THE FIXER

Maxim

I RETURN to the penthouse with an emerald ring in my pocket with enough bling to be seen from the moon. It has tiny diamonds all around it and down the band, and I engraved it with our names. I hated seeing Igor’s ring on Sasha’s finger, the constant reminder of what a sham of a wedding we had. I hated the symbolism of it, too. Like she was really married to her father not me.

I open the door to the penthouse with a spring in my step, thinking I’ve finally done something right when it comes to her.

She’s not in the living room. Nikolai and Dima are there, arguing heatedly over the best way to segment and match data from the airlines.

“Where’s Sasha, in my room?”

Dima spares me a glance. “Da. She’s been in there for a while now.”

A niggling of foreboding comes over me. Maybe I shouldn’t have left her alone. I stride across the living room and throw open my door.

No Sasha.

And her big carry-on purse is gone.

Fuck.

Me.

I check in the bathroom even though I know she won’t be there.

Gospodi. Women can never be trusted-they are always full of lies, deceit and tricks.

Unbidden, the memory of my mother’s cruel deception replays like the horror movie I can never unsee.

I KNOW SHE’S LYING, but I don’t want to believe it. I prefer to pretend everything is as she says.

“This is just a temporary thing, Max. I’ll be back in a week or two-a month at the longest. Be good and do as you’re told.”

The director of the orphanage puts an arm around my shoulders, gently tugging me away from her.

Panic wells. I grasp my mother’s arm and try to hold on as she pulls away from me.

The tears in her eyes glitter as proof she’s lying.

She’s not coming back.

I don’t cry because she told me not to. I am a good boy. I do as I’m told. I eat. Sleep. Sit and learn.

I wait.

I wait and wait.

Five years of pretending her words were true.

Then I stop pretending, pry my window open and run away.

I take to the streets with the gems I learned: always watch your back, rely only on yourself, and most importantly-women can’t be trusted.

NOW I’VE BEEN SADDLED with a bride who deals in trickery and deception, too.

“Trace her phone!” I boom to Dima and Nikolai as I come out.

“Oh fuck, really?” Dima says. “I’m sorry, Maxim. I thought she was in there.” He squares his shoulders off to his computer, and his fingers fly over the keys.

I want to shout and rail at them for losing my bride, but really I’m at fault. I should’ve stationed Oleg at the door like Ravil did when he captured Lucy. I didn’t want her to feel like a prisoner, but she’s already proven herself a runner.

Hopefully she’s just out shopping with my credit card. Proving to me and herself she’s not a prisoner, and she can do what she wants.

“Blyat.” Dima curses in Russian. “She’s in Los Angeles. I’m sending the tracker to your phone.”

Los Angeles.

Again, fuck me. That was where she went to college. She probably went to visit her friends. Or her old haunts.

I kick myself for not knowing more about her. I should have visited her when she was in college in the States. But I had no interest in tangling with her again. Not when she’d fucked me over so badly.

Besides, despite being kicked out of Igor’s cell, I still belonged to him. Which meant she was still considered way off-limits. Not that I had an interest in seducing her.

Or being seduced.

And I knew from experience that even a friendly visit to her could go way off the rails.

Dammit. Looks like I’m going to L. A.

I’m sure she loves this game of chase.Property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Well, she’s going to discover there are consequences to playing the brat.

I pack a quick bag and put my pistol in a gun case to be checked.

“You want us to go along?” Nikolai asks.

“No. She is my problem. I can deal with her.”

The idea gives me a slight surge of satisfaction. Punishment might be just what we need. I’m a dominant man in bed. I know how to inflict a little pain with pleasure. I could certainly make Sasha pay in a way that’s a win for both of us. Break down her walls and make her beg for satisfaction from me.

Maybe I have too much confidence, but I believe once she surrenders to me sexually, our battle of wills will cease. Right now, her walls are up too high. As long as she refuses to receive pleasure from me, she can continue to fight.

I grab a cab to the airport and get on the next flight out to Los Angeles.

SASHA

“THE RUSSIAN IS IN THE HOUSE!” I holler when Kayla throws the door wide for me. Just seeing the short, perky blonde makes me happy.

I prance past her and into the apartment like the queen returning to her castle. It looks very much the same-the bright red sofa and armchairs I bought with my father’s credit cards, the rug under the coffee table. Even the paintings on the walls are the ones I hung.

I didn’t buy my friends-at least I don’t see it that way. They gave me so much-but we did live completely off Igor’s money senior year. My friends enjoyed the free ride and, in exchange, opened their hearts and world to me.

“Don’t prance past me without a hug!” Kayla chides, giving me a girly slap on my butt. I turn, and she throws herself at me, squeezing hard. “I missed you so much.”