“No, actually.”
Bullshit.
“You wouldn’t kill the me over that. You wouldn’t risk what my father will do to you for that. At least have the balls to tell me—”
“You don’t get to demand anything from me.”
“Not really great at doing what I’m told, or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
Yeah.
His arrogant nature just had to go and show itself at the worst possible time. This time when Maxim took a step toward him with the bat raised, Roman had no doubt there would be nothing to stop the swing from landing against its intended target.
His fucking skull.
The first one wouldn’t kill Roman, they both knew that. However, a few more blows from that bat certainly might. Or ... did the man intend to leave him alive for a while? What was Maxim going to do, then?
That was the worst part—not knowing how this would end. There was still nothing Roman could do about it.
His hands were literally tied.
And then he remembered ...
The plan.
The fucking plan.
How could he forget the plan?
TWENTY-ONE
“They’re going to kill you on the day of the wedding.”
The words left Roman’s mouth in the same breath that Maxim started to swing. He knew the man had heard him—the shift in the air was instant. That, and the bat didn’t land on top of his fucking head.
Maxim flinched, still holding the weapon high. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Quiet, but it still felt like a roar.
Roman shifted in his constraints, trying to ignore the way the rope bit into his wrists the longer he was forced to hang. His limbs ached the longer they stretched unnaturally, his muscles feeling like they were tearing under his skin.
“I said they’re going to kill you the night of the wed—”
The bat fell from Maxim’s hand, stopping him from saying anything more as he lunged forward, bringing his face right up close to Roman’s. Cold, hard eyes locked onto his. Seconds ticked by.
One.
Then, two.
Maxim only asked, “Who is going to kill me?”
Roman had to make a conscious effort to keep his eyes open, the pain and hard breathing threatening to take him under. Sweat dripped down his forehead, the beads down to the point of his trembling chin.
He was quite a sight.
No doubt.
Still, Roman hadn’t begged.
That counted for something.
“Who,” Maxim snarled.
The loud yell making Roman jerk against the rope. Even the chains rattled from his sudden movement. His captor waited, but the bat was still close enough for him to reach, though.
That couldn’t be forgotten.
Figuring the only thing that was keeping him alive was the fact he had something to say, Roman started to tell the man, “I overheard a conversation, Leonid and—”
Maxim spun away from him, scoffing hard. “Fuck them. Fuck the both of them. Leonid and Dima want to take a shot at me?” He turned back with a wild smile—maniacal almost—before he thumped his fist against his bare chest. The news didn’t seem to be, well ... news. “I’ll be right here waiting for them.”
Roman’s brows knitted together. No, it wasn’t Dima. He opted to keep that information silent, even if only for a moment longer, as he watched Maxim lose his calm. It was the first time he started thinking about who Leonid’s partner actually was. He heard him say the name Katina—hadn’t forgot it since. A name he didn’t know, and one no one in the Yazov Bratva used for any woman who was around enough to be talked about.
So, who was she?
And why didn’t the boss know about her?
“I did every fucking thing I needed to—made sure those two shits didn’t bite the hand that fed them,” Maxim said, facing Roman fully again. “My hand. Do they really think I agreed to this match because I want Dima as my son-in-law?”
Who cared?
All that mattered to Roman was that the baseball bat had been forgotten for now. That gave him a few more seconds to figure out how to keep Maxim distracted long enough to keep him talking—or for the man to allow Roman to talk.
Either way ...
“You arranged the marriage to appease them—why?” Roman asked.
Maxim’s gaze met his for only a moment before darting away.
At the chance to ask another question, Roman did. “Because you were expecting them to plot against you? Did you think you could get ahead of it that way?”
“I would have been surprised if they didn’t. I thought the marriage agreement would solve the problem before it began. Tie them to me in a way, yes? A win-win, if you will. Leonid would get what he wanted—his son married to a pakhan’s daughter.”
“Clearly, you were wrong. What he wants is to be the boss.”
Roman simply connected the dots, he hadn’t actually heard those words from Leonid—but it was the only thing that made logical sense. Maxim wasn’t denying it, either.
In fact, the man just stared at an empty spot on the wall behind Roman. He had another thought, then. A win-win, he’d called it. Like Leonid got what he wanted, and so would everyone else.
What did they get?
“And what about Dima?” Roman dared to ask.
Maxim startled at that, like he’d been shoved hard, as his gaze slammed back into a sore, tired Roman. “What about him?”
“What does he get from the marriage?”
“Karine. That’s what he wants. What he’s always wanted.”
But that meant having her, too. She would be his—under his control, Dima’s to possess in any way he wanted. Forever.
“And you’re willing to just ... what, hand your daughter over to a man like that?” Roman hissed through another wave of pain, but his anger was still clear in every single word that ripped out of his mouth. “Fuck you.”
Maxim turned his back to him at that statement, making Roman unable to see his face or expressions. Was he pissed off at the disrespect, or actually considering what was said between them?
Would it matter?
Roman still thought there was one person left in Maxim’s win-win equation that he hadn’t pointed out. The boss himself.
