Page 86 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
31
HOLLIE
“Ilove my parents, but that party was exhausting.” Slumping down onto the couch back at Maxim’s penthouse, I draw the blanket over myself and try to process. I need to tell him what happened, but where to start? How to explain everything that happened, and then my determination not to ruin my parents’ party?
My eyes close until the couch dips. Maxim sits beside me with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together. “Hollie, tell me what happened at the gig.”
My heart jumps. Just five minutes. I want just five minutes to process and feel safe, but when Maxim’s gaze locks onto mine, I realize that he already knows.
“What did Stu tell you?”
“Did you really think he would keep it a secret?” Maxim leans toward me. “Tell me.”
He speaks softly and yet his words are like a command, a demand for the truth, yet somehow, it makes me feel like refusing wouldn’t be the end of the world.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, clutching at the blanket. “He was nice. I played music and I watched him propose to his fiancée, and then he asked me to come with him to get paid and I went. It was no different from any other booking I’ve had but suddenly, we were alone. And I remember thinking that it was oddly quiet with just the two of us, and then he started talking about myperformancebut it was like he wasn’t talking about my music. And then he…”
I can’t say it.
It sounds pathetic. Maxim faces danger every day and I’ve told him I can take care of myself. In the great scheme of things, it hardly seems important.
Maxim doesn’t speak. He watches me intently, but his hands have twisted together so tightly that the white of his bone bleeds through the skin of his knuckles.
“He grabbed me.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. “And he threw me down on the desk and he pinned me down and he… He was saying all these things about how he’d waited for me before or something, but it was easier to let me just walk into his trap, and I—” Gasping, my hand shoots over my mouth. “Oh God… I hit him. It was a paper weight, I think, but itshatteredand he was bleeding and he fell, and I tried to run but he?—”
The tattoo suddenly appears in the forefront of my mind, and the realization brings with it the weight of what could have truly happened had I not gotten away.
“He had the tattoo.”
Maxim’s brow lifts slightly. “The tattoo?”
I nod quickly and hold out my hand. “On his wrist. He had a heart tattoo. I knew I’d seen it before when Zoe told me about it, but I just couldn’t remember where, so I thought it was nothing, but he… he had one. Right here.” Pressing my fingertips against my wrist, I show Maxim exactly where the tattoo was. “I kicked him and I ran, and then?—”
Maxim suddenly scoops me into his arms and draws me into his lap. The comfort of his secure hold is enough to unlock the next wave of tears and suddenly, I’m sobbing into his shoulder and clutching so hard at his shirt that my nailbeds ache.
“I’m sorry,” he grunts. “I should have gone in with you.”
I can’t speak. On the drive to my parents’ house, I kept telling myself I was fine and there was nothing really to worry about. I got away and that’s all that matters. But now, after it’s sunk in and I’ve finished performing as the perfect daughter for my parents, the pain hits.
I cry until my throat is hoarse and my eyes burn. Maxim doesn’t relax even for a second. He holds me tight and close, rocking me back and forth and caressing the back of my head while murmuring things I can’t decipher. Just the noise of his voice is enough to soothe me, and I cry until my phone rings for the third time in a row.
“Let me,” Maxim says, reaching for my purse, but I catch his arm and shake my head.
“S’fine. Probably my mom.”
“Are you sure?” There’s such worry flooding Maxim’s eyes, but I nod quickly and slip from his lap. “Do you think there’s a connection?” I ask softly. “About the tattoo?”
Maxim doesn’t reply. He stands and kisses the top of my head, then he moves out of the lounge and stands in the kitchen with his own phone pressed to his ear.
Maybe it’s nothing. That tattoo is surely common, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something there.
Drying my eyes, I answer the phone while sniffling softly to control myself.
“Darling!” Tiffany’s voice bursts forth. “You didn’t call me after the gig, how did it go? I called the client but he didn’t pick up, so I can only imagine he’s celebrating his fancy new engagement and we’re insanely richer, right?”
I forgot all about the money. God knows where that check ended up after we fought.
“Tiffany, hey.” I try to subtly clear my throat. “Sorry I didn’t call.”
