I don’t want to drag them deeper into this.
So I grit my teeth and stay still.
For now.
The warehouse air falls away as Maksim shoulders through the door into the night. The sudden change in temperature slaps my bare skin, cool wind knifing under my jacket. The sounds inside—fan, quiet voices, tension—cut off as the door swings shut behind us.
The second it does, I explode.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I start pounding on his back with both fists. “Put me down, Maksim!”
He ignores me.
I hit harder, knuckles stinging.
“Stop fucking manhandling me like I’m cargo—”
“Keep hitting me,” he grinds out, voice dark and low. “See how that goes for you.”
The threat isn’t even specific. It doesn’t have to be. His whole body is vibrating with anger. Not the cool, collected rage he uses in meetings. Not even the flirtatious primal taunt he usually uses with me. This is something rawer. Older. Like whatever he’s holding back is scraping his insides bloody.
He heads for the car parked near the loading dock—a black sedan. He stops at the rear. I hear the soft mechanical click of the trunk releasing.
My blood turns to ice.
“No.” I twist against his hold, finally kicking, boots thudding against his chest and stomach. “No. Maksim, don’t you dare. Donotput me in the trunk.”
He shifts me higher on his shoulder when I start to slip, his grip a band of steel over the backs of my legs.
“I’ll get in the car,” I rush out. Panic strips the edge off my voice. “I’ll get in the fucking car, okay? I’ll sit where you want, I’ll go where you want. Just—don’t put me in there.”
He lowers me then.
For one stupid hopeful second, I think he’s listening.
My feet barely brush the bumper before his hand hooks behind my knees and sweeps them out from under me, sending me backward. I grab for him and catch nothing but air.
I drop into the open trunk, spine hitting the carpeted floor, breath knocking out of me in a shocked grunt.
I stare up at him, pulse roaring in my ears.
His face is a mask. Shadow and fury and restraint. His breathing is still hard, chest rising and falling under the dark fabric of his shirt.
“Too late, Ayla,” he says, voice flat and lethal. “You’re pissing me the fuck off.”
“Maks—”
The lid slams.
Darkness swallows me.
Chapter 29
Maksim
Icrank the music up until the bass rattles the rearview.
It doesn’t drown her out completely.
