Page 13 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
Telling him the truth might be the smartest option, but this hellish night leaves me entirely unwilling to engage any longer than I have to, so I look away and focus on the gleaming floor numbers on the elevator. “Nothing.”
Whether he believes me or not is unclear, but he doesn’t press the issue and I don’t offer any more information. Outside, one of the men from the pizzeria greets us but it’s not Toto.
“Stu.” Maxim’s fist suddenly flies out and collides with Stu’s face, sending him sprawling flat onto the ground like he was made of air. The powerful sound of skin slapping skin rings in my ears as I stare down in shock.
“I deserved that,” Stu groans from his heap on the sidewalk. “You know why I did it, though, right?”
“Yeah. Your loyalty is mis-fucking-placed. And you owe her an apology.” He’s pointing at me, and I’m more confused than ever.
Stu doesn’t appear surprised and he climbs to his feet while massaging his jaw. Then he looks at me, and I weakly brace for the next disgusting onslaught from one of these men.
It doesn’t come. Instead, Stu grimaces and indicates briefly to my face. “Sorry about that.”
“What?” My brain short-circuits and after blinking rapidly, the situation isn’t any clearer. “I don’t… understand.”
Maxim turns to face me as he opens the rear door. “My father speaks in violence between those close to him,” he explains. “I hate that approach. Stu never should have laid a hand on you.”
“Does that really matter when you’re holding me hostage?” I challenge, glaring at him. “Will you hit me if I run right now?”
“No,” Maxim replies easily. “I bet I’d reach your parents faster than you.”
There it is again. That same threat, although it’s much clearer this time. Narrowing my eyes, I glance back at Stu, who isstill massaging his jaw. “For a man who doesn’t speak through violence, you sure could’ve fooled me.” With that, I slide into the car and huddle in the back seat.
Thankfully, I’m not handcuffed this time and I focus on the passing buildings while we weave like silk through the streets of New York. I’ve never been out in the city this late. It’s like another world. Feels like my entire life has crashed into another world, at this rate.
“I punched Stu because he didn’t trust me, to an extent.” Maxim’s voice is soft despite the gravel undertones. “He didn’t think I could take care of myself.”
“You’re built like a brick house,” I scoff. “Why would anyone think that?”
Maxim doesn’t reply.
Sighing, I glance over at him and bite into the offered conversation. “How does punching him build that trust?”
“My father thinks Stu is still a mole for him so occasionally, Stu has to give him tidbits of information. Sometimes, that info has to be juicy enough to keep my father satisfied. Other times, he genuinely thinks he’s helping.”
A mole? He speaks less like they’re street criminals and more like they run some kind of organization.
“I knew he would use you as a juicy piece of information and I was fine with it. What I wasn’t fine with was his not warning me that my father was on his way to visit me.”
“So you punched him.” Sounds like ego aggression to me.
“Yes. My father would be suspicious if I didn’t react to Stu’s betrayal in some way. Better my fist in his face than my father’s blade in his spine.”
Oh. “You hurt him to save him?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m hoping you will understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Everything.”
Rolling my eyes, I look back out the window. I’m too tired and stressed to play around with riddles right now. Maxim doesn’t press the conversation so we settle into silence for the rest of the drive. Not once does he move closer or try to reach out and touch me, and once again, the vehicle moves as if red stop lights don’t exist. Either we’re super lucky and it’s green all the way, or no one in the group gives a shit about road safety.
We pull up outside a nightclub called Plumme. The name blinks at me in gold and neon pink letters that throb in time to the low thump of music drifting from inside.
