Surrender: XXX Maxim Book 3 (Club XXX)

by Lana Sky

  It being a near-identical replica of the “toy” room from his penthouse in the city—only white marble flooring makes the space seem even more isolated than the black. It’s a stark canvas in a sense, incapable of hiding any stains; something I suspect he’s planned on. A marble altar-shaped platform sports a thin, white pad for comfort, and a row of metal cabinets must contain whatever a man like him might need to indulge his inclinations toward sadism.

  “Do you still agree to this?” His fingers slip beneath my chin, guiding me to face him directly.

  Do I? Deep down, I sense that the answer is more important to him than the fact that we’re standing in a sex room designed for pain and pleasure. He still wants my consent.

  “The rules won’t change,” he adds. “If you want me to stop, you—”

  “I know,” I say.

  “And?” His thumb traces the ball of my chin, making my breathing hitch with every traversed inch. “You aren’t one for nuance, but I sense there is more you want to say.”

  And he’s right. I suck in a breath and release it on a single question. “When we return to the city, will things go back to how they were before?”

  Him dwelling primarily alone in his secluded penthouses while I live apart from my family.

  He strokes my cheek. “Only if you want them to...”

  We return downstairs, and Maxim leads me through an impressive kitchen with a view of the terrace. Without a word of explanation, he proceeds to stockpile several items from the fridge and a walk-in pantry into his arms. Meat. Veggies. Bread. I watch him in silence, intrigued by the potential uses for the ingredients. Fodder for the kids to throw at the shooting game, maybe?

  Once on the terrace, he approaches a metal grill and confidently rolls up his sleeves. As he fires up the range, his true intent becomes crystal clear, and I suck in a startled breath.

  He plans to cook dinner. For us.

  As impossible as it seems in theory, the scent of grilled meat wafts across the lawn within minutes—a far cry from the polished, cold dinners I’ve come to associate him with.

  The backdrop of the ocean breeze and the distant murmur of crashing waves create a cozy, casual aura. Even the kids are enticed enough to trudge in from the dispersing carnival, exhausted and dripping with sweat.

  “I thought we might try something different tonight,” Maxim says while dropping cooked hot dogs onto a plate. “Something…informal.” His gaze cuts in my direction, and I squirm. Again, it’s as though he’s reading my mind.

  Or even more unsettling—he’s starting to know me too damn well.

  “I want that big one!” Ainsley demands, appearing beside him, her eyes fixated on the food. “Or maybe that one. Or that one…”

  The rest of us scatter onto nearby lounge chairs. Ironically, it’s no different from how we used to eat, but with actual silverware and a mansion backdrop rather than a filthy living room.

  And a newcomer whose presence is impossible to ignore.

  As if sensing all eyes on him, Maxim tosses a fresh wave of food onto the grill. “Did you enjoy the attractions?” he wonders as the meat sizzles—his attempt at small talk, I realize. It doesn’t come naturally to him, at least not in this context. But as stiff as his voice sounds forming the words, they land innocently enough.

  “Yes!” Ainsley beams, practically bouncing on her toes. “I had so much fun, though I rode the spinny ride too many times and threw up on Mikie’s—”

  “No reminders, please,” Mikie pipes up from his position near the pool. He cradles his head in his hands, and I notice a damp splotch on his shirt. “It took two bottles of water to get it out.”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” Ainsley snipes. Then she turns to Maxim and points to the spatula. “Can I help? Please?”

  “Well…” His movements slow as he processes the request. “If your sister doesn’t mind, then I suppose so—”

  “Ainsley,” Daisy says from a nearby chaise, “leave him alone. You’re bothering him.”

  “No, I’m not!” Jutting her chin into the air, Ainsley tugs on Maxim’s pant leg. “Right?”

  “Right.” No match for her, he surrenders the spatula and stoops to help her tend to the sizzling food. Under his guidance, she flips a hot dog by herself and howls in triumph.

  “See?” Her impish grin could easily be classified as smug. “He wants me to help.”

  “You don’t have to be a little brat about it,” Daisy bites back. “But all you’re doing is getting in the way.”

  “Hey!” I stick out my hand, inserting myself as the referee. “I think it’s okay as long as she is careful—”

  “You would say that, wouldn’t you?” Scoffing, Daisy crosses her arms. “Like you give a damn about her safety.”

  “Daisy…” I resist the urge to groan out loud. “Do we have to do this now?”

  “Do what? Lie? Eat dinner like a good little family?” She rolls her eyes at the plate of food balanced on the end of the grill. “Are we really pretending like everything’s okay? Like we weren’t shot at the other day? Like we aren’t missing school? Like this is normal? Oh, I’m sorry. I guess we’re just going to keep acting like what happened at the other house really was a gas leak—”

  “Daisy.” I stand and start toward her, fighting to keep my voice level. “We can talk about this in private—”

  “Private? Like you give a damn about privacy! We don’t even know who he is!” She points at Maxim and jabs the same finger at me. “Or who you are to him. Are you dating him? Screwing him? Are you some kind of high-class hooker? His mistress? What the hell is it? Or—” She hisses, her eyes narrowing. “Are you going to act like Mama and want us to call him ‘Daddy?’”

  “Knock it off!” Mikie snaps, appearing at my side. “Stop being a bitch.”

  “Don’t be so stupid!” Daisy laughs at him, her voice high-pitched.

  Whatever triggered this, it isn’t about fucking hot dogs.

  “She hasn’t denied it,” she points out, propping her hands on her hips. “And don’t pretend like you don’t know how she got her money before, Mikie. The slutty dresses? The late nights? Do I have to spell it out? She was a fucking prostitute. And this? It’s just a fucking buy-off—”

  “I care about your sister,” Maxim interjects from his position near the grill. Silence falls instantly. It’s as if the entire world stops, heeding the authority he exudes in every word.

  Daisy grits her teeth, ruthlessly defiant. “I’m sorry, but what is that supposed to mean to me? Because all it’s meant so far is bouncing around from place to place with no fucking clue as to what’s going on.” Her voice breaks. Tears spill down her cheeks, and it’s painfully clear what today, despite all of Maxim’s effort, truly was at the end of it all. A Band-Aid. “I’m not the only one who thinks it’s fucking weird,” she adds. “I’m just the only one brave enough to say it. I’ve already been through four stepdads, and I’m sorry, but I don’t want another one. And it’s not good for Ainsley, or Eric, or any of us to have strange men bounce in and out of our lives because they pay the bills for a few months.”

  “True,” Maxim concedes, still tending the grill. “Stability is important, and words are meaningless. Which is why…I’ve asked your sister to marry me.”

  His statement is met with more silence. Unbearable, overwhelming fucking silence. I can’t even look at Daisy, or the others for that matter. I stare at the sky instead. A swath of orange paints the horizon like fire, burning up the peace of the day, and leaving darkness behind.

  “Um…okay.” Mikie clears his throat, ever the peacemaker. “Is that true, Frankie?” I force myself to face him, prepared for the worst. But his expression doesn’t convey anger or shock. Just confusion.

  “Of course not,” Daisy snarls, her cheeks red, eyes blazing. “Because you wouldn’t do that, would you, Frankie? You wouldn’t be dating someone without telling us. Your family—”

  “Of course, she wouldn’t. Which is why she rightly refused
my offer,” Maxim explains while flipping over a cooked burger. His shoulders are hunched, his posture rigid, and yet his voice doesn’t hold a trace of annoyance. The relentless calm neutralizes even Daisy’s hostility. Slowly, she sits back down.

  “You mean more to her than anything I could offer,” he continues. “More to her than any promise of money, or luxury. In fact, she threatened to leave me if I ever questioned that devotion again, and as you can see, there is no ring on her finger. Consider this vacation as my way of apologizing for insulting her. Nothing more. I can only hope that she will reconsider.”

  He finally looks in my direction, but I turn away and hunt for the first distraction I can find. “I…I’m going to take care of these dirty dishes.”

  I snatch up the nearest empty plates and cut across the terrace before anyone can recover enough to stop me. My hands shake so badly it takes me three tries before I can pry open the door to the kitchen. Fuck! I trip over the threshold in my rush, and the plates fall from my hands, smashing apart at my feet.

  I can’t even muster the sense of mind to clean the mess. Instead, I approach the sink, panting to control my breathing. Running the water as hot as it can go and shoving my hand beneath it is the only way to regain some semblance of clarity.

  So much for our day of normalcy.

  I close my eyes, mulling over the potential ways I can fix this mess. Apologize? Slap Daisy a second time? Run?

  It’s too late. My neck prickles with the awareness of someone behind me, betrayed by heavy footsteps.

  “I know that is not how you wanted to tell them,” Maxim admits. Before he can come closer, I turn off the water and tuck my stinging hand to my chest. “I apologize—”

  “For what?” I force out a broken laugh. I don’t know what’s more disorienting, this entire conversation? Or the rare hint of regret from him? “You covered for my ass when you didn’t have to. Thank you. But…”

  “But?” he prompts.

  “You wanted me to take your name, but what about them? Daisy’s right, we’ve had our fair share of winners come through. And…have you thought about what kind of relationship you’re comfortable with allowing?”

  Melanie had her suckers throw around the word ‘Daddy’ like it meant something. I could never do the same to the kids. Even with a description as harmless as “Maxim, the brother-in-law for protection only.”

  He doesn’t say anything—but again, it’s as though he’s reading my mind, waiting for the real concerns to come spilling out.

  “And what if…I don’t want it? Your name. Even if your grandfather removes the bounty. And not because of you,” I add in a rush. “But…he abused you—”

  “Don’t.” He grits his teeth and glances at the doorway. Thankfully none of the kids have followed us inside. Yet. Returning his attention to me, Maxim’s tone deepens in warning, “He has nothing to do with it.”

  “Doesn’t he?” I rake my gaze over him, sensing the scars lurking beneath the polished exterior. “Your uncle was a pedophile,” I add softly. “Only God knows about the rest of your family. You care about the Koslov name, but do you really want Ainsley to share the name of people like that? As you can tell, we aren’t exactly the most perfect family to start with.”

  “You’re upset,” Maxim concedes. He crouches and grabs the broken plates with his bare hands. After tossing them into a garbage can, he heads for the door. “Come and eat.” For whatever reason, his voice still holds that persistent calm. His posture, however, stiffens, his jaw tightening. “Give me this night to prove that I meant what I promised you, and the rest…” He blinks, suppressing whatever emotion might threaten his composure. “We can discuss later.”

  “That’s it?” I wave halfheartedly in the kid’s direction. “We just spring a bomb like that on them and then pretend it never happened?”

  “You wanted normalcy,” he says. “I may not be an expert, but I believe this might be part of it. Honesty. Or have you changed your mind?”

  He waits near the doorway of the terrace until I finally leave the sink and follow. Outside, all six kids remain seated, but none of them seem willing to make eye contact. We merely coexist in awkward silence until Maxim reclaims his spot before the grill.

  “Who wants another hotdog?” he asks, breaking the quiet.

  Easily distracted, Ainsley perks up and raises her hand. “Me!”

  “Me too,” pitches in Mikie.

  Then Ray, Ollie, and Eric all voice their assent.

  Finally, Daisy sighs, lifting her hand. “I’ll take one, too.”

  “Alright, then.” Maxim continues to cook, and I force myself to reclaim a lounger, watching him. Them. It’s a slow, clumsy return to our previous rhythm, and it doesn’t come easily by any stretch of the imagination.

  But it happens.

  Eventually, it happens.

  Chapter Eleven

  As night falls, the kids stagger off to bed, exhausted. I tuck in Ainsley and press a kiss to her cheek while Daisy ignores me from the other end of the room. I let her sulk, preferring a tense truce over starting another war.

  After checking on the boys, I finally steel myself to approach the master suite.

  The sheer distance between it and the other rooms becomes apparent as it takes me a full minute to traverse it. The spaces are close enough that I would hear any bloodcurdling screams emanating from the kid’s rooms—but little else. And they, theoretically, wouldn’t hear anything in return. Like a cracking whip or a hiss of pain.

  Or, more reassuringly, any brutal sex.

  Inside the master bedroom, Maxim stands with his back to me and sheds his shirt, tossing it aside. “If you’ve changed your mind,” he begins in a hollow tone, “if you want to stay with your sister—”

  “I’m okay,” I whisper.

  Who cares if it’s a lie? We had a deal. But the weight of our trade-off truly sinks in the longer I watch him. He’s lost within his head again. Radiating tension, his muscles ripple and coil beneath his skin, threatening to rip from it.

  Lucius’ wolf analogy returns to mind. A beast can only remain caged for so long—and that’s the word to describe how he looks now. Caged.

  And I’m the bitch who twisted the key.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak, advancing a cautious step. “I had no right to mention your past like that—”

  “You are ready?” With those three words, he cuts me off, and his façade of control splinters. He gave me what I wanted—peace. And now I have to return the favor.

  “I’m ready…”

  “Come.” He crosses the room and opens the door. My breaths quicken as I approach him, my palms slick with sweat.

  He looks so on edge. So fucking haunted.

  As I near the threshold, I can’t resist touching his forearm. “What’s wrong—”

  “No!” He wrenches beyond my reach and storms into the room. Deep down, I know the answer anyway. I brought up his past, ripping open old wounds he’ll never acknowledge out loud. “No talking. Not now. I just… I need—” He moves to one of the cabinets on the other end of the room and tugs open a drawer. From it, he withdraws a single, coiled strip of leather. My heart lurches as he unfurls it with a graceful flick of his wrist and then turns to face me. “Kneel.” When I don’t move, he exhales, practically swaying on his feet. Corded muscle flexes in his throat as he rasps a second time, “Kneel.”

  It’s not fear that has me frozen. It’s shock. This is the closest I’ve ever seen him come to…begging. And I never want to see it again.

  Relief escapes him in a harsh sigh as I sink to the floor, my head lowered in obedience.

  His steps resonate like thunder as he approaches me, and here, in this new arena, the rules of the game change once again…

  Entirely at his discretion.

  A groan rips from my lips as my eyelids part to a stream of blinding sunlight. It’s morning, but I doubt I’ve slept a full hour. Minutes, maybe?

  Or seconds.

  Revenge might b
e too petty a concept to apply to someone like Maxim. Perhaps retribution instead? Whether to exact payment for yesterday’s events, or out of anger for what I said, he kept me in the room until every inch of me throbbed in punishment…

  I only remember snippets. The whip. His commands—kneel, kneel, kneel. I huddle beneath the sheets as one image remains in my skull no matter how hard I try to block it out—his face the few times he allowed me to glimpse it. I’ll never forget that expression. Cold. Icy. Detached. The only comparison that might come close to it is the day he took me into that dank room already lined with a tarp.

  And yet…

  I can’t escape the feeling that, this time, he held back. That’s the most alarming part of it all. Neither assault broke the skin. He didn’t fuck me either. Locked within himself, he merely raged, fighting against phantoms I couldn’t see.

  And by the end, I realized…he was never angry with me.

  Afterward, I vaguely remember him carrying me to the bed. However, his steps then retreated, alluding to a night spent wandering throughout the house. Even now, he’s not in the room.

  And I don’t know whether to sigh in relief or despair. The true cost of our bargain hadn’t been put into explicit terms until now. His silence, for my comfort.

  Closing my eyes, I contemplate sleeping again, but a scent tickles my nose, and confusion draws me upright. Food? Either Maxim hired another private chef, or Daisy—the only kid brave enough to tackle the stove—is trying to cook again. Though fuck, burning this fancy house down could be her latest act of rebellion.

  Morbid curiosity outweighs my exhaustion, and I take a quick shower before throwing on a light linen dress. Then I head downstairs only to find everyone in the kitchen, camped out around a center island.

  Everyone.

  Maxim stands at the heart of the commotion, as stern as a drill sergeant—though one wearing gray slacks in lieu of a uniform. Armed with a pair of tongs, he dishes out various portions of pancakes and scrambled eggs to the eager troops jockeying for position around him. When his eyes find mine, there is no hint of the coldness from last night. He merely nods in acknowledgment while balancing a platter of food on his opposite hand. “You’re awake.”