Page 62 of Surrender: XXX Maxim
“Goodbye for now,” Dima calls as Maxim slams the car door. Muffled, his voice still manages to seep inside. “I’ll be waiting for your call. I am anticipating our meeting more than ever, Francesca—”
Maxim slams on the gas, sending the car lurching forward and leaving Dima behind. At the same time, he snatches a cell phone from his pocket. He must speak to more than one person, switching from English to bellowed words of Russian before he finally tosses the phone aside.
“Are you alright?” he asks me.
No.I think I’m dazed. In shock, maybe. My brain seems delayed, processing everything in comically innocent terms. Like how, as we approach the city limits, Maxim completes his transition from budding “domestic” into a calculating mafia boss. I observe him, noting the shift in his posture and the subtle tensing of his jaw. But before any real doubt can set in, he grabs my hand and places it on his lap.
“Talk to me.”
I flinch, recognizing my own words mirrored back to me.
“I…” Tears spill from my eyes before I can hold them back—but I’m not afraid. I’m too tired for that. Too exhausted. All I can do is squeeze his fingers, conveying a million things I can’t say out loud.
When the car finally skids to a stop, I’m surprised that we’re at, of all places, the penthouse he’d brought me to before we left Fair Haven. In silence, he escorts me from the car and up to the suite. It looks exactly how we left it, but it’s a stark contrast to the warm, open beach house and its brighter décor.
I miss it—more than I thought I would. More than the other houses and mansions we’ve left behind. I miss the man I discovered there, sampling ice cream beneath the hot sun.
I miss the begrudging smile of content he’d tried to suppress after relinquishing control on the balcony. And how he had comforted Daisy and went out of his way to provide the others with what they wanted. What they needed.
A part of me despairs at the memories—we might never get those moments back. That peace. That…normalcy.
A different man entirely, Maxim drags me into the bathroom of the master suite and strips me naked before shoving a washcloth into my hands. He leaves, and when minutes creep by without him returning, I manage to wash mechanically and dress in a thin nightgown and a robe.
The murmur of distant voices creeps into the silence, coming from the front of the suite. Still oddly numb, I wander into the main hall and follow it out to the foyer.
There, my dreamlike haze shatters. I’m in a nightmare now.
Two demons star in it, dominating opposite ends of the foyer like the living incarnations of light and shadow. A violent, gleaming gold, Maxim takes up one corner, while a glowering Milton claims another, clothed in black from head to toe.
“How many more times do I need to tell you to end this? Letting Danil off his leash was a direct message to you. Youknowthat,” he warns. “For fuck sake, end this. Before even Dima gets bored of this game and decides he’ll have more fun watching your livelihood destroyed by Anatoli than trying to make amends with you—”
“Stop pretending like you give a damn about me, or my fucking ‘livelihood,’” Maxim bellows, his chest heaving, his hands balled into fists. “Otherwise, you would be the one to grow bored with this game. Bored of humoring Dima. For years, I’ve let you play the role of the so-called peacemaker. But what fucking use are you now?” He looks around mockingly and scoffs. “You manage our investments, only to withhold them when it suits you just to placate your childhood pet. You put your women and your interests above mine. And now you pretend as though I’m the one abandoning you? Why don’t we call in the other investor, then? If I need so many allies? The truth is, you were nevermyally, were you?”
“You fuckingidiot,” Milton hisses, his upper lip curling in disgust. “Don’t talk shit. You’re so blinded by fear and hate that you can’t hear how bloody ridiculous you sound. You know what…” Tearing his fingers through his dark hair, he lets out a deep breath. “Fine. I’m done. You want to pretend as if it’s you against the world? Even after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve done for you. Be my fucking guest. You accuse me of putting my life above yours, even though I’m the one risking my life every day foryou.Well, maybe it’s about time I did, for once. Go for it,Max. Knock yourself out.”
He turns and storms from the front door of the suite. He’s still visible within the hall when Maxim calls after him. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving little Dima to my mercy, Milton?”
“Dima?” Milton cocks his head and laughs coldly, the sound more unsettling than any I’ve ever heard. “Dima can handle himself. It was neverhimI was protecting when it came to the two of you. You’re just too damn stubborn to see that.”
He presses forward, vanishing into the shadows.
Roaring, Maxim pivots and slams his fists into a nearby end table. It shatters in a violent display of glittering glass. He stands alone in the aftermath, surrounded by countless jagged shards. Blood drips down his left forearm, originating from a gash sliced into the flesh, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.
“I’m sending you back,” he declares, spotting me standing at the mouth of the hall. “I need to handle this without any fucking distractions. Fuck Milton. Dima can play his little games. I won’t let him win. I won’t let him get inside your fucking head—”
“Maxim, s-stop.” I exhale the plea, but he breaks off, his throat cording. Swallowing hard, I weigh my next words. This is a true Russian Roulette. To pull the trigger, or run away? “I don’t think you spook easily,” I add, my voice rasping. “So, something had to happen to make you change your mind…”
He cocks his head, his eyes flashing. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, as if the words are being ripped from his throat. “Idon’t.”
But he has. He’s left marks on me that will never truly heal, and I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to suppress the lingering fear from that. At the same time, he’s done so much for me…
So much it’s pushed him to the fucking breaking point.
“You won’t hurt me.” This time I think I actually believe it. Reaching for him, I take a hesitant step, and he nearly jumps out of his skin in his rush to maintain the distance between us. His blood paints the floor with every step, coloring the monochromatic world of his own making.
“Go,” he snarls, and my body shivers in recognition of that deep, resonating tone. He’s beyond even the past now. He’s trapped within his fucking head, and only God knows what he’s seeing.
“Talk to me,” I plead, inching another step forward.
