Page 8 of Fatal Bonds

“Giving you back your hands.” The words come out gruffer than I intended them, but I don’t like this new dynamic between us. I much preferred the flirtatious back-and-forth we had last week at the club. And to think, if Lindsey hadn’t been at the wrong place at the wrong time, I might have ended up spending tonight with her under very different circumstances.

Forcing my actions to be slow and gentle, I reach behind her. This time, Lindsey doesn’t object. Instead, she turns slightly, giving me better access to her wrists and the knot she’s clearly been working to undo. I cock an eyebrow at her as our eyes meet over her shoulder, and fresh color infuses her cheeks. Without a word, I reach down and finish loosening the knot to untie her.

“The toilet works,” I state, nodding to the basic plumbing in the corner of her cell. “And just so you don’t get any bright ideas, the basement is completely soundproof, so don’t waste your breath.”

Lindsey’s arms wrap around her knees, pulling them closer to her body as I stand. Goosebumps stand out over the exposed flesh of her arms and legs. Sighing, I step out of her cell and lock it behind me before heading to a metal chest of drawers along one wall. Pulling one open, I grab several blankets and take them out. The basement’s practically a fridge—it’s designed that way because the less comfortable my prisoners are, the more likely they are to give me what I want. But I don’t like the thought of Lindsey catching a cold down here, especially since she’s definitely not dressed for the temperature.

She stands hesitantly, her steps slightly unsteady as she approaches the front of the cell, and when I thrust the blankets between the bars, she accepts them. “Thank you.”

Her tone is as guarded as her expression, and I give a curt nod before turning toward the stairs. My stomach roils with guilt, and I clench my teeth against the unwanted emotion.How the hell did we end up here?I can’t help but think there’s no coming back from this.

4

LINDSEY

It’s impossible to say how long I’ve been here because my prison has no windows, and despite cocooning myself in the three blankets Maks gave me, I can’t seem to ward off the cold that seeps into my bones. So the shivering makes every hour feel like an eternity. I have no clue where I am—aside from that it’s in the basement of what looked like a single family home. I got a single glimpse of the kitchen and hallway on my way down here.

After being yanked out of that alley and suffocated into unconsciousness, I woke up to the sound of a garage door closing and that behemoth of a man hauling me out of the back seat of a black SUV. Now, as I sit, curled up on the small cot bolted to my prison cell wall, I watch the stairs and replay the giant’s response when I asked him what would happen to me.

“That’s for the boss to decide—he’ll come visit you when it suits him.”

Maks hasn’t returned since that first time, and I wonder just how long he intends to keep me here without food or water. But the paradox is that the longer he’s gone, the longer I get to stay alive. A violent shudder racks my body as I picture what my final minutes might look like, what might happen to me before I die.

Everything Claire told me about the Dungeon was true. Maks doesn’t just own the club—he’s the head of the Bratva that runs it. I’m sure of it.That familiar voice I heard in the meeting, talking about killing a man?It was him. If there was any doubt in my mind before, it’s long gone. I’ve never been more terrified in my life—a life I suspect won’t last much longer.

I can’t stop thinking about Maks’s incredible calm as he threatened to kill me, the feel of his strong fingers wrapped around my throat. He didn’t hurt me. In fact, his touch was gentle, almost erotic—far too reminiscent of the dancers at his club—but the threat was there, and I could feel the strength behind it. I don’t doubt he could choke the life right out of me. I could see it in his eyes—he’s killed people before. Just because he didn’t hurt me then doesn’t mean he’s incapable of it, and I know the truth about his plans. That’s why he can’t find out what I heard.If he intends to kill some man who can present a challenge, what’s to stop him from ending my life just for knowing about it?Nothing.

Goosebumps ripple across my flesh as his rich, thickly accented voice permeates my mind.“I’ll admit, this wasn’t how I pictured meeting again.”

It feels twisted that the memory could give me butterflies, but I can’t help noticing the implication that he has envisioned running into me again. I’m not the only one who hoped we might have another chance encounter. It feels like a sick joke now that we’ve accidentally crossed paths again. The circumstances couldn’t be less romantic.And I thought the fact that he’s older was bad.

A snort rushes from my nose, and I realize I’m acting like a crazy person, laughing at my own dark humor. Tucking my chin to rest my forehead on my knees, I consider what I know about Maks, what might possibly help me get out of the situation I’m in. But aside from our brief encounter at the club—in which he all but came to my rescue—and our second interaction, when he threatened to kill me, we’re virtually strangers. It wouldn’t be a far leap to assume he’s attracted to me, considering our first exchange, but I don’t think that’s going to help me here.

I hear the soft scratch of a key slipping into a lock, and my head snaps up as I train my eyes on the top of the stairs once more. Light filters down around an imposing silhouette, and heavy footfalls make the wooden steps groan. My heart skips a beat as Maks appears a moment later, his dark hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes as he balances a tray full of food and a glass of water.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he says, tilting the tray just enough to reveal a healthy portion of fried eggs, country potatoes, and bacon piled on the plate. The smell of it makes my mouth water, and my stomach growls, giving me away. “I hope you’re not vegetarian.”

The hint of a smile at the corners of his lips tells me he’s joking, though growing up in Californian, it wouldn’t be too unlikely if I were—not that he would know where I’m from.

“I’m not,” I assure him, abandoning the warmth of my cocoon to approach the bars of my cell. I’m suddenly famished and painfully parched.

But rather than open the door to pass me the tray, Maks sets it on a stool just out of reach but within view. It takes every ounce of strength to tear my eyes away from the food and look at him. His sharp blue eyes are cold as he studies me, and my heart sinks as I realize what this is—another interrogation technique.

“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll feed you,” he says, his voice steady, calm even.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” I insist, my pulse quickening, and I tug my blanket more firmly around my shoulders.

A cold shiver trickles down my spine in the resounding silence. Maks studies me carefully, his expression closed, and that terrifies me more than any outburst might. I need to do something to save myself, but I can’t think of a single thing when I get the feeling that nothing I say will make a difference. He digs into one of his pants pockets, fishing out a key, and my stomach flip-flops anxiously.

“If I go missing, my work will notice,” I blurt, taking several steps back as he opens the door to my cell.

“No. They won’t,” he assures me. “Not until it’s far too late.”

“You can’t possibly know that?—”

“I’ve done a bit of digging since we last spoke, Lindsey Payne,” he says, stepping into my cage with me.

This time he doesn’t even bother closing the door, and for some reason, that makes me start to shake. I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the open invitation to run, but as adrenaline floods my veins, it feels like a trap. Then his words burrow through the dense fog of my fear, and my eyes snap back to his. He knows my name—my full name.

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