Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(55)

Max’s arm reaches over the console, his hand landing on my knee gently. I recoil at the soft touch, my jumpiness betraying how scared I really am. He gives me a pained, broken look.

“Do not blame yourself for this. It isn’t your fault. The blame rests elsewhere — with me, with those Chechen thugs, but not with you. Liv. You have to understand: these men are veterans of the trade. They know exactly what to do. You never stood a chance,” he explains.

I feel a lump forming in my throat. “If I had just stayed in that night… if I had listened to my instincts…”

“He would have only found another way to ensnare you,” Max breaks in, shaking his head as he pulls the car onto a busy highway. I realize vaguely that we’ve been driving for quite some time, with Paris falling away behind us in the rear-view mirror.

“I just wish I had been smarter. I-I should have known better,” I murmur.

“No, Liv. You are the victim here. You and Maggie. The guilt cannot be placed on the victim. You did not choose for this to happen to you,” he says firmly, his hand finding mine and giving it a squeeze. I nod, gulping back the tears threatening to fall. I have to be strong now.

“Where are we going?” I ask, forcing myself to change the subject.

“A small house I own out in the countryside,” he answers. “It’s off the books, untraceable for now. We will stay there until I can determine our next move. It will be a few hours’ drive, so if you want to rest, go ahead.”

I feel an untameable tingle at his phrasing: our next move. Not his. Ours. As though he trusts me, considers me a worthy partner, despite all the trouble I’ve caused. I have to admit that the sentiment spurs my self-confidence.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep at the moment,” I confess honestly. My nerves are still aflame and my whole body is tensed up. “There’s a lot running through my mind right now.”

“I understand. But try, if you can. You’ve been through quite a lot, malyutka,” Max says gently, and I’m amazed at the tenderness in his voice. It still shocks me how sharply this version of Maksim Pavlenko contrasts with the stiff, intimidating man I met back in the States. It occurs to me that Boris called me the same word in Russian that Max just used, but with none of the sneering. It doesn’t hurt when he says it. It’s not an insult in his voice.

“What does that word mean? Malyutka?” I ask, sounding out the foreign word crudely.

“Ah, the closest in English is ‘little one’,” he says, seeming a little embarrassed by having to tell me, but I can’t help but smile a little. It’s a strange word, but the way he says it makes my heart pitter-patter.

He smiles in return, and for several moments, we sit in a calm sort of silence. It’s not long before I can’t tame my nagging thoughts, though.

“What’s going to happen to Maggie?” I ask sadly, pulling my legs up into the seat and getting more comfortable. Max does his best to keep his expression neutral, but I can see the flicker of worry across his face.

“Nothing, provided I get to her soon enough. And I promise you I will. If what you heard them say is true and she’s already been sold, then she’s been moved to another facility to await the trade-off with her buyer. I won’t lie to you, Liv, if they’ve taken her to that last stop… her current conditions may not be good,” he relates to me, more openly than I expected.

“What do you mean? What will they do to her there?” I breathe, suddenly feeling terribly cold and depressed. I had hoped things would be better for her, not worse.

“Keep in mind that we do not know for sure if that’s where they’ve taken her. It has been a long, long time since I ran with that pack of wolves. Their methods may have changed,” Max says, clearly reluctant to share details. But I need to know, even if it hurts.

“Tell me what you know. Please,” I beg him, folding both my hands over his. He looks over at me and sighs. I can tell he wants to lie to protect me, and there’s a battle behind his beautiful eyes, but the truth wins out.

“Before a girl is handed off to her new master, she is taken to a place where she is kept separately from the others. Some of the brutes call it ‘finishing school.’ It is where she must be broken in, polished off and prepared for her new life,” he explains darkly.

“Broken in… how?” I press.

“The methods vary. Sometimes they starve her, refuse to let her sleep. This weakens her and makes her more pliant for the master, who is almost always looking for a malleable, soft girl who will do as she’s told. And if she retains any hint of spirit, any iskra, they will do whatever they deem necessary to break her. It is terrible, especially if the girl fights back,” Max describes, his voice heavy. I can tell it hurts him deeply to discuss this.