Page 20 of Dark Surrender

Maxim and Penelope are whispering through their wall. As quiet as a mouse, I tiptoe to the edge of her door to listen. If they’re planning an escape, that will never happen. I wanna know. Color me curious, and a little bored.

With my job complete, the months of meticulous planning have finally paid off. Unfortunately, once the high subsides, I don’t know what’s next. I suppose it’ll be the same as it’s always been. Planning, then death. For Dee. To keep her safe. To protect her. To give her what she needs so she can live a semi-normal life. Not that I know what that is. Neither of us do. But I’m trying. I’ve been trying since before I remember even doing it. Protecting her from herself, and more importantly, Dad. Even in death, his legacy, his will, his abuse live within her. His precious Nadeera.

Penelope’s voice draws my attention.

“What are we going to do?” she asks her husband, voice wet with emotion.

“Let’s see who comes. Ah. Shit.”

“What?” Penelope whimpers.

Chains rattle, and there’s a grunt.

To see what’s happening, I open Maxim’s door and find him standing against the wall, foot poised and ready, glaring at the floor like a warrior. His scary attacker is Peanut, sniffing his way to the plate of bread I left in the room.

Pressing my lips together, I attempt and fail to stave off a laugh as Maxim swings his gunmetal gaze to me. His nostrils flare.

“You,” he seethes.

I shrug, not at all concerned by his presence.

Yes. It is I. The evil kidnapper.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

If this were a movie, I’d stand like some badass in the doorway, tell this asshole, in an overly articulate way, why he’s here, and then remind him he’ll soon be worm food. Then I’d grin or laugh like a villain. But I don’t do any of that because I’m not the bad guy here. He is. A hot one, I’ll give him that. Dark hair, tattoos, and muscles for days. That’s about it. He’s naked, sure, but it’s a body with the same parts I’ve seen hundreds of times. God’s genetic lottery winners are often the worst kind of humans. Maxim Drake has narcissism and hotness in spades.

Ignoring him, I scoop my sister’s buddy off the floor. He goes limp immediately, and I stifle a laugh as I tuck him against my chest to carry him to safety, in case this man plans to hurt the poor thing. As I exit to return Peanut to my sister, a furious Maxim yells a barrage of questions. Not paying him any mind, I round the cabin and set Peanut on the floor just inside my sister’s current playground.

She peeks over her shoulder. There’s a smudge of blood across her cheek as she locks her gaze on her little friend.

Dee makes a tiny sound that Peanut must recognize because he pops right out of his frozen opossum prison and scurries over to her.

“I found him in Maxim’s room.”

Dee hums and scoops Peanut from the floor and sets him on the dead man’s face, where she slices the tip of the guy’s nose off and rests it on his cheek for a snack.

Gross.

Not wanting to watch any more of this than I need to, I return to Maxim’s side of the cabin to shut his door.

“Ava. Just tell me what the fuck is going on,” he growls as I grab the old handle. “Please,” he adds. Something about that simple word, low and achy, pokes a soft spot in me.

Standing just outside Maxim’s room, I weigh my options. To talk to him or not to. It doesn’t matter either way. Not really. Sighing inwardly, I look over my shoulder at the forest and the sun filtering through the leaves. It’s well past midday. Dee’s current project is her last kill before it gets too dark. We can’t make our way back to the cabin safely without daylight. The paths are too difficult to navigate after dusk, even with a headlamp. Which means Maxim, Penelope, and Harold will be left to deal with tomorrow. So I suppose I’ve got time to kill before we head home.

Leaving the door open, I enter the room, but keep my distance, in case this asshole gets any ideas and tries to hurt me.

I pick up the milking stool from the corner and bring it closer to Maxim so we can see each other. He’s still standing with fists up as I sit down. Raising an eyebrow at him, I gesture to the floor. He huffs and, with his wary gaze locked on me, lowers himself to the ground. Penelope, worried about her husband, yells a series of questions through the wall.

Folding my hands in my lap, I wait for him to speak, or act, or do something other than glare at me.

“I’m fine,” he snarls to his wife, clearly pissed at me, not her.

“Who’s in there with you?”

“Give me a minute.”

“No!”