Surrender: XXX Maxim Book 3 (Club XXX) Read online

  Maxim: Surrender

  A Club XXX Novel: Book Three

  Lana Sky

  Also by Lana Sky

  The Ellie Gray Chronicles

  Drain Me

  Chain Me

  Beautiful Monsters

  Crescendo

  Refrain

  Mezzo

  Allegro

  XXX

  Maxim: Submit

  Maxim: Obey

  Maxim: Surrender

  Vadim: Control

  Vadim: Corrupt

  Vadim: Release

  Savage Fall Duet

  King’s Men

  King’s Horses

  The War of Roses

  XV: (Fifteen)

  VII: (Seven)

  I: (One)

  Painted Sin

  A Touch of Dark

  A Taste like Sin

  Standalones

  Pretty Perfect

  Crossed Lines

  Moth

  Dragonfly

  Moth

  Rockstar Rebels

  Dirty Lyrics

  Surrender

  Surrender By Lana Sky

  Copyright © 2020 by Lana Sky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design and Interior Formatting by Charity Chimni

  Proofreading by Charity Chimni

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to everyone who supported this draft along the way, including the many beta readers who provided encouragement along the way! Please keep in mind that this story includes dark, graphic and explicit content matter that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18—or for readers who are uncomfortable with the following subject matter: explicit sex, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of child abuse, graphic depictions of violence, and mentions of self-harm.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Preview of Vadim: Control

  A Word from the Author

  About the Author

  Also by Lana Sky

  Chapter One

  God has a twisted sense of humor—and for some reason, he seems to enjoy testing my sanity, especially for his amusement. With chaos. With violence. And with scenarios that force me to ask myself questions like—what do you do after a man proposes marriage while towering over a dead, mutilated body, Francesca?

  The answer turns out to be relatively simple. You stand rigid in a corner while said murderer makes a single phone call, and then you watch him pace circles around his handiwork.

  He can’t seem to stop moving. Raging. Thriving on the stench of blood and the taint of death. He’s like an inferno of brutality, burning so bright it hurts to stare at him for too long.

  Ironically, I’m frozen in place, incapable of looking away.

  The only part of me seemingly alive is my heart, beating in tune to his every footstep. Thump. Thud. Thump. Amid the ominous soundtrack, I’m riveted. I’m numb.

  Though I should be terrified.

  Of him.

  Of myself.

  In this moment, Maxim Koslov lives up to the worst aspects of his identity I could minimize until now. The criminal who deals in violence and death. The mob boss, dripping blood in his polished suit. The murderer.

  As if reading my mind, he inclines his head in my direction, his gaze unreadable. “Leave, if you want. Go.”

  But he utters no further instructions. Deep in my soul, I know that his driver isn’t lurking out front either, and he never offers the keys to his car to drive myself.

  The command was a test. Namely, of the fragile promise linking us together amid this chaos. One forged in blood and a vow. My finger aches beneath the figurative weight of it—a marble ring with a single name etched into its surface.

  It’s so simple in its beauty and so damning in its symbolism.

  Marriage.

  Corruption.

  Surrender.

  “I told you to go.” Maxim stands by the wall now with his hands braced before him, his back muscles taut. I could trace the line of his spine even through his clothing; he’s so rigid. Stone. “You won’t want to see what happens next…”

  Next. Implying the ultimate fate of the body lying on the floor a few paces away.

  I can’t look at it. Or give it its proper name in my head. Nope. It’s just a thing.

  “I won’t shield you if you stay, kotyonok. I won’t. If you run now, I will not judge you, either.”

  Real urgency laces his words this time. He truly doesn’t want me to see this—the twisted aftermath of his violence. The real Maxim Koslov.

  But I can’t run.

  Move.

  Breathe.

  And with a sigh, he finally acknowledges that fact, though his muscles bulge against his skin as if threatening to explode from it. He’s angry. And in some ways, I think he’s resigned, too. If I can stomach him at his worst then…

  We’re both fucking insane. It’s why I hear footsteps that shouldn’t exist, advancing with confidence in our direction.

  Then a voice rings out, far too stern to be a figment of my imagination.

  “I’m here.” We both turn to face the figure who appears at the mouth of the hall. I flinch against the nearest wall, but Maxim looks unsurprised.

  “Finally.” He nods in welcome. “You came. I was afraid you were away on one of your little trips.”

  “You were lucky. I just got back.” Dressed in a black suit, the tall man cuts a startling figure against the bare walls. Dark hair frames a strikingly familiar face as his eyes latch onto mine before settling over the body on the floor.

  “Shit,” he says simply. Two bold strides bring him closer, and he nudges Sevastyn with the tip of his boot. I cringe from the sight, slapping my hand over my mouth in grim anticipation. A wave of gagging contorts my throat, but nothing comes up. Yet.

  “You could have waited,” the man adds. “I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were planning this.” Disapproval colors his British accent, and I finally recognize him—the figure I saw in Maxim’s club during one of our first trips there. The same man who also examined me the last time Maxim lost control. “You know this is something I would’ve enjoyed watching…” His eyes narrow, disrupting his composure. Then he shakes his head, and all traces of emotion vanish. “We have to move quickly.”

  “How should we dispose of him?” Maxim asks while turning from the wall. His eyes find me again, even as he continues to speak to the man. “It needs to be clean. I suspect we have less than a few hours before his spies come looking for him.”

  “You shouldn’t be anywhere near this to be completely honest.” The other man reaches into his pocket and withdra
ws a cell phone. “Leave. I’ll call one of my men—”

  “No.” Maxim steps forward and grabs his wrist before he can raise the phone to his ear. “No one else. Anatoli has spies watching his own fucking spies. We handle this. Alone.”

  “Fair enough.” The other man’s eyes narrow, but he slowly returns the device to his pocket. “What do you suggest?”

  “I don’t fucking know.” Maxim turns to the table strewn with tools and grabs one item at random, testing its weight over his palm. As the light glints off a sharpened edge, I realize what it is—a knife. “Whatever we do, it needs to be done quickly.”

  “And this is a brand-new suit.” The other man must know what he intends without him having to say it out loud. Sighing, he snatches his own makeshift weapon from the table and then crosses over to Sevastyn’s body. “You can replace it.” With clinical detachment, he examines the contorted, battered limbs. Then he looks up. “What about her?”

  “Her?” Maxim echoes. He eyes me as well, but his gaze is so distant…

  I suck in a breath and press myself against the wall. In the space of a heartbeat, this man becomes as much of a stranger to me as I seem to be to him. His icy glare alone warns me Maxim is gone, replaced by a creature tormented by his past, consumed by the violence of it—all those horrible things his uncle’s return dredged up. My lips part, a plea building between them. Don’t.

  But right before I voice it, he blinks…and Maxim reappears, his knuckles stark white over the handle of his blade. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he rips his gaze to the weapon in his hand. “She… She stays.”

  Without another word, he crouches beside the battered, bloodied mass that used to be his uncle’s head. Metal flashes as he lowers his hand…

  Desperate to escape the image, I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t watch. I can’t.

  “No,” comes a grunted demand, too stern to ignore. “Look. Look at me.”

  It’s not an order—his tone wasn’t that whip-like growl. Even more unsettling, I think he meant it as a request, one so dangerous my heart flutters in the face of it.

  No, a tiny voice inside me pleads. Don’t. But as if against my will, my eyelids lift anyway. I fixate on the floor first before inching closer toward that gruesome corner…

  Until splatters of glistening red are all I see.

  Fucking red everywhere.

  “Kotyonok.” Blinking, I snap back to awareness as the rest of the room comes into focus. Maxim is still crouched before me. Watching me. Our eyes meet, but something deep inside won’t let me flinch away. Perhaps I’m in shock?

  The intensity of his gaze is, in some ways, more alarming than the pool of scarlet congealing at his feet or the mass of flesh just a few feet away. One look conveys more than he could ever say. A promise. A threat. This is what I’d do for you, that expression declares.

  Kill. Maim. Cut. For you. Can you handle that, Francesca?

  “Maxim?” As if from miles away, a deeper voice intrudes. “Have you thought this through? You know he won’t be missed for very long. I’m sure Anatoli is already calling for his favorite pet,” the British man says. “You do realize what this means?”

  “It means war,” Maxim replies to him. “It means I make my claim now or let that motherfucker win. It means I end this now.”

  Eyeing his blade, he positions the tip against Sevastyn’s neck, right below his skull. Nausea makes the room spin around me, but I can’t help but register how surely he moves. No hesitation. No queasy unease. Only one explanation makes sense as to why—he’s done this before.

  “Though how long was it before Anatoli made the first strike anyway?” he muses. “Sevastyn wouldn’t dare attack me without his master’s permission. He came after me first. He drew first blood. No one can blame me for this.”

  “Sevastyn…” The other man frowns. “You think he was behind the attacks on the network?”

  “He all but admitted it,” Maxim hisses, his teeth bared. “As for Anatoli, I’m sure the bastard already knows what I’ve done. If I know him—and I do—he has half of the family assembling on the next fucking plane. He’ll see this as an insult.”

  “An interesting theory.” The other man raises an eyebrow while adjusting his grip over his blade as he scans Sevastyn’s pale limbs. “But the man isn’t omniscient—”

  “He knows.” Maxim shifts to nudge the body with his foot, rolling the corpse onto its back. “He knows the same fucking way that piece of shit knew where to strike to provoke me. The way they all know.”

  “Right.” The other man’s eyes cut in my direction. “I can admit that it is…unlike you to keep a companion for so long. But are you sure that they will—”

  “Sure?” Maxim laughs, still eyeing the weapon in his fist. “Go on, ask me why Milton. I know you’ve wondered. Why I would risk everything. My business. My standing—”

  “Don’t assume. You don’t know what I’ve thought, my friend,” the other man says swiftly. “But I’ll tell you what’s on my mind. We need to get rid of him. Now.”

  Maxim grunts in agreement. With surgical precision, he lowers the tip of his blade to Sevastyn’s throat.

  And utilizing the palm of his other hand like a hammer, he rams it straight through the flesh and bone.

  Chapter Two

  In reference to the dismemberment of a human body, I discover that “now” isn’t as speedy as it sounds.

  It takes hours to render the body to nothing more than bloody chunks haphazardly shoved onto a sheet of plastic for easy disposal. Maxim and Milton work ruthlessly in sync to sever muscle and tendon and bone.

  At the very back of my skull, I know the gruesome nature of what I’m watching. I know that the lifeless pieces collecting onto the floor once belonged to a living, breathing human.

  I just pretend they’re nothing more than inanimate chunks of meaningless matter.

  Time and space blur into one dizzying realm as I watch the grim display. I’m only aware of the passing hours at all because Milton takes meticulous note of them. “It’s been two hours,” he says at one point. “Another hour, you think?”

  Maxim merely grunted in acknowledgment—though by then, the sound of my pulse surging through my eardrums drowned out any other noise.

  I should have vomited at some point. A normal, sane human would. Maybe I did.

  By the time the final, grisly piece is shoved out of sight, my knees are buckling. My stomach is a fucking mass of Jell-O balanced between my ribcage. I can’t speak. Move. Even scream.

  I merely stare as, together, Maxim and Milton bundle the mess between them and haul it to the door.

  The sound it makes…

  I’ll hear it forever. A dragging hiss, followed by a wet, heavy thud.

  “Fuck.” Maxim hisses, eyeing a trail of ruby speckling the concrete in their wake. He starts to lower the morbid parcel, but I’m already at his side. The world jolts as I sway, off-balance, and clumsy.

  I don’t know what possesses me. Shock? I’m a mass of trembling, quaking limbs as I wrench my dress over my head and sink to my knees. Wadding the fabric between my fingers, I start scrubbing and scrubbing.

  But the stains never disappear. Instead, the red drops multiply into an endless stream.

  They’re suddenly everywhere, coating everything within sight—blood-red blood.

  “Enough!” Maxim rips the fabric from me, and in one quick motion, the red streaks vanish, easily swept away. “Where the fuck do we dump him?” he wonders, directing the question beyond me. “The river? The landfill?”

  “We destroy it,” Milton calls from the doorway. “I know a guy who runs a furnace. He’s good. We won’t be traced. I’ll make the arrangements while you work on crafting an alibi. Anatoli won’t take long to suspect the truth, but you don’t have to make it easy for the old cunt.”

  Coldly and calmly, he wipes most of the blood from his hands with a handkerchief and casually drops the soiled cloth onto the plastic mound at his feet. “And to stop your
paranoia from going bat-shit, I’ll make some calls to my people. Plant rumors to stall the inevitable. Anatoli isn’t a fool. Sevastyn was a loyal bitch, and his master will notice when he no longer comes to heel with his fucking tail wagging. With a little more planning, we could have crafted a more believable disappearance…”

  “Go on and say it,” Maxim scoffs. “I shouldn’t have killed him. Not like this. It’s fucking sloppy.”

  “You shouldn’t have killed him,” Milton agrees. “But that isn’t why I’m concerned.”

  “Oh?”

  A frown distorts Milton’s otherwise emotionless visage. “You claimed Sevastyn was the one disrupting your supply lines. You sure of that?”

  “It makes sense.” Maxim returns to his full height and tosses my bloodied dress aside. Concentration consumes him, tightening the line of his jaw. He doesn’t even seem to notice or care that I’m entirely naked, without even a pair of underwear. “Why? Have you learned new information?”

  “Maybe.” Milton looks down at his hands, flexing them one by one. “I didn’t want to bring this to you until I was absolutely certain, but my men may have made headway in discovering the true culprit…” He looks up to meet Maxim’s gaze directly. “I don’t think it was Sevastyn.”