Page 97 of Promised to the Killer

Maxim

Iwatch Siena sleep in the darkness of the bedroom.

The townhouse is empty. The neighborhood’s quiet. I hear a car drive past playing loud, bass-heavy music, but otherwise the night is still as it disappears into the distance. Siena breaths deeply, wearing a thin t-shirt and panties. Her hips are like heaven and her ass is begging for my big palm, but I keep my hands to myself. She needs rest. I watch the gentle curve of her spine and gently, so gently, run my fingers through her thick hair, just touching the ends. I want to be close to her, but I can’t sleep.

The doctor said she’d be okay. He gave her stitches and some antibiotic cream. She’ll need to keep the wound dressed and cleaned, and she’ll have to be careful eating and talking so the stitches don’t rip, but otherwise he thinks it’ll heal just fine. There’ll be a scar, but what’s that matter?

My body’s littered with more scars than I can count.

I gently brush her hair back. She’s so perfect in the moonlight. I hate what Zita did to her—and I hate myself for failing to protect her. I’ll never make that mistake again. I’ll make sure she knows how beautiful I think she is every day of her life. No scar will ever change that.

A noise downstairs makes me sit up straight.

It’s a creak. Barely a sound. But it happens again. I grab a gun from my bedside table, make sure it’s loaded, and slip out of bed. I’m in a pair of boxer briefs and the moonlight glistens off my tattoos as I creep to the bedroom door.

The sound again. Someone’s moving down there. I slip into the hallway and pad down the steps as quietly as I can. I reach the bottom, my heart racing, sweat prickling my arms and back.

I knew this would happen sooner or later. I thought we might have another day—but I was wrong.

I come around the corner fast with my gun raised and find a pistol aimed at my face.

I don’t move. My eyes focus in the darkness, and Oleg’s grin flashes back at me. The barrel of my gun is an inch from his mouth.

“Hello, Maxim,” he says. “Sleep well?”

“Not really. Did my father send you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“To talk or to kill?”

Oleg raises his eyebrows. “He would’ve sent more than just me if he wanted you dead. He’s not stupid.”

I nod once. “Lower your gun then.”

“If you kill me, you won’t have any chance at convincing your father to spare your life.”

“I’m aware. Lower it.”

He drops it down and tucks it into a holster at his side. I lower mine and hold it loosely at my side. He grins happily and walks to the kitchen where I find he’s already poured two glasses of vodka. He pushes one over and I take it. I don’t put my gun down. I can’t relax around Oleg, even if I have known him for a long time. He’s my father’s creature, and right now my father is my enemy, at least until I can make him my friend again.

Oleg grins and raises his glass into the air. “To the bratva.”

“To the bratva.”

We drink. I toss it back and watch him the whole time. Oleg’s an old soldier, quick with a gun, and very strong. He’s clever and skilled, and he’s one of my father’s most trusted men. If he’s here, that means my father is taking this very seriously.

That’s good. I need him to if I’m going to survive.

“What’s the plan here, Maxim? You know what your father said. If I go back and confirm that you have that girl, your life is forfeit. When I return, it’ll be at the head of a ten-man death squad.”

“I’m aware of that. You think I haven’t led plenty of those squads myself?”

“I know you have.”

“Tell my father I have a proposition for him. It’s a very simple offer, but I have a feeling he’ll find it attractive.”

Oleg pours himself another drink. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

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