He knows my name.
It seemed like such a stupid thing to notice among the more important details that had to matter more.
Like the fact that he’d kidnapped me from Stanley’s.
Like how he’d killed Lenny by twisting his neck.
Shuddering again at the flashback of that gruesome memory, I resisted the urge to look away from him. He was too close, overriding all my senses. I smelled the faint hint of his cologne. I swore I could taste the alcohol that clung to his breath. Captivated and intimidated by his rugged looks up close as he loomed over me, I was stuck in place.
Stuck. Like always.
But I’d never faced this predicament before.
I swallowed hard and stared right back at him.
This man who’d murdered somebody.
This guy who’d kidnapped me.
My savior was a killer.
I couldn’t gauge whether I was in danger.
And all I could get hung up on, holding my breath and so confused why I was here at all, was that he knew my name.
“Do you hear me?” he asked, that growly rasp of a whisper so taunting but bold. “You’re not going anywhere.”
That settled that question. He hadn’t just taken me from the club for the hell of it. I was his captive.
And he truly believed what he said. He would be the one to determine my departure. It would be useless to argue with him on that point. Clearly, he had all the power to do as he pleased when he swooped in to take me from my workplace. A quick glance down at his arms locked tight as he bracketed me to the bed reminded me how physically strong he was. This close to him and feeling his body heat, I was further reminded of his masculine strength from when he’d thrust into me in the VIP room.
With a cringe I didn’t show, I hated that I’d passed out. I could’ve screamed for help at the club. A bouncer or another dancer might’ve cared to intervene. That moment of unconsciousness was when I wasn’t in control of my fate.
Still, I was so tired, so hungry and thirsty and dead-ass exhausted that I knew I wouldn’t get far if I tried to overpower him now, wherever we were.
Think, Sloane. Think. Sitting here silently wouldn’t do me any good.
Other than admitting he was stronger than me like this, I racked my brain to figure out something else that might help me.
“Why?”
He didn’t flinch at my simple question.
I dragged my gaze back up to his dark eyes. Why? That had to be the strongest question I could ask.
“Why are you keeping me here?”
Nothing.
“Why did you take me like that?”
He leaned back then, but he didn’t leave my side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his hip touching my leg under the covers, he gave me some space. With that intense, smoldering, and inquisitive stare he gave me, I was tempted to lash out and demand some fucking answers.
“I took you from that club because I didn’t care for how that man was treating you.”
I raised my brows, surprised he had replied instead of being a psycho freak pretending to be a mute. “Lenny? He was my boss. And you killed him.”
He shrugged.
My mouth hung open. Like it was nothing.
“Why should that upset you? He was beating you.”
I shook my head, bewildered and feeling so lost that I struggled to find a starting point of how to reply. Why did it upset me that he killed someone? Oh, maybe because killing people was wrong?
“What do you mean? You killed him!”
He resumed that silent stare as if he had to figure me out.
Death didn’t faze him. I saw it in the coldness in his eyes. I didn’t know much about this man—only that he’d made me come harder than I ever had in my life and that he belonged to the Ivanov family.
Oh, and he would go to the extremes of killing my boss just to keep me safe from a beating.
Not just me. I caught myself from putting my hands on my stomach.
He was protecting me and our baby.
The baby he didn’t know about.
I furrowed my brow, trying to force my mind to snap these pieces into place faster. “Of course,” I muttered.
“Of course, what?” he asked.
“Of course, you wouldn’t care about killing him. Or anyone else. You’re just another Mafia man.”
A slight smile lifted his lips. Pride. That was what he showed me. He was proud to be such a ruthless criminal.
“But why would you take me? Why did you have to take me from there?”
He frowned and studied me more. It was unnerving to be under his scrutiny, and against my better judgment, I wanted to know what he saw. What he thought. All I was supposed to care about was how to get away, but I was curious.
“You’re upset that I took you from that club? You would’ve rather I left you there to be beaten?”
“No, but…” I scowled, confused how we’d moved on from the right-or-wrong opinions about murder to his taking charge like that. “But it’s not your decision. You don’t own me.”
His smile grew, making me tense all over again. Arguing and talking helped to keep the tension at bay, displacing it because I could vent my anger with words. Feeling him watch me trapped too much energy inside me.
“I’m not yours,” I insisted, pushing the blanket off my legs. I had to move. I had to fight and start escaping before I’d go insane. “I’m not some thing for you to control.” Shifting to my side, I hoped to get up. “You can’t decide my fate and place me wherever you want. I’m not—”
He grabbed my arms as I tried to bolt. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growled, repeating his claim and finishing my sentence for me by twisting it completely.
“But why?” I sank back on the bed under his push. “Why do I have to be here with you? Why are you keeping me away from where I’m supposed to be?”
“Are you that desperate to get back to that nasty club?” He narrowed his eyes, almost seeming mad but not at me.
“It’s my job.”
“Not anymore.”
I squirmed to get free and failed. “That’s not your decision to make.”
“It is now.”
I strained to get loose from his strong hands. “No, it’s not. I won’t let you control me. I won’t—” Crying out at a hunger pang that made me bend over, I fought the heat of tears trying to leak from my eyes as I squeezed them shut tight.
He stood, leaving me to curl into a ball on my side on the bed.
“You thanked me for saving you that first time,” he reminded me matter-of-factly as I wrenched my eyes open. “Perhaps you should consider that now.”
“To thank you for kidnapping me?” I screeched, wishing I could hit him. He wasn’t going to answer me why, but I wouldn’t stop asking. I would get my answers if it was the last thing I did. “I’m not going to thank you for kidnapping me.” I was grateful he’d saved me from Lenny. Wishing him dead wasn’t something I’d stoop to, but I was thankful this man removed me from Lenny’s abuse.
“Why not?” He crossed his arms, looking mildly amused.
He was insane. Did he think this was fun? That I could ever enjoy having a man dictate my life? “What sane woman would ever want a murderer to capture her?” I sat up, ignoring the growls my stomach emitted. If I was going to pass out from exhaustion and hunger again, I damn well would get every word in while I could. “This is my worst fear realized.”
“To be spared that drunk beating you?” He arched one thick, dark brow.
“No!” He was crazy if he didn’t see anything wrong about kidnapping me. As a Mafia man, his moral compass had to be skewed, but I licked my lips and frantically tried to change my approach. If I could appeal to his kinder side, maybe he’d have mercy on me.
If he has a kind side.
I was desperate to believe he did. He seemed to care enough to save me—twice. “Please, let me go,” I begged.
He stared and didn’t budge.
Please have a heart. Have a change of heart and let me go. I swallowed and blinked slowly, rushing to form my thoughts. “I’ve never wanted to be owned. Not by a man. I’ve never wanted to be sold or controlled. Possessed like a thing.”
He uncrossed his arms but made no move to speak or touch me. Under his dark stare, I realized that eye contact with him was a more potent captivity than his brute strength or the lock on the door.
“I’ve tried my hardest to stay out of trouble. To avoid getting near the bad men out there. I’ve tried to avoid the same fate the other dancers have met lately, and now…” I hated the slight whimper that escaped me. “And now I’m afraid. Please, just let me go.”
Deep down, I panicked for the baby he’d left me with. I wasn’t begging for my release, but for this child’s too.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“What?” I shook my head, hopeful that he’d speak and not give me that silent treatment again, unnerving me with his stares.
“What are you talking about? The other dancers.”
“They’ve been taken from the club. Traffickers and other Mafia men take them at the end of the night and keep them for their own gains.”
When he raised his brows, seeming surprised, I frowned.
This is news to him?
I didn’t see how he could be oblivious about the fate of the dancers. I bet they targeted many clubs, not just Stanley’s. It didn’t matter, though. If he wanted to feign ignorance, whatever. I wanted to get the fuck out of here. He’d saved me, and I felt safe around him, but the idea of his kidnapping me contrasted against that sense of security.
What is wrong with me?
I was so hungry and tired that I was delusional to ever think this Mafia boss could be a source of comfort and security. He fucking kidnapped me!
I licked my dry lips. “Please, let me go, sir—”
He huffed a sharp bark of laughter. “Sir?”
“What else am I supposed to call you?”
He rubbed his hand over his jaw, seeming amused again, but I wasn’t in a rush to be let in on the joke. He could laugh at me all he wanted. Just as long as I could be promised my release.
“Maxim,” he replied. “My name is Maxim. And I will allow you permission to do one thing.”
I gritted my teeth, fuming at his wording it like that. That I had to wait for him to grant me permission. Like he was my boss. The cocky smirk on his face suggested he was loving this power play way too much.
“I’ll let you rest here,” he said as he backed up.
I defied him, sitting up and trying to get out of bed again. Chasing after him too quickly, I got dizzy and clumsy, dropping back onto the mattress.
“You will rest,” he ordered as he backed up more. “Until I say otherwise.”
With that, he stepped out of the room.
A definitive click of the lock sounded after his exit.
I fisted the blanket in my hands and lost the fight with the scalding-hot tears. They streaked over my cheeks, evidence of the wretched anger that I aimed at myself for ever being caught like this—captive and owned.
My worst fear.
