“You work for me, Mikhail. I’m the one who gives orders.”
“I work for you by choice. I won my freedom ten years ago. Like I fucked Sergei when he was hurting my family, I’ll fuck you too. You fight for her cos she matters. I fight for all of you because this family is it.”
As much as I want to punch Mikhail in the face, I also know he’s the main reason Samira is in my arms. I nod, knowing I need to listen to those closest to me. I ease Samira off me, careful not to wake her, and place my suit jacket under her head.
“Let’s take care of Michael. Might as well get one space cleaned instead of two.”
The leather under Mikhail squeaks as he shifts and gets up. “Good idea.” He turns to Alex. “I think you might need to get some aggression out. Why don’t you come and get a few hits?”
“You seriously encouraging him to kill people to work out his shit?”
Mikhail shrugs. “He’s gonna do it no matter what we say. Might as well let him kill someone who deserves it.”
Alex takes a drag of his cigarette. “Everyone I kill deserves it.”
Michael’s gagged, sitting on the back of the jet. He’s tied up, and the smug look he gave me at the club is nowhere to be seen. Little punk ass bitch. “Michael, Michael, Michael. What should we do with you?” I ask, rolling up my shirt sleeves.
Mikhail rips off the duct tape over his mouth. “Max, listen, man. We don’t need to do this. Let’s forget any of this happened.”
“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think, Michael? You could have let us go, but you wanted a show. Turns out I like shows too.” I pull out my pocket knife and trail the blade along his face, digging the pointed edge into his withered flesh.
“I can pay you, and we’d be even,” Michael pleads.
“Oh, Michael. Like you, I don’t need money.”
“What do you want? Tell me.”
The squelching sound of the knife stabbing into flesh takes over the room as the blade digs deep into Michael’s cheek. “I want you dead.”
“Maxim,” Samira whispers.
I turn around and gesture for her to come to me. She walks over and buries her body in my side.
“What do you want to do with him, darling?”
“What?” she asks, stunned.
The way she says that crushes me. Samira probably had no one to ask her what she wanted. I’ve even done that to her. I take what I want from her, and she gives with no complaint, but not once have I ever asked her what she wants. I’m going to ask her more often.
“Take what you want from him.” I hand her the knife, handle up. “You decide what to do. I’ll follow your lead.”
Her hands shake, her eyes hesitant as she gently touches the knife handle. She’s apprehensive as she walks towards Michael, worried all this could turn on her and soon she’ll be the one tied up and defenseless.
“It’s okay, Malishka. You do whatever you want. I’ll be here to catch you, no matter what.”
She nods her head and stabs Michael in the thigh. “That’s for touching my tits.” Blood gushes from his leg. She must’ve hit the main artery. She pulls the blade out, then stabs the other thigh. “That’s for cupping my pussy.”
The motherfucker touched her pussy? My fingers twitch, desperate to strangle him with my bare hands while he tries to beg for breath.
“And this,” Samira says as she digs the knife right into his cock, “is for putting your finger in me.”
Michael screams, blood drenching him, the floor, and the walls. It takes every inch of control. I have not to rip his head off, but Samira seems to be enjoying herself, and I don’t want to take anything else from her.
She moves the knife up along his body, stabbing him repeatedly. She’s drenched in blood, and there’s a mad gleam in her eyes. “You can fuckin’ burn in hell, Michael, you and men like you.”
Michael’s body slumps, and all the fight leaves him. Samira stands up, turning to me. She says nothing. She pushes me down on the chair, takes out my cock, and lowers herself onto it.
“Fuck,” I moan. She’s fuckin’ beautiful, powerful, and the blood covering her face makes me hard as a rock. “That’s it, baby. Milk my cock with that tight pussy.”
Her fingers wrap around the back of my head. She tugs as she brings her lips to mine. She takes what she wants from me, what she needs. The metallic flavor of blood hits my lips, as does the sweet taste of Samira.
She slaps me across the face, gently at first, then harder. She keeps slapping, and I sit there, absorbing all of her pain. Samira needs this, and as hard as it is for me to give up control, I’d get on my knees for her.