Promised to the Killer: A Dark Mafia Romance

I take Maxim’s hand.

There’s no mercy for me. There’s no escape. I stand, smooth out my dress, and take some small joy in the way his gaze roams my body again. There’s a hungry, wolfish turn to his mouth as he leads me from the room.

I look back at the table of accountant boys. They look so happy and clean-cut. One of them says something and the other two laugh. They drink beer. They probably have retirement accounts and nice, respectable girlfriends.

That’s a life I’ll never have.

Maxim’s hand tightens in mine like he’s reminding me that I’m with him. That I’m his tonight. I look at the stars on his knuckles, and I know what they mean.

Ink for blood.

“There’s a hotel across the street,” he says. “I stay there sometimes when I don’t want to go home after working late.”

“You work in this building?”

He nods as we step outside. “I planned on getting a room.”

“Should we have another drink?”

“If you’d like.” He leads me across the street, walking fast. I have to hurry to keep up, my heels clacking with each step. I’m awful at walking in them, but he doesn’t seem to notice. We enter an expensive-looking lobby with lots of marble, furniture that looks exceedingly uncomfortable, and expressionless, model-attractive women behind the desk. When Maxim asks for a room, they seem to know him.

“Your usual, Mr. Novalov?”

“Please,” he says, not looking at her. He stares at me like he can’t quite decide what to do. She hands him a card and he thanks her before taking me into the elevator.

Something about his name tickles a vague memory in the back of my mind.

I lean against the mirrored wall. I catch him looking at me in our reflection as we ride toward the top of the structure. I lean closer and he puts a hand on the small of my back. His touch sends a ripple of excitement into my core. I’ve never felt like this with a man before. It’s raw and intense. An animal desire. I like it.

We reach the twentieth floor. He gets off and takes me to the end of the hall where he unlocks a door. The room is a comfortable suite with a small sitting room separated from a bedroom by an open sliding door. The bathroom is large, marble and tile, with a big open shower and a massive tub.

Maxim slips his hand from mine and goes to the mini fridge. He takes out four tiny bottles: two vodka and two club soda. He makes two drinks before he sits and takes off his shoes.

I sip my drink awkwardly and look around.

This is a bad idea. Any sane person would get the hell out of here right now and never look back. I know what those tattoos on his knuckles mean and his name is lighting up every warning bell in my brain. Even if he is charming and stupidly handsome, it’s still insane. I’ve never done this before, never done anything remotely like it. He could cut my throat and leave me for dead—and I know for a fact I wouldn’t be the first person he’s killed.

And that wouldn’t matter, because I’m dead already.

I have to keep reminding myself: tomorrow, I’m going to die.

Tomorrow, I’m finished.

There’s only tonight. There’s only this handsome, monstrous man watching me with a slight smile.

“You’ve never done this before.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

I bristle. “How do you know?”

“I’m observant. You’re even more nervous now than you were in the bar. Did you go out tonight hoping to get picked up?”

I consider lying and decide against it. I have a feeling he’d see through any attempts at subterfuge, and I’m too on edge to get away with it anyway.

“I went out tonight hoping something like this might happen.”

“Here you are. Is this living up to your expectations?”

“Yes, I think so.” Although truthfully, I’m not sure what I expected. Certainly not this man and his deathly beautiful stare and his otherworldly calm.

“And yet you’re trembling.” He nods to a chair. “Sit down and take off your shoes.”

“You don’t have to be so bossy.”

His eyes darken. “If this is going to work, you’ll play my game. You’re here to play, aren’t you?”

I chew my lip and nod. I very much want to play with this man.

I walk to the chair. I sit and I take off my heels.

“Better?” he asks.

I nod. “Better.” I rub my foot and let out a long sigh. I’m not used to wearing heels and my feet hurt already.

“Good.” He sips his drink and places it down. I sip mine but realize I should stop. If I have too much, I might get too drunk. I want to enjoy this—or at least experience it. I don’t want my first time to happen behind a cloud of liquor.