Maksim:
Need more alone time with your new toy, boss?
Maksim:
Getting cozy in there.
I type back:
Get the fucking car before I shove your dick up your ass.
When I look up, Clara’s attempting to juggle every shopping bag herself, stumbling slightly in her new Chanel heels. The sight would be adorable if it wasn’t so fucking stupid.
“Blyat,” I mutter, watching Clara struggling with the items like some sort of stubborn child. “Give me the bags.”
“I’d rather dislocate both shoulders.” She hitches them higher, nearly tripping. The sight would be amusing if half of Canal Place wasn’t currently recording us on their phones.
I snatch three bags from her left hand. She responds by ramming her heel into my shoe.
“Such a sweet girl,” I drawl, catching another bag as it slips. “Your mother must be so proud.”
“Almost as proud as yours must be of your kidnapping habits.” She flashes me a smile that’s pure venom. “Speaking of which, how many other women have you forced to play Barbie?”
The question hits a nerve I didn’t know existed. My fingers flex against the shopping bags. “You’re the only one.”
Clara stumbles mid-step. Her head snaps up, the smirk falters, and something unreadable flickers in her eyes.
“Am I now?” she drawls, arching an eyebrow.
Suka! Why did I say that? This woman is my prisoner, my enemy, and here I am, blurting out shit that could give her leverage.
I grab a few more bags, and we make our way outside. Maksim pulls up in the Rolls-Royce, rolling the window down with a smirk.
“Need help with the bags, boss?”
I toss a bag into the car. “Shut up, Maksim.”
Clara shoves past me, sliding into the car with as much grace as someone in stilettos and an oversized hoodie can manage. I start to follow, but something catches my attention.
At the corner of my eye, there’s a flash of movement across the street. A figure in a black SUV, parked too neatly along the curb, engine running. My instincts flare and I narrow my eyes. The driver’s side window is slightly lowered, just enough for me to notice the glint of something metallic. A camera lens? A gun?
I turn back to Clara; she’s eyeing me with suspicion as I pause. She notices my shift in demeanor, but before she can say anything, I nudge her fully into the car and slam the door, my mind racing.
Stay calm. Handle this.
I slide in beside her, closing the door with a deliberate click. Maksim pulls away from the curb, but I don’t relax. My eyes flick to the side mirror, catching the black SUV pulling into traffic a few cars behind us.
Clara crosses her arms, trying to mask her unease, but I feel the tension rolling off her. I lean forward.
“Maksim,” I say, my voice low, “take the scenic route.”
He catches my meaning instantly, his smirk fading. “Understood.”
Maksim’s whistling. Some upbeat pop song that makes me want to shoot him. But my attention is fixed on the side mirror, watching the third black SUV merge into traffic behind us.
Clara shifts beside me, shopping bags rustling as she peers out the window. Her sixth sense for trouble must be tingling—she hasn’t made a single smart comment since we left Canal Place.
“Maksim,” I bark.
