathly quiet inside the room. I need to get out of here. I need to run, but if I do, they’ll definitely know I heard something I shouldn’t have.Shit. Should I pretend I just drunkenly stumbled down the hall?

Whirling, I face the owner of the angry voice, but as my eyes land on the giant filling the doorway back to the club, my flight instincts kick into gear. He’s massive, his shaved head well over a foot above mine, his broad shoulders nearly filling the entire width of the hallway. His eyes darken as he glares at me, too suspicious to believe any drunken act I would be capable of pulling off. Muscles trembling, I take several cautious steps backward, and his broad shoulders tense, his thick biceps flexing.

Before I can consider if it’s a smart choice, I turn and run. My legs pump, my steps echoing painfully in my ears as my heels crack sharply against the floor. I’d thought I liked the black marble until now, but the sleek, slippery surface is hindering my escape. I don’t know where I’m going, but the sound of rubber-soled boots drives me forward. He’s closing the distance between us with frightening ease, and my pulse races, my panic rising as I scan wildly for an escape route.

The green emergency exit sign glows like a beacon to my left as I slam, palms first, against the wall at the far end of the hall, my inertia driving me into it before I can stop myself. Shoving away from the hard surface, I launch myself sideways toward the metal door, desperately hoping I can reach it before it’s too late.

My legs are weak with adrenaline, my lungs burning from the effort to run faster than I’ve ever moved before, and relief surges through my chest as cold hard metal meets my palms. The distinct clank of the crash bar follows, and bitter wind swallows me whole as the door flings wide, opening onto a dark alley. The bare skin of my legs and torso prickle in response to the winter chill. I need my coat, but I’m not about to turn back for it. I’ll take my chances against pneumonia over the hulking brute who’s on my heels.

The alley’s dark, and I have to take a moment for my eyes to adjust. My heart hammers, and my head snaps back and forth as I search for the outlet onto the street. Shouts build behind me, intensifying my panic. To my right, heaps of trash have been piled against the side of an overflowing dumpster. The stale scent of rotten food and waste bombard my nose, and instinctively, I turn away from it in search of fresh air and freedom.

Frigid water splashes up onto my calves as I break into a run once more. I can see the lit sidewalk ahead as the street comes into view. The raised tracks of the L line loom above, beyond the high walls of the buildings around me, etching harsh shadows across the ground below. Aching cold pierces my skin like daggers as I near the street, but I don’t care. My survival instincts are in high gear, my sole desire to escape the behemoth who stumbled upon me in the Dungeon’s hallway.

My adrenaline has burned away the healthy buzz I’d accomplished after a few tequila shots. My mind is sharp with fear. My best chance of making it out of this alive is to find help—if I can just get to the road before they reach me. If they catch up to me, I can’t imagine they’ll keep me alive—not after what I heard. That realization is the driving force that keeps me barreling toward the sidewalk despite my impractical footwear. I’m not dressed for this at all.

I make it to the end of the alley, my lips parting to cry for help. Then a tree trunk of an arm snakes around my waist, hoisting me off the ground, and a meaty palm clamps down over my mouth and nose. The loud rattle of an approaching train clatters down the tracks, drowning everything else out. But this is my last hope, so I scream as loud as I can, the sound tearing up my throat as I expand every last ounce of oxygen I possess.

My stomach knots with panic when I can’t inhale past his massive hand. He’s going to suffocate me. I fight for my life, kicking at his shins and clawing at his arms as he hauls me back down the alley and into the club. Several figures in suits loom down the hall, but my glasses have been pushed up too far for me to see their faces.

The coppery flavor of blood coats my tongue, and I’m not sure if it’s mine or the man holding me hostage. Something cold and hard digs into the base of my spine, and my panic intensifies when I realize it’s probably a gun. A low, pained grunt rushes past my ear as my stiletto heel connects with something soft behind me. But the man’s grip doesn’t loosen, and the edges of my vision are slowly turning black.

I’m going to pass out. No, I’m going to die!

3

MAKS

“Don’t bring her back in here,” I command gruffly as Vlad slings the club girl’s limp form over his shoulder and approaches us. Hauling an unconscious woman around the building is bad for business, and the stray club girl has already proven this hallway isn’t as private as I would like it to be.Blyat.This is the last kind of complication I need right now.

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