Ruthless Stranger by Maggie Cole

12

Maksim

After I leftmy meeting with Aspen, I cleared my day and researched anything I could find out about her ex-husband. Besides being a fool, from what I could tell, he's nothing but a trust fund baby who couldn't do anything worthwhile with the money. He's had no job and one failed business after another in the twenty years they were married. Then he went through his family's fortune. Aspen's worked the entire time since she graduated high school, supporting him.

All he's done is mooch off her—lazy sack of shit.

The more I dug, the deeper my disgust grew. His current girlfriend, the one he cheated on Aspen with, is getting her master's in business. But her social media account just changed in status from in a relationship to single.

He wants Aspen back so she can support him again.

Over my dead body.

I spent two hours in the gym, trying to blow off steam, before leaving to pick Aspen up. I didn't want to be with her feeling the anger pooling in my veins.

After I showered and dressed, I saw the message from Adrian telling me what happened outside her apartment. The two hours I spent cooling my rage was for nothing. I stewed the entire way to her place.

As I drove farther into her neighborhood, my disgust for her ex only grew.

He inherited enough money. Aspen shouldn't be living in this dangerous of an area. But all he did was make her work her ass off and take advantage of her.

I walked into her building when someone came out. The elevator was broke, further tugging at my emotions, and I climbed the ten flights, taking several steps at a time. I only got a few sentences into my discussion with Adrian before Aspen opened the door.

She stole my breath, like she always does, but it was clear she was upset over what happened. We seemed to get past it by some miracle, and she still came with me to my place, but now my stomach is flipping. I can't shake the feeling I'm going to lose her. It's the same gut-wrenching feeling I had when I left her in Vegas.

I'm making her a martini. She's standing at the window with her back to me, peering out into the Chicago night. It reminds me of how she stood at the windows in Vegas, waiting for me to blindfold her.

I pour the liquid in a glass and carry it over to her. I step behind her, wrap my arm around her, and put my cheek on hers.

She shudders against my body and closes her eyes. Her one hand reaches for my thigh. Her other one wraps around mine, which holds the stem of the drink.

"You okay, my krasotka?"

She nods, opens her eyes, and turns her face to mine. "Maybe it's better if I don't know."

A lump grows in my throat. I want to agree with her suggestion. "You already had one man in your life who was a coward. I won't be the second. You deserve to know what kind of man I am."

She turns back to the window. She quietly replies, "If I hadn't met you in Vegas, and we didn't have our arrangement, what would you have thought when you met me today?"

I release her, put her drink on the side table, then take her hand. "Come." I lead her to the couch and pull her onto my lap.

She tilts her head then strokes a lock of my hair off my forehead. Her touch is lightning to my veins. I want to take her directly to my bedroom, but I know it's the coward's way out.

"If I hadn't already met you, I would have told myself to keep it professional and not cross any lines. It would have driven me crazy. And I would have left the meeting in awe at your intelligence and knowledge, just like I did today."

Her lips twitch.

"You're being taken advantage of by your colleagues, my krasotka."

Her face falls, turning slightly red, and something else fills it. If I'm not mistaken, it's shame.

"I've hit a nerve?"

She focuses on my chest and outlines the V of my neckline, stopping at the button. "I don't have a degree. I can't advance any higher than my current position."

"That's ridiculous. You're more qualified to deal with zoning issues than anyone else who was in that room."

Her face hardens. "It doesn't matter. I don't have the educational requirements."

I snort. "You're more qualified than anyone I've worked with in your building."

She avoids my eyes, circling my chest hair. "Can we change the subject?"

I tilt her chin so she can't avoid me. "You're brilliant, my krasotka."

She stays quiet.

"Should I return to talking about how I'd be going crazy, making myself stay away from you?" I tease.

She smiles and traces my lips. "The first night we met, I was dying for you to kiss me."

"I'm sorry. I knew it would make it harder for me to forget about you."

"But you did the next night."

"Yes. Either way, I was going to be tormented by not knowing what it was like or having the knowledge."

She bites her lip.

"What is it? You don't ever have to worry about asking me something."

She inhales slowly. "It wasn't about her?"

"Who?"

"The woman you told me about."

I forgot I told her about Jade. And I see in her eyes the real question she wants to ask.

I sternly say, "No. She had nothing to do with me not kissing you. And I'm not in love with her anymore. We are over, and both know it. We finished before Vegas."

Her breath releases as slowly as she took it in. "When were you with her last?"

I assume she's asking me when I last slept with her. "Months before I met you."

"So you're free, then? The only annoying ex is mine?"

"Yes. And yours won't be harassing you anymore."

She furrows her eyebrows. "Please don't hurt him. I don't want anyone injured over me. I don't like violence."

And here's how I'm going to lose her.

"He's been warned. Nothing happens to him if he stays away. If he attempts to harm you, there will be consequences. I cannot guarantee you his safety. That is up to him."

"Maksim, I spent twenty years with him. He was my husband. I don't want him injured."

My jealousy betrays me. I blurt out, "You still love him."

"No. I told you I don't. But that doesn't mean I wish ill things upon him."

My jaw twitches, and I turn toward the window.

She straddles me and grasps my cheeks. Her brown eyes are a mix of emotions. I'm not sure what to make of them. "This woman you used to love. You wish her harm?"

"Of course not!" I growl.

"It's the same thing."

"She's not leaving me bruised and sitting outside my door after being told to not come back."

"I told you what happened."

"And he was back today."

The truth hangs in the air. But I hate causing her to worry. As much as I'm jealous he got to have her for twenty years, I don't want this to be the thing that breaks us.

"You have my word. As long as he doesn't attempt to harm you and stops harassing you, he will not feel my wrath."

She opens her mouth to speak then shuts it.

"You want to know what my wrath means?" I slide my hand inside her shirt so it's over her heart. "Your heart is racing. Are you scared of me, my krasotka?"

She shakes her head. "No. I'm scared of what you are going to tell me you are capable of."

I caress her skin with my thumb and keep my hand over her heart. I lower my voice. "What do you think I am capable of? Hmm?"

She closes her eyes, as if in pain, and it shatters me. I shouldn't be putting her through any of this. Since I picked her up, I've seen the shift in her expression. She got a tiny glimpse into my reality, and it may be making her rethink being with me.

I lower my hand so it's under her bra cup, pressing her nipple between my fingers, continuing to graze my thumb across her chest. I shouldn't touch her when we discuss this, but I'm a man with an obsession, and she's it.

She swallows hard and pins me with her gaze. She chooses her words carefully. "I get the impression you are a man who will stop at nothing to protect what is yours."

I nod. "You are correct. And you are mine to protect now. The moment I saw you, something awakened in me. I will kill for you if I ever have to, whether you chose to stay with me or not."

Her eyes glisten. She quietly asks, "And you have killed before?"

My stomach flips.

I'm going to lose her.

She doesn't deserve to be lied to.

"Yes. Enough times I have lost track of how many men have taken their last breath before me."

Her heart thumps harder against my hand. She draws in a deep breath and blinks hard, but several tears fall.

Any reasoning left tells me to remove my hand from her blouse, kiss her one final time, then send her home forever. But I don't. The speed of my fingers never changes. And I take my other hand and slide it down her pants, cup her ass, and pull her closer to me.

"Why do you kill?" Her lips are inches from mine, torturing me.

"You ask a loaded question. There are things I'll never be able to disclose to you. But I have connections to the Russian mafia. Our family, in some ways, is merging with the Irish one. I don't want any of this, but this is my reality."

Her lips quiver. "You're part of the Russian mafia?"

I sternly say, "No."

"I... I don't understand."

I've often wondered how I would tell a woman about my past. There have never been any clear-cut answers. Tonight is no different. But this isn't in my head. This is now life, and the woman in front of me isn't someone I want to lose. But I don't see how I will ever hold on to her after our conversation is over.

"Maksim...please. Tell me."

I already trust her, but I still ask, "Anything I tell you, you give me your word it stays between us? No matter what you choose to do after you know everything?"

She surprises me by running her hand in my hair and leaning forward to kiss me sweetly. "You have my promise."

It only fuels my need for her more. "I haven't ever told anyone this."

"Not even her?"

To break up the tension, I tease, "You seem to be worried about my ex-relationship."

"You still loved her when we were in Vegas." Jealousy fills her eyes.

So I'm not the only one envious about past relationships.

Did I still love Jade? Had I not already been over her?

I can't say for sure when I lost my feelings for Jade, but anything I felt for her didn't dwindle away when I met Aspen. It exploded into a thousand pieces, never to be put back together again.

But I can't confirm nor deny Aspen's statement, so I don't do either. "I've told no one, not even her."

"Why are you telling me? You wouldn't have had to."

I slide my hand out of her shirt and cradle her head. "If I let you believe I was someone else, and you found out my truth, would you stay with me?"

"I..." She starts to shake her head then stops. "I don't know. I'm having a hard time figuring out how to let you go now."

It stabs at my heart but also gives me hope. She should be running from me. I just told her I'm a murderer and not just a onetime killer but a serial one.

"I don't want secrets and lies between us, Aspen. Do you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Okay. Then why don't I tell you the things I can so there are no misconceptions about who I am or what I'm capable of."

She nods.

I muster the courage and start. "When I was ten, my parents fled from Russia. My brother, Dmitri, was eight. Boris was three. Sergey wasn't even born yet. In some ways, things were harder here than in Russia. They didn't speak English. The jobs they took paid barely anything, and both my mother and father worked three to four jobs at a time, trying to feed the six of us."

"That must have been tough."

"Dmitri only remembers a little bit about the good times in Russia. I remember the most. But I was also a child and didn't go through what my parents did. But we went from thriving to barely surviving. And there were many others in our community who were in the same boat. But then there were the ones who preyed on poor families who were trying to make it day-to-day."

Compassion fills her eyes.

I keep talking because if I stop, I'm not sure if I'll get through it. My chest tightens, and my insides shake—all the guilt and anguish I carry from my family situation surfaces.

"When I was sixteen, my father got sick. We had no insurance. Dmitri and I tried to find jobs to help, but my mother insisted we stay in school. My father made us promise to get our education. And then he died."

The memory of my father slowly changing from the strong man I grew up with to skin and bones makes my gut churn faster.

Aspen strokes my cheek. "I'm sorry for your loss."

I glance out to the lit-up Chicago skyline. "I quit school to work. My mother and I fought, and she reminded me of my promise to my father to stay in school. But we couldn't live on her income alone, and she knew it. So, I went to work. But several weeks later, my mother came home and slapped cash on the table and informed us she got hired full time to be a secretary for my father's good friend. He was a Russian man with several businesses. My mother insisted I return to school."

"Did you?"

I turn back to Aspen. "Yes. And when I graduated, my mother had the money for me to go to community college. She said my father would be proud, and the best way to help our family was for me to keep getting my education. I still wanted to work full time to help her, but she insisted she was making enough. So I found part-time work and went to classes. Dmitri did the same, and everything seemed like it was working out for us."

I focus on the flickering fire, trying to calm the rage building in my chest. After all these years, I still want revenge. We haven't gotten it yet, but I want it. If I had the chance, I would take every ounce of wrath in me and show Zamir Petrov the beast he made me become.

I turn back to the window, staring into the night sky. "I finished college. Dmitri was in his last year when Boris found out who my mother's real employer was."

Aspen strokes my cheek. "Who did she work for?"

"The Russian mob boss, Zamir Petrov."

Aspen gasps. It's quiet, but I still hear it. I slide my hand back in her blouse over her heart. I don't know why I do, but something in me needs to feel the beat of her life against mine.

"So, your mom is in the mafia? And that makes you part of it?" Aspen asks, and I hear the confusion in her voice.

"No." I swallow the lump in my throat. "My mother killed herself after what happened. And we aren't in the mafia."

Aspen's heart races faster. She covers her mouth in horror.

I roll her nipple in my fingers, as if it'll calm her heart or mine. "There was a debt to pay. Everything we had, Zamir claimed was due to him. Our education, food in our bellies, and clothes on our backs."

Sympathy crosses her face. "You said your brother, Boris, found out?"

"Yes. He interrupted a meeting with Zamir and my mother. Zamir explained to Boris how he owned us. My mother claimed it wasn't true and not part of their deal. She insisted only she was indebted to him. But we all were. And he was ready for us to pay off our growing debt. Four boys were more valuable to him than one mother could ever be."

She inches her body closer to me so there is no room between us. She strokes the side of my head. "What did you have to do?"

I close my eyes, unable to look at her any longer.

She unfastens two buttons on my shirt and slides her hand inside, holding my heart as well. She puts her cheek on mine and whispers in my ear, "Tell me."

I keep my eyes shut, inhaling her muted floral scent. For years, I've tried to not think about what my brothers and I became. I pushed away any thought about my mother, helpless in Zamir's possession, watching us morph from innocent boys into monsters. "Zamir took my mother. He instructed my brothers, even Sergey, who was only twelve, to meet him in a warehouse to get her back. If we didn't come, he said he would put her in his whorehouse before killing her."

My krasotka inhales sharply and holds her breath.

I continue. Flashbacks of that night fly at me with intense speed. "When we got to the warehouse, plastic covered the walls and floor. Six metal chairs lined up perfectly straight with six warm bodies in them; five men and one woman, tied to the seats, with gags in their mouths. The woman was my mother. Zamir's thugs held knives to our throats while he explained how we would get our mother back."

Dizziness overpowers me, and my skin becomes clammy. I didn't realize the effect of telling my story out loud would have on me. My chest constricts. "I need some air."

I move Aspen off me and step out to my balcony. The snow is falling, and the frigid air feels good against my hot skin. I put my hands on the snow-covered railing and draw in a few cold breaths, looking out into the blinking lights of the city.

My krasotka's arms circle around my waist.

"It's too cold out here. I need a minute. Then I'll come back inside."

She only tightens her hold around me. Her cheek rests against my back, and she says, "Tell me what you had to do to get your mother back."

Snow continues to fall, and I barely feel the flakes sliding down my face. "We had a choice. Leave or earn our mother back. We chose our mother. And that night, we were all given a man to torture and split to shreds with a knife. They made us into killers that night. Zamir's thug tortured one man, and we all had to replicate what he did to the man we were assigned to. Our mother watched each of her children do the unthinkable, including Sergey, who wasn't even thirteen." The bile in my stomach rises and I swallow it back down.

"Maksim," my krasotka says several times until I finally realize she released me and is standing next to me with her back to the city.

She dips under my arm so she's between the wall and me. Snow covers her head and eyelashes, and her lip trembles.

"We need to go in. It's too cold out here."

She holds my cheeks. "No. I want to know the rest."

"Zamir didn't give our mother back to us. He made each of my brothers and me do ten jobs while my mother watched, tied to the chair and gagged. She eventually stopped crying, and Zamir made it clear that he still owned us after we got her back."

A moment passes and my krasotka asks, "What does that mean? You said you aren't in the mafia, but it sounds like you are."

"For several years, we tortured and killed men for Zamir. He would call, and we had to show up. Then Boris got into betting. We didn't know about it. When he was twenty-two, he went to Vegas and won over fifteen million dollars. When he came back, he bought all our freedom for ten million dollars. Anyone with the Ivanov name was never to be touched again. Boris gave me the rest of his money, and we started buying properties. But Zamir still owns Boris. Once a year, he calls on him, and whatever he wants him to do, he does. Until Boris or Zamir dies, the agreement will not cease. And it will always tie our family to the mob. No matter how legitimate our businesses are, we are still part of it. There is no escape. And Zamir is always looking for a way to pull us all back in."

Aspen shakes, and I'm not sure if it's only from the cold and snow or the realization of who I am and what I'm capable of.

"We need to go inside." I pull her in and shut the balcony door.

The truth is out. Every ounce of self-hatred and disgust I have for myself surfaces. And my fear I'll never see her again fills every cell in my body.

She steps forward and splays her hands on my chest. Her eyes glisten, full of pain, and she quietly says, "Maksim."

It's too much for her.

I don't just murder men. I torture them. Of course it's too much.

I tried to prepare myself for this, but my heart sinks. I take a deep breath and stroke her cheek. "It's okay, my krasotka. I don't blame you. Let me call Adrian to pull the car to the front. I'll take you home."