I keep my face blank and nod. “Thank you.”
“Personal matter, huh?”
I eye him. He’s very much my superior. Our pakhan’s right-hand man. He certainly could compel me to talk. Still, I remain resolute. “That’s right.”
He shrugs. “I see. Well, I’m here if you need a strategist.”
I suck in a breath. “Da. Thanks. Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Maxim nods, still thoughtful. He hesitates a moment like he’s going to say something more, then turns and strides back to the elevator.
I wait until I hear the doors close before I relax back into my chair and open my palm to examine the pills.
Not telling him was the right solution.
I let Kira in here, it’s on me to find out what she’s up to. If I discover anything, I’ll notify my bratva brothers then.
I already know that decision will probably bite me in the ass, but I hate the alternative. Kira’s my problem to deal with. No one else touches her if I can do anything about it.
Kira
No amount of twisting and turning my hands has loosened the duct tape around them. Nor can I bust my ankles free from the chair legs.
The best option may be to try to break the chair.
I throw my body to the side, encouraging the chair to tip up onto two legs.
It drops back into place.
I rock again and again. Sometimes, I succeed only in making the chair slide instead of tip. Eventually, though, I get it to tilt enough that it falls.
What I didn’t count on, was my weight carrying it backward at the same time.
My head smacks something hard before I even hit the ground, and everything goes black.
I blink my eyes open.
Gospodi, it’s too bright in here.
My head splinters with pain.
I let out a whimper.
“That was unwise, little warrior. What were you thinking?”
Only then do I realize Maykl is here with me, working quickly to cut me free. My arms burst into an explosion of pain as they are released from their position behind my back.
Maykl holds my face and turns it, examining me with his brows down. “Look at me, Kira,” he murmurs in Russian.
I meet his gaze. He studies my eyes, no doubt looking for pupils that are different sizes. Signs of a concussion. I did take a pretty hard knock to the head. I must’ve been out for more than a few seconds if he had time to get up here although he does seem slightly out of breath like he ran up the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.
I groan.
“Very unwise. You hit your head on the desk and then again on the floor.”
Realizing my hands are free and he’s focused on my injuries, I trail my fingers along the waistband of his jeans, searching for the pistol.
It’s not there.
He catches my wrist, brings my hand to his mouth, and bites the meaty part of my thumb.
My pussy clenches, and I squeak, more in surprise than in pain although it does hurt. What kind of man bites his captive as punishment? The same kind who spanks her instead of cutting her thumbs off, I suppose.
I try to ignore the flutters this man ignites in me.
I don’t need to get distracted by the physical attraction between us. By the gentle way he handles me as he frees my ankles and lifts me off the chair.
My brain tells me to fight, that this is my moment, my hands and legs are free. I should do as much damage as I can and get myself out of here.
But, for some reason, I hesitate. Maybe it’s the fact that my arms are still on fire with pins and needles. Or because I haven’t found what I came here for, yet.
It can’t be because this man is affecting me. That I enjoy the way he’s running his hands over my body, checking for other injuries with a flare of concern. That I don’t want to harm him because he hasn’t harmed me.
And it’s true that considering our size and weight differences, I’d have to aim to hurt him badly if I wanted to escape. He’s a beast of a man and built of solid muscle. Taking him down would have to involve a major trauma to the head or deadly force. Even if I managed to get his gun, I suspect he could disarm me.
I’ve never shot a man. I’m trained, yes, and I’ve drawn a weapon before, but I’ve never been the one to pull the trigger.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I announce.
“Go.” He jerks his head toward the bedroom.
I’m surprised he’s willing to let me go on my own. I’d be stupid not to use the time to my advantage. I move on wobbly legs, my head throbbing where I hit it. I use the toilet and wash up, then scan the room for weapons. I choose the easiest one–the toilet tank lid. It’s heavy and ceramic. If I use it to smash Maykl’s head, it will give me a chance to get away.