Page 8 of The Bratva's Christmas Bump
“Then you'd better hope I don’t succumb to smoke inhalation.”
“Stop!” I throw my hands up. “Stop talking to me like you know me! You’ve kidnapped me! Dragged me across the city after I saw you murder that poor man! You’re twisted and sick, and if you don’t let me go, then I’ll make you regret ever bringing me here!”
Maxim seems unaffected by my outburst and suddenly, his dark brows lift. “Hollie.”
“What?”
“I remember now. Your name was Hollie.”
Slowly, my hands lower and something else twists in my gut. Nerves. “You remember?”
“It took me a second because you look so different, but yes, I remember. We were at Leviathan. The club.”
“Mhm.”
“And now you’re here. In my line of work, that’s too much of a coincidence, so tell me, Hollie. Are you going to tell me who you work for or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”
The soft patter of rain rises up against the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the lounge. As the tantalizing aroma of the curry fully invades my senses, my shoulders slump and confusion mingles with the upset in my chest.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You walked in on something you never should have seen,” Maxim states flatly. “That’s a problem for me.”
“Then you'd better go ahead and kill me because I’m never going to forget your murdering some poor man in cold blood.”
4
MAXIM
She isn’t shying away from me. That’s a start. She’s either very bold or incredibly stupid. Typically, in situations like these, the burst of confidence fades after a few minutes and the gravity of the situation sets in.
Then again, typical situations like this don’t involve my penthouse or curry at three in the morning. If she were anyone else, she’d likely end up in one of our facilities having her teeth pulled out until we learned every detail about her life and then, if she wasn’t deemed a threat, we’d get enough dirt on her to destroy her life if she ever talked.
Instead, I had her brought back here because I remember her, and something about the genuine fear in her eyes cut through me a little. Innocents, true innocents who make up the majority of this city, are left unharmed when my orders are followed.
Orders often overruled by my strict, cold-hearted father. In truth, my home is currently the only place in the entire city where she’s safe and she doesn’t even know it.
Turning back to the sauce bubbling merrily in my pan, I stir slowly to ensure all pieces of chicken are evenly coated. “People who walk into my business are one of two things—either nosy enough to play with their lives or they’re working for someone else who is happy to risk their life in order to get any kind of information on me. So, which is it?”
Glancing over my shoulder, Hollie has eased into one of the tall, high-backed chairs against my breakfast counter. “Why are you talking like that?”
My hand pauses. “Like what?”
“Like you’re some kind of spy or something.”
A brief grunt of humor escapes me. “Not a spy. But your life rides on your answer.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly.”
Her face pales slightly and she brings both of her hands together, clasping at her knuckles. “I wasn’t doing anything. I don’t understand this at all. I just…” Her lower lip trembles. “I want to go home.”
“If you satisfy me, it might be possible.”
“Satisfyyou?” A flicker of alarm crosses her eyes.
“With answers,” I add. Poor word choice. “Tell me what you were doing there.”
