Surrender Read online

I inhale raggedly, my mind buzzing. “Do you know what—”

  A classical ringtone cuts me off, and Lucius fishes a cell phone from his pocket, answering it one-handed. “Sir? You mean… Understood.” His jaw clenches, concern clouding his weathered features. “We’re already on the way. Yes, sir.”

  He hangs up, and the car lurches forward as his speed noticeably increases.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, scrambling for my seatbelt.

  He doesn’t respond.

  Within minutes, we reach the building housing the new suite. Lucius takes the dress and ushers me from the car, up to the penthouse. I follow him inside, but my footsteps falter before I truly process the scene before me.

  Maxim’s thunderous bellow reaches me first. “Find him now, Milton,” he growls. “I want his fucking head on a platter… No! Don’t lie to me. You’ve always pitied him, coming to his rescue. Little Dima. I know you’re aware of where he is. Do you think Anatoli is cunning enough to plan this on his own? No. Someone is pulling his strings—don’t talk to me about strategy!”

  He stands in the large sitting room off the foyer hunched over a black end table, a cell phone held to his ear. His posture alone sets every nerve in my body on high alert. He’s trembling, his fingers grasping the edge of the table so tightly it rocks on its axis.

  “Find him! I want a location by tonight—you owe me this. But it might be too late, even then. They all know it by now. They’ll be coming for her. Fuck!” Hissing in rage, he rips the cell phone from his ear and throws it across the room.

  I take an instinctive step behind Lucius before I even think to focus on what might be the source of his rage. On the table before him lies a square-shaped object I can’t make out at first. It’s gray, made of metal. A briefcase?

  As Lucius continues to advance, Maxim looks up and his eyes... I don’t even think he sees us at first. Just phantoms from a nightmare he can’t seem to wake up from.

  “Sir,” Lucius calls to him, his tone level. I can tell from his careful stance that the words he spoke in the car weren’t bravado. He’s used to dealing with Maxim in this state—a caged, feral wolf. For one, he wisely keeps his distance. “Can I be of any assistance?”

  “Lucius.” Maxim blinks and refocuses his attention on the older man. “This was delivered to one of my offices,” he hisses, gesturing to the case. “It came from Anatoli himself. It seems the bastard couldn’t wait for me to come to him. I’m sure you know what it means.”

  “I believe so, sir.” Lucius’ jaw clenches in recognition. “I’ll review any breach in security immediately. As for this. I can remove it—”

  “Like it would do any fucking good. Leave,” Maxim demands. “But you—” He turns to me. “You stay.”

  “As you wish, Sir. I’ll make adjustments to your security immediately.”

  “The house first,” Maxim snarls. “They may start there.”

  “Of course. I’ll double the detail.” With a wary glance in my direction, Lucius retreats from the suite. In his absence descends a silence so heavy it’s suffocating.

  “What’s going on?” I manage to rasp. House. That word won’t leave my fucking brain. The only one I know of him owning just so happens to house my entire family.

  As I watch, Maxim braces his hands on the table, his expression like thunder. Slowly, he nudges the case, tracing the corner of the lid with his thumb. Then he lifts it, revealing a sliver of plain, gray material and a flash of red. That’s all I see before he slams the lid shut. His eyes cut to mine, and I swear my heart stops beating.

  It’s like my entire body can’t function again until he turns away, his shoulders hunched, hands curling into fists. “I changed my mind,” he snaps. “Go! I need to be alone.”

  I flinch toward the door without actually taking a step. The tormented figure who devised the phrase “hot and cold” had to have Maxim Koslov in mind. In some moments, his apparent need for me burns so fucking hot, I can pretend it means more than lust. More than a sadistic whim. But then his gaze can go so cold. Like now.

  And it’s like I don’t even exist.

  Lucius referred to a wolf and a cage—but the analogy he should have used was that of a doll and a child who can’t decide if he wants to play with it or smash it to pieces.

  “Is something wrong?” I ask, taking a cautious step toward him. “What happened—”

  “You got your wish,” he says, his mouth twisted in a cruel sneer. “There won’t be a fucking wedding. So smile. You can remain as nothing more than my whore. What?” He cocks his head as I stiffen. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? Well, now you have an excuse to turn tail and run. Though, I suggest you don’t go too fucking far.”

  He’s right. Hurt pride could drive me away from him now. Make me run. It’s what he expects.

  And it dawns on me that it’s exactly what he wants.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask instead. The strength in my voice surprises me almost as much as it seems to surprise him. “You let me go to the fitting,” I point out. “So whatever changed, it had to happen—”

  “I said leave.” He shifts onto the balls of his feet, ready to storm away himself.

  “Talk to me,” I beg, switching tact. “If something is wrong… If my family is in danger, I need to know. Just talk to me.”

  “Now, you want to talk.” He strokes his chin with one hand while the other tears through his hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to tremble and stare and cower? Like you don’t know who I am…”

  This is about more than a mysterious case or a phone call.

  Images from last night flood my brain in ominous snippets. How easy it is to lose him to anger, contrasted with the only method capable of bringing him back. In some ways, Lucius’ words feel more like a warning now than a comfort—you’ve changed him.

  But not for the better.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.” Before he can reply, I approach the table containing the case. My rebellious fingers brush the metal surface, and his reaction makes me suspect that I’m not the source of his unease after all. “What does it mean?”

  “You want to know?” Finally, he faces me, devoid of any expression whatsoever. No hate. No anger. No mercy either. “Open it.”

  An ominous thrill shoots down the fingers I use to pry the ends of the case apart. As the lid rises, I hold my breath…

  Only to release it in a puzzled exhale. The inside of the box is lined with gray velvet, betraying a formal purpose, but all it contains is a single strip of blood-red fabric. Confusion displaces some of my fear. Enough that I can eye the item objectively. It’s silk, cool to the touch, and deceptively luxurious.

  I flip it over and notice a design embroidered on the other side in a slightly darker shade of scarlet—an intricate series of conjoined circles resembling a cross.

  “What is it?” I ask. A scrap slightly too small to be a handkerchief or anything useful from what I can tell. Almost like a sample swatch, one might use to order a couch or carpet. Or a dress. I look up at Maxim only to find him watching me. But the look on his face now…

  His eyes are black holes constricting even darker pupils.

  “That is a death sentence,” he says. “Krasnyy konets, the ‘red ending.’ An old archaic tradition, but one still alive and well in certain circles. Within families. My family.” He extends his palm—a silent command for me to relinquish the cloth. When I do, he eyes it with an expression that makes every hair on the back of my neck stand up. I’ve only witnessed him deploy that glare at his uncle.

  Or his grandfather.

  “This is a mere symbolic token. At its core, the purpose is to signify a bounty. An insurmountable one, no amount of money, can outweigh.” He forms a fist, crushing the fabric within it. “And it should have come for me. I was expecting it. He should have… No one would confront me out in the open, blood price or not.”

  I swallow hard, eyeing the case again. From what little I know of his family, I sense grand displays of murderous
threats are nothing new. But this… This is different. It’s evident in Maxim’s hostile posture. The rage spilling from his eyes, barely contained by his obsessive restraint.

  He’s more than angry. I think…

  I think he’s terrified.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It came for you. And the bastard doesn’t truly want you dead. Oh no…” He exhales a growled chuckle and turns, lumbering toward the far corner of the room. A virgin section of the white wall draws his notice, and he braces his hand against it. Then he forms a fist and strikes the surface, so hard cracks appear in a spidery web. Lashing out a second time, he shouts in a way I’ve never heard. A howl. A hiss. A broken, maniacal laugh all in one.

  His following sigh resonates like the first raindrops falling in a breaking storm. One I’m naked in the face of. My only course of action is to brace at the mercy of the tempest.

  And pray, I survive it.

  “If it came for me, I could resist him. Fight him,” he explains. “He would be declaring war, and no one would get in my fucking way if I went for his throat. I could rip him apart at my own fucking discretion, and not even God could say a damn thing.” He laughs again, his body locked in the violent pose, his knuckles trembling against the wall’s surface. “But now? He doesn’t have to kill you. He doesn’t even have to lift a finger. You’re already as good as dead. So much for my protection. I couldn’t even fucking outsmart him.”

  He turns, crossing the room in an instant. I don’t even have the sense of mind to run.

  “No one will acknowledge you,” he snarls, snatching my wrist, his focus honing on my ring. “No one will accept you. With this, you will never be a Koslov, and I couldn’t even avenge you.”

  He rips the ring from my finger and throws it so hard it ricochets across the room, its progress tracked by faint musical pings.

  “So much for a fucking wedding,” he growls amid another unstable bit of laughter. “In my world, you no longer exist.”

  Fear weighs me down, almost too powerful to overcome. Inhaling shallowly is the only way to combat it. One deep, slow breath right after the other.

  Until eventually, words form, escaping my throat before I even register them. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that there is no point in a wedding,” he hisses. “No point in a ring. No point in a fucking engagement. Everything my name could give you means nothing now. Anatoli has won. The only thing I can do now is keep you from being killed.”

  He stalks toward the door, creating a noise comparable to thunder. The force of his rage strains the entire room at its seams, too wild to be contained. A part of me fears the windows might explode beneath the pressure.

  Or I might.

  “Is that the only reason why?” My voice echoes back to me before I realize I’ve spoken at all. My words play amid an eerie backdrop of silence as Maxim freezes.

  “What did you say?” he demands.

  “I…” Instinct warns me to run. Back down. I lick my lips tentatively, but something won’t keep me silent. I break. “Is that why you wanted to marry me? Power?”

  “No. For security. Why else?” he counters, driving that point home. “With my name, no one could touch you. Is there any value in a ring more than that certainty? Tell me you’re not so sentimental.”

  His steps reverberate through the floor, advancing toward me. I couldn’t escape him, even if I tried. My body jolts as he touches me. One brush of his finger feels comparable to a hot poker jabbing against the chilled flesh of my throat.

  But it’s not the sort of pain I’ve come to associate him with. Whippings, biting, and beatings feel nothing like this—emotions utilized more ruthlessly than any knife. Is there any value in a ring?

  “You would always be protected as my wife,” he says, tightening his grip so that I’m forced to face him. “But now, a few vows will change nothing. As much as I loathe the motherfucker, I can’t go against Anatoli on my own—and married to me or not, nothing would change as far as my family is concerned. If anything, they will make a game out of trying to use you against me. And Sevastyn… He was the tamest among them.”

  I cringe at what that implies. A family of people more evil than a child abuser. People so ruthless even Maxim seems shaken at the prospect of them coming for me. And yet a family he seems desperate to make me a part of. A name he cherishes above all else.

  “So, the ring means nothing?” I reiterate.

  He inhales as his fingers twitch against my throat. “You’re upset.” He sounds more confused than alarmed by that realization. “I don’t understand why...”

  “I’m not upset,” I clarify. I’ve been touching my ring finger as I spoke, something I only realize as I look down and observe the pale naked flesh. “It’s just a lot to take in.” My ragged laugh proves that I’m not lying. I sound fucking insane. Manic. “First, you want to marry me. Then you don’t—”

  “And you ask why?” He starts for the door again. “What use is a fucking worthless token without the power it conveys?”

  I don’t know why I follow him, no match for his ruthless pace.

  “So, what happens now?” I ask, watching the muscles in his body coil as his hands curl in and out of fists.

  “Now? I need to get you somewhere safe.” The callous phrasing conveys a million different meanings. Somewhere safe. Away. Out of his hair. Like a nuisance fly, he has to trap in a jar just to keep it from getting smashed.

  “Where?” My brain spins with the possibilities. Somewhere out of the city? The country? “What about my family—”

  “They’ll be fine. I’m already moving them to a new location. But I… I need to think this through. Alone.”

  I flinch at the barely concealed warning. Everything about him broadcasts a blazing, ominous warning. Run. Retreat. Let him brood and rage in peace.

  “I want you to tell me something,” I croak instead, still frozen in place. “If this never happened. If what you think your ring means was still the same, what would change?”

  “What?” He scoffs. “You would be protected.”

  “But nothing else?” I don’t know why I’m probing him at all. Where I’m going with this line of questioning. What drives me to ask next, “So you would continue to make decisions for me without including me?”

  Despite all the appearance of power and security, as his wife, I would be powerless. An animal in a cage like the one depicted in Lucius’ story.

  “I don’t know what you expected from me.” He sounds so damn tired. If the threads of his control were visible chains, I can imagine them straining. Cracking. Breaking.

  “Our first contract was always prefaced on the understanding that I could always walk away,” I say. It sounds so strange to recall that fact after weeks of being at his virtual beck and call, under his mercy always. But Lucius was right. “You laid out the risks and the benefits. You gave me a choice. I could leave if I wanted to—”

  “Is that what you want now?” The hollowness of his tone sucks any warmth from the room. I’m shivering. “To leave me?”

  “No.” I start toward him only to falter paces away. He’s still within my reach though, a raging shadow in the waning daylight, but my fingers twitch uselessly at my sides. His anger radiates, forming an invisible barrier too dangerous to breach.

  “Then what are you saying?” he demands.

  “I’m saying that what we had before is the kind of security I need now.” Even if I don’t know why. “I want to know the risks if my life is in danger. I want you to explain. I want a…choice.”

  “Choice?” He whirls on me. “Your only choice is to stay with me or die. The bounty is on your head regardless. I cannot fix this.”

  And that lack of control is consuming him like nothing else. I’ve never seen him so resigned. Except maybe once before in the face of his uncle.

  Before he beat him to death with his bare hands.

  “I want to stay with you,” I admit, marveling at the contras
t between my voice and his. I should be the one straining, my words faltering. I should be the one trembling beneath the sheer insanity of my fate.

  Slowly, I reach out and settle my hand against his forearm. He stiffens as if his first instinct is to shrug me off. I can physically feel the jolt of muscle tensing and then relaxing.

  “Talk to me,” I beg. “Tell me the risks. I want that choice.”

  A sound resonates low in his chest. Another laugh? I can’t tell as he inclines his head without looking in my direction. “You want that choice? Well, here it is. Anatoli ensured that I can never give you the safety I want for you. Even if I kill him, the fucking mark stands. You will never be seen as a Koslov by the people who matter. To them? You will always be a fucking whore.”

  And that bothers him. More than he will admit out loud. So much is simmering beneath his surface fury, boiling over in ways he can no longer control. I suck in a breath as he faces me directly and brings his hand to my cheek, tilting my face for his inspection.

  “I want more for you than that,” he swears, brushing his thumb against the corner of my mouth. “But first, I will get you and your family somewhere safe. Then I will reach out to some contacts in my network. If Anatoli wants to play this game, then we will play. Though nothing I do will really matter in the end. The family won’t move against him. Fuck!” The tension drains from him as I watch, and his lips part into a terrifying grin. “He’s won this round, I will give him that. To challenge him, I would need another Koslov. I would need…”

  His fingers snatch at his chin, stroking the stubble there as he thinks. “I would need an ally who is blood. But would he… No—” He shakes his head, breaking off whatever thought he may have had. “I will make the arrangements for you to leave within the week. It’s safer, the less you know.”

  “Safe?” Again, I barely recognize the woman speaking. Her voice doesn’t tremble or falter. Each clear tone resonates as strongly as his does. “I trust you,” I race to clarify before he can reply. “I do. I don’t even know why I do. But I can’t live my life being treated like... Even when I first came to you, you forced me to become a player in your game. You didn’t leave me in the dark like this.”