Ruthless Stranger by Maggie Cole

22

Aspen

A hammer is hittingmy head over and over, and nausea sets in. I slowly open my eyes, but it's so dark I can't see anything, so I shut them again.

Where am I?

Maksim.

The comforting smell of bergamot and cardamom wafts in the air. His strong arms cradle me, and his heart thumps against my ear. I snuggle into his soft chest hair, and he strokes my back, then kisses my head.

Wait. He dumped me.

I sit up too fast, causing my stomach to lurch and head to feel like a Mack truck rammed into it. I hold my skull with one hand and put the other over my stomach.

Maksim sits up and tugs me to his chest. His deep voice is low, his accent thick. "Slow down, my krasotka."

I breathe for a moment then slowly turn to him. The faint outline of his chiseled cheeks and square jawbone is barely visible. Like I did so many times while blindfolded, I reach for him, needing to verify he's really in front of me. I whisper, "Maksim."

His hands slide through my hair, firmly holding me. It's possessive, giving me the false sense that I'm his, and he never let me go.

But he did. The cruel reality crawls across my heart, scraping the already-torn pieces to shreds. My mouth is dry from the alcohol I drank. A lump grows in my throat, and I struggle to swallow it.

Maksim puts his forehead on mine. "My krasotka." His voice pricks my heart. I'm unsure what it means.

The events of the night come rushing at me: too many shots to count, strippers, and dancing. A man with a Russian accent who felt just as dangerous as Maksim, if not more so, invited me into his VIP room, then pulled me onto his lap before Maksim took me away. The blur of guns and knives then Adrian counting loudly from ten down, stirs in my mind.

I don't know the name of the man whose lap I sat on. But I remember the way his hand gripped my waist when Maksim came in. The fear I felt wasn't like anything I had ever felt around Maksim. I realized, even in my hazy state, the man was dangerous but a polar opposite to Maksim. I don't doubt he is every bit of a killer Maksim is, but he has no boundaries regarding what he would do and why. He would hurt me if the opportunity came up and not even think twice about it.

I shudder thinking about how I wanted every morsel of attention that man would give me before Maksim came in. That man was the closest thing I could get to Maksim, with his Russian accent and dangerous flair. And if I hadn't been drinking, I want to believe I wouldn't have given him two seconds of my time. Surely, I would have seen the difference between him and Maksim? But I can't be sure because I couldn't escape the devastation growing in my heart from Maksim disposing of me like a useless piece of trash. "Everything ached so badly," I whisper in a barely audible, raspy voice.

Maksim's eyes shut. "My krasotka—"

Hurt, I cry out, "No. You created a hole in my heart, and it only got bigger as the night went on. You threw me aside. Why were you even there?"

"I came as soon as Dmitri's event was over. Adrian didn't tell me what was going on, or I would have left the restaurant immediately. I planned on coming to your apartment after, but if I had known you were at the Cat's Meow, or with Wes Petrov, I would have left the rehearsal dinner."

My chest tightens. "Petrov? The...oh God. Is that...?"

Maksim's voice is emotionless. He confirms, "It's Zamir's son."

My nausea takes hold, and I try not to get sick. Sweat breaks out on my skin. I close my eyes and hold on to Maksim's shoulder, but my head keeps spinning. Several days ago, I had never heard of the Petrovs or had anything dangerous in my life. Now, it seems to surround me. And when I had Maksim as mine, it was okay. I could accept it and compartmentalize it because he would always protect me. Now, I don't know where we stand or if there even is an us anymore.

"Breathe, my krasotka."

The knowledge of who I was with, and what could have happened in Wes's room, hits me, along with the betrayal I feel about Maksim breaking up with me. It spirals like a tornado, mixing with confusion. I'm scared to ask it, but the courage appears somewhere within me. "Why am I here?"

"Because I love you. This is where you belong...with me."

My lungs constrict until it hurts. Blood pumps between my ears, intensifying my headache. Any hydration left in my mouth is gone. "How can you love me when you let me go only a few hours ago?"

His warm palms cup my cheeks. I close my eyes, wishing I didn't want every touch he gives me. But I do, and I hate that he has the power to release me, pull me back, and still affect me so much.

His Russian accent intensifies. "I wish I could redo the evening."

"But we can't."

"I'm a fool. I acted rashly. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

I wish my head would stop pounding so I could think. I want to return his admission and tell him I love him, too. That the only thing I want is to be his and with him forever. But something stops me. All I keep remembering is earlier in the night when he put on his shirt and threw me out of his life in a matter of moments.

It hurt a thousand times worse than losing Peter. So I pull away from him. I don't want to make a mistake and lose him, but the trust I gave him cracked. He threw the stone to start the fissure. Somehow, he needs to find the glue to repair it. I can't fall back into a relationship where he can destroy me in seconds then drag me back to being his. But now isn't the time to figure it out. I'm too sick. "I need water and something for my head. I can't talk about this right now."

He reaches toward the nightstand and hands me two pills and water. "You weren't in good enough shape to take this earlier."

I say nothing, accept the water, and refrain from guzzling it, taking small sips so I don't get sick everywhere. I get the pills down and hand the glass back to him.

He sets it down and weaves his fingers through my hair once again, holding my head, as if I'm his.

My emotions can't handle it anymore. Tears escape, rolling so fast, they slide off my chin and drip on my thighs.

"Forgive me, my krasotka. Please." His voice is gravelly, full of remorse, and a hint of desperation lies within it.

"I hate the fact I want you so much," I barely choke out.

He pulls me into his arms, wrapping me in the immediate safety I always feel with him.

I mumble in his chest, "You don't get to do this to me."

He stiffens then tightens his arms around me, pressing his lips to my head. His chest rises and falls faster. He finally says in a tone laced with fear, "Do what?"

"Dangle the promise of a life with you. Then cast me away, only to drag me back and tell me you love me."

"I do love you. I've been beating myself up all night since you walked out of here. It's not a question if I am at fault. I know I am. Don't let my mistake destroy us."

My headache only intensifies. I want to be with Maksim. The pain I felt without him when I left Vegas, and last night, isn't something I ever want to feel again. But how do I know he isn't going to quickly dispose of me the next time we have an issue? "Every fiber of my being wants you...no, wants us. But I can't think right now."

He releases a long sigh then tilts my head up. He brushes his lips against mine. "You need rest, and I'm being selfish. We will talk tomorrow when you feel better. But I promise you, no matter what happens, if you forgive me, I'll never let you go again." He slides down under the covers, taking me with him and cocooning his body around me.

"I already forgave you. But forgiveness and trust are two different things," I murmur.

He slowly inhales. So much time passes, I am almost back asleep when his voice, full of agony, cuts through my heart. "Whatever I have to do to gain it back and keep you forever, I will, my krasotka."

I want to believe him. Nothing in me wants to hold a grudge or not move forward with him. So I kiss his chest and fall asleep on his promise, secure in his arms, telling myself everything will be okay when I wake up and can think again.

The problem with trust is, once it's broken, it's hard to repair. Anything that threatens it again can take the fracture and break it in two, even if the truth isn't what you perceive.