Surrender: XXX Maxim Book 3 (Club XXX)

by Lana Sky

  “He… He is someone I mistrust even more than Anatoli. And he is the only other bastard crazy enough to stand against him.”

  He enters the hall, and his echoing steps track his progress throughout the suite—but he never leaves.

  And I don’t sleep. I just coexist in a silent dwelling that I know he still occupies, fuming in some distant corner. I can smell him. Sense him. It’s like my body stays attuned to his presence even if he isn’t in the same fucking room.

  I’m draped in invisible chains this time, tugged and twisted at his discretion.

  And right now, he is twisting hard.

  Chapter Five

  For what feels like hours, all I can do is lie still, listening to the cadence of his footsteps echo. He’s pacing. It isn’t long before his voice reaches back to me, though directed at someone else.

  “You found him?” he demands. “I knew it! Where? Don’t bullshit me, Milton, your men are more accurate than that. No, I won’t kill him. Yet. And why even ask? Don’t tell me that after all this time you still harbor some ounce of pity for the son of a bitch? I didn’t think you were so sentimental. You were children then, after all…”

  He must hang up. After a few minutes of silence, heavy footsteps fill the absence in the wake of his baritone, advancing slowly in my direction. He takes his time, lingering in the hallway, just beyond the door. He’s testing me, I think. Knowing I’m awake but wanting to draw out the tension and extend every last second of brutal anticipation.

  Unchecked, my pulse flutters beneath my skin, each frantic beat counting the seconds down. Thump. Thump. Thump…

  “Your family is safe,” he finally says. “They’re in a property outside of the city. I’ll take you to them in the morning. Together, you will be moved to a more secure location.”

  I sit upright, still draped beneath the bedsheets. The darkness shrouds him well. I have to strain my eyes before I spot him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Thank you.”

  “But tonight…” He shifts, and I sense him mulling over his next words, debating uttering them at all. “I have a lead,” is all he says. “Come with me if you want—”

  “Where?” I’m already scrambling to my feet.

  “Get dressed. Meet me downstairs within ten minutes. Or not. You have a choice.”

  I flinch, recognizing my own plea being thrown back in my face. Still, I can overlook the jab in favor of the larger prize.

  Answers.

  For once, tangible, real answers.

  What kind of man might someone like Maxim Koslov seek out for help against his grandfather? How does this figure tie into his past? My brain spins with a million potential possibilities as I race into the closet and tug on a dress at random. It’s too tight. My nipples throb, forcing me to switch to one with a looser neckline. When I finally join Maxim in the garage, I’m panting.

  He, however, sits calmly in the back seat of his car while a dutiful driver claims the wheel. The door on my end is already open, and I climb in without a word, settling beside him.

  “If there is one thing you are, it’s eager,” he murmurs. He reaches for my left hand, and his thumb strokes my bare ring finger. “Perhaps, I may have broached the subject from the wrong angle?”

  My heart clenches. Is this an apology?

  “I forget… In some ways, you are so young—ignorant,” he continues as the driver guides the car into the street. “More often than not, it seems I misjudge you.”

  He’s thoughtful tonight, his expression pensive as passing streetlights illuminate his face in various shades of neon red and green. A lack of tension makes him seem more open than usual as well. I can’t stop staring. It’s such a contrast to even a few hours ago.

  “There are some things I don’t have to explain to you. But others…” He runs his fingers along my shoulder and parts my tangled hair. “You have no idea as to the lengths I would go to keep my word. Do you? Just know that when all is said and done, God himself won’t be able to dispute my claim over you. Do you understand? I need you to say it out loud—” His hand cups my chin, gently lifting it higher. “Can you give me this? Time?”

  I have to inhale deeply and form each word in the base of my throat. “Y-Yes. But—” His hand stills against me. “I need to know everything. I don’t want to be ignorant anymore.”

  “Fine.” He turns away, letting me go, and my entire body slumps in the wake of his touch. “But first, you promise me one last thing.”

  “What?”

  He leans forward and grunts something to the driver. Simultaneously, the car lurches forward with a sudden burst of speed, and I scramble for my seat belt.

  “I’ll let you ask what you want. I’ll answer your questions. But you keep those wide eyes in check,” Maxim warns. “If you think you can stomach my world, then you accept it. All of it. No more flinching. No more running.”

  “Okay.”

  “So now, ask your questions.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask—a neutral enough starting point.

  “Outside of the city. I have a general area of where to look,” he admits, eyeing the world racing past beyond the window. “But no key destination. Admittedly, one could say that I’m shooting in the dark.”

  “Who are you looking for? One of your uncle’s men?”

  “Not quite.” He leans back against the seat, tilting his head away from me. “Sevastyn was never interested in surrounding himself with men.”

  Mayday. Unease floods my belly, and I flick my tongue along my lip to delay posing another question. Dealing with him sometimes is like pulling the lever on a slot machine—I never know what prize I’ll get.

  Such is the risk when it comes to roulette.

  There is no time to think.

  Or regret.

  “Tell me about him,” I ask, pulling the trigger.

  “Sevastyn?” He makes a sound in his throat somewhere in between a grunt and a scoff. “He served as a liaison between my grandfather and the more senior members of the family. That position made it ideal for him to use blackmail as his weapon of choice. So like any snake, he traded in sin, tempting powerful men and women with the kind of debauchery most only acknowledge on their deathbed to a priest…”

  He told me more than he meant to. Confusion disrupts his icy gaze before he refocuses it on the road. Around us, the buildings gradually decrease in height. We’re nearing the city limits.

  “How do you know Milton?” I ask, aiming my focus at a less volatile target. Or so I think.

  “Milton?” He grits his teeth—a habit I’m starting to connect to when he’s suppressing an instinctive need to lash out. Evade. “You could say our upbringings were similar,” he admits to my shock. “I’ve known him since I was a child. As it turns out, our goals in life converged as well. I trust him.”

  It’s a surprisingly chilling concept—a child Maxim forging a friendship that would include future bonding experiences such as the dismemberment and disposal of a body. I try to picture him as an angry boy with flashing dark eyes and white-blond hair.

  But I can’t.

  I recall how he interacted with Milton instead. In some ways, he seemed more at ease than he is even around Lucius.

  “He’s your friend?” I ask.

  “He is my partner.” His tone gives that word far more reverence than the one I used. “Apart from my family’s holdings, everything in my business was built between the two of us. Everything.”

  “Like the club?”

  He nods. “It’s as much his as it is mine.”

  Given how comfortable he feels there—especially in his private room—that simple acknowledgment conveys so much more. The place has more value to him than some piece of random property.

  “What does the name stand for? XX—”

  “An X for every partner with skin in the game.” He flexes his fingers, observing them one by one. “We combine our resources. Think of it as an alliance.”

  “Three men for three Xs,” I d
educe. “You, Milton, and…”

  “Another investor.” He shrugs, crossing his arms. “I don’t know his identity. Everything goes through Milton. As long as the money flows and our business interests remain unchallenged, I don’t need to know the details. The third member has remained anonymous since the start.”

  “Milton knew Sevastyn.” Or so I’m assuming from his apparent disgust when he saw the body.

  “He did,” Maxim says. A dare lurks in the ensuing silence. Do you really want to know how?

  Given what little I know of Sevastyn already, I don’t. Two men with similar upbringings—one of whom I know was caught up in the web of a child molester.

  Ignorance may be preferable in this instance.

  “I believe it’s my turn to ask some questions of my own,” Maxim says, reclaiming the reins of the conversation. His inflection doesn’t change, but I recognize the shift in subject as a warning. A plea. “I never asked you about the dress. What did you think of it?”

  “It’s…white.” I gauge his reaction in glimpses snuck from the corner of my eye. “I don’t know much about religion, but I don’t think someone like me is allowed to wear that color in a church.”

  “Allowed?” He raises an eyebrow. Have I surprised him? Or annoyed him? A searching look later and I’m still not sure. “I don’t think you understand the irony. As my wife, no one will dictate what you are allowed to do. Not a priest. No one.”

  “No one but you?”

  “You think I tell you what to do?” He laughs, but there’s no warmth in the sound. “You… Who stayed when I first told her to run? Who questions my intentions to give her the highest thing of value I possess in my name?” I jump as he grabs my hand, dragging it onto his lap. His heat floods my blood like poison, enhancing my awareness of him. He sits rigidly, but not out of annoyance. His thigh muscles tense in a way that makes me suck in a breath. “The woman who, with one look, can make me fuck her like an animal when I desire control,” he adds softly. “But yes, I control you. Starting with keeping you alive. You will leave the city tomorrow night. I’ve already contacted Gemma so that you may resume your lessons while away.”

  I grit my teeth, unsure of how to respond. “I—”

  “Stop here,” Maxim snaps, directing the order to the driver. Just like that, the brief display of intimacy is over. As if a switch is flipped, his jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. He’s in business mode, fixated solely on whatever motive drew him here in the first place.

  Here, being a seedy-looking bar on the edge of the highway. We’re just beyond the city limits. In the distance, skyscrapers pierce the horizon, pointed like daggers. The imagery makes me shiver. A poetic observation, or an omen?

  “Come.” Maxim exits the car and extends his hand for me to follow. I step out onto a narrow curb in his wake, taking in whatever I can.

  At a glance, this place is no match for his elegant club XXX, that’s for damn sure. Made of brick, the building itself is square-shaped with a broken neon sign reading Money’s, instead of the intended Montey’s.

  Inside, plumes of cigarette smoke choke the narrow barroom, so thick I can barely see the figure beside me. Dressed in a crisp, black suit, Maxim stands out among the shadows—an angel in hell. Coifed blond hair and a blood-red tie give him a harsh definition against the monochromatic backdrop.

  Which only confuses me more when my own appearance is factored in. Given his usual obsessive attention to my clothing, he must want it this way. My dress is a plain, shapeless gray. Still mussed from our stint in bed, my hair is a mess. If I wanted to be self-deprecating about it, I look like I belong slobbering over one of the truckers camped out near a pool table at the back of the room—not on his arm.

  His palm cups my waist possessively regardless, forcing me to match his pace as he draws up to a chipped, wooden counter. A man stands behind it, rubbing a filthy glass with a filthier dishrag.

  “Can I help you?” he wonders without looking up. It’s funny how, after all this time in Maxim’s world, seeing someone dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt stands out as odd. At least in comparison to the polished suits everyone down to his drivers seems to prefer.

  “I believe you can.” Maxim reaches into his pocket and tosses something onto the bar. My eyes widen as I identify it—a wad of cash, neatly constrained by a silver rubber band.

  “I’m looking for someone,” he continues. “Calls himself Vadim. Dima.”

  The bartender’s movements slow as he assaults the same crusty stain over and over. Finally, he looks up and shrugs. “Don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry.”

  “Is that so?” Maxim laughs and returns his hand to his breast pocket. This time, he withdraws a second wad of cash, noticeably larger than the first. “Does this refresh your memory?”

  The bartender glances over his shoulder. Then he swipes his hand across the bar, dragging the money toward him. “Heard of a Dima,” he admits while stuffing the cash into his pocket. “Showed up a few weeks ago, I think. Didn’t cause a lot of trouble. He owe you money or something?”

  “How do I know your memory isn’t faulty?” Maxim wonders. His upper lip curls back from his teeth, and the other man flinches, nearly dropping a wad of bills before he can fit it all into his pants. I don’t blame him. Maybe I flinch too. It’s chilling how easily the figure beside me can switch from suave to menacing. “Describe him to me.”

  “Tall, um… Lanky. A bit of an oddball—” The bartender twirls his finger beside his head and raises an eyebrow. “Kept to himself, like I said—”

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “His name,” the bartender says, shrugging. “He didn’t exactly make a secret of it. And he was damn good. That’s why I asked about the money. He would come in some nights and fleece the shit out of my regulars playing pool.” He nods to the table in the corner. “Damn smart, that guy… He might have looked scrawny and all, but I ain’t never seen anybody play like that. It was like he was reading fucking minds and shit. And tough, too. One of the guys tried to have a go at him after he won. But that Dima guy, he just gave him a look, ya know? Billy went to prison for attempted murder, so he ain’t no chicken shit. I never seen him back down from a fight like that.” He shakes his head and snatches up his rag. “But he hasn’t been here in a few days.”

  Scowling in concentration, Maxim braces his hand against the bar. “And you’re sure of that?”

  The man nods. “Positive. But ah, if you want, I can keep an eye out.” He eyes Maxim’s bruised, bloodied knuckles and swallows. “Let you know if I see him.”

  “Good.” Maxim fingers his lapel and turns his attention to a nearby booth. He moves boldly, drawing attention from every patron in the entire damn room. “I’ll have a drink.”

  He sits, pulling me down beside him and withdraws a cell phone from his pocket—a different model than the one from the other day.

  “Lucius,” he snaps, bringing the receiver to his ear. “Switch out with Victor. We need to talk.”

  He hangs up and eyes the silver watch on his wrist and then refocuses his gaze over the center of the room in a way that makes my stomach twist into knots.

  One by one, he eyes the few other patrons huddled in the bar, scanning their faces with ruthless focus. The longer he stares, the harder his expression becomes. After about an hour, he stands, tugging me after him.

  “Come.”

  Once we return to the car, the other driver is gone. Instead, Lucius patiently inclines his head for instruction. “Where to, sir?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” Maxim swipes his hand through the air as he reclaims the back seat. He looks ready to pounce through the windshield, hungry for a fight. “Drive around. And as you do, you can explain why Dima has been here for weeks, and I haven’t heard a fucking word.”

  “That is news to me as well, sir.” Lucius calmly pulls into traffic, heading toward the main road. “I know for a fact he hasn’t been spotted in the city.” A rare note of sternness co
lors his tone. He’s confident of that. “But if he has been on the outskirts, I will have my men extend more resources immediately. Any lapse in vigilance is unacceptable.”

  “I should have known it seemed too damn easy,” Maxim hisses. “The bastard knew I was coming. He’s probably in fucking Moscow by now. I should have known Milton would protect that piece of shit… But you are no lazy hack, either,” he adds, speaking to Lucius. “The only way for this to go under your radar was if someone helped sweep it under. I paid one of the men off, but I could tell the fucker’s been bought before. Only one man I know is cunning enough.” He strokes his chin, his eyes gleaming murderously.

  “Sir?” Lucius inclines his head. “You don’t mean—”

  “Milton has always had a soft spot for Vadim. They were in the same batch, you remember? In Europe. Kept like prized rats in a cage to be bought and sold amongst the same fucking ‘clientele’…”

  He glowers, staring beyond me, and this car and anyone else. The past surrounds him, and he bares his teeth against it.

  “I thought time may have broken that pathetic sense of pity in him. But I was wrong.” A single twitch of his frown betrays just how deeply that fact unnerves him. “When it comes to Vadim, I can no longer trust him.”

  “Sir?” Lucius inclines his head. “What would you like for me to do?”

  “You have full reign,” Maxim replies. “Do what you must to hunt him down—but don’t kill him. I want you to give him a message.” He laughs in a way that will haunt my fucking nightmares. “Tell him to stop hiding like a boy and face me like a man.”

  His voice resonates with more vitriol than usual—even for him.

  “Let’s see how the rat reacts when presented with a pile of cheese.”

  “As you wish, sir. But Ms. Marconi?” Lucius clears his throat, and Maxim flinches at the subtle reminder.

  “Bring her to her family,” he commands, returning his attention to me. “Then take me back to the city.”

  “Yes, sir.” Lucius nods. “Right away.”