Page 25 of Dark Surrender

Balling fists down at her sides, shoulders bunching under the cotton of her already stained tank top, a low grunt of rage rips from Dee’s soul half a second before she slams her fist into Harold’s cheek. Head snapping to the side, his blood sprays the walls as she unleashes. Bones cave, moans fill the air, loose teeth clatter against the concrete floor, and Penelope screams in heartbroken sorrow, knowing her father will soon rot in Hell, where he belongs.

Dissociating from the kill, I watch the horror, anger, and desperate need pour from my sister. When the scalpel comes out, Harold’s chin is on his chest, but he’s still conscious. His blood-curdling scream reaches a crescendo as Dee splits open the tops of his thighs in deep gashes, giving us a gory anatomy lesson.

Not wanting to watch more of what’s coming, I call out, “Don’t wear yourself out,” as I leave the room, with the door open so the cool breeze can offer Dee some relief.

Lost in thought, I make my way back to our cabin to grab my car keys before I trek through the woods to my car. The fifteen-minute drive into town flashes by, and before I know it, I’m parking in front of the only sushi restaurant. The chef behind the counter, making rolls, smiles as I enter and place my to-go order. Ten minutes later, I’m back on the road and loaded down with lunch for everyone.

On my way back to the hunting cabin, I drop off my keys at home, grab bottles of water and chopsticks, and stuff everything into a backpack for easier transport. When I return, Dee is still playing with a barely alive Harold.

I set her favorite chopsticks, napkins, and a container with her sushi on the floor just inside the room whenever she’s ready to eat. Not knowing or caring what Penelope likes, I pull a California roll out of the bag, and when I open the door to her room, I slide it across the concrete.

Her red eyes and snotty face greet me with a glare.

Waving two fingers at the bitch, I try hard not to smile at her misery as I nod toward her meal before shutting the door. That is followed by a hoarse, very respectful, “Fuck you!”

Shaking my head, I chuckle and enter the room I’ve been avoiding all morning.

Maxim’s sitting where I left him last night, with bags under his eyes and sweat on his forehead and chest. The water and bread I left for him haven’t been touched. Not saying a word, I drag my stool closer and set the backpack on top to pull out bottles of water and our meals. I slide my favorite chopsticks into the back pocket of my shorts and slowly approach Maxim with two different sushi rolls.

Head tilted to the side, he eyes me like a cat would its prey, trying to figure me out. My heart pounds the closer I get, and when I’m within arm’s reach, I offer him the food. For a moment, he looks at the sushi with suspicion, then at me. In the next breath, his arm shoots out as fast as a snake strike. Without thinking, I reach back for my gun, and in the split second it takes me to realize I don’t have it, I grab my chopsticks and swing.

Maxim tries to block me. But what good that does when I trip and fall right into all six-plus feet of him. The food containers hit the floor just as the chopsticks stab into his pec. My body goes next, and we slam into the wall. His skull knocks the wood as my forehead cracks against his collarbone.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, woman,” he grunts, grabbing me by the shoulders.

I wait for the punch, the choke, or something to hurt me, but nothing happens. There’s just a slew of muffled curses as a naked man’s front smashes mine for what feels like a lifetime, though it lasts no more than a few seconds.

“Are you alright?” he asks as he pushes me off him.

With my grip still wrapped around the chopsticks, they rip from his pec, leaving two holes trickling blood down his abs, to a very… holy hell, big dick.

An erect dick.

I scramble away before he remembers who I am and why he’s here. One of my feet catches the other, and down I go, landing unceremoniously on my ass. Pain rips up my spine as I try to catch myself. The blood-coated chopsticks go flying, and, worse, so does my wig.

I watch my brown hair hit the floor in slow-motion horror.

Tears well in my eyes as those gunmetal gray ones stare at me, sprawled out on my ass, with a bald head.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Maxim doesn’t comment, or complain, or do anything but stare as I scurry away crab-like to the stool, where I shove the bag onto the floor, then sit and drop my face in my hands in mortification. With a shaky breath, I force myself to breathe through whatever the hell just happened.

I didn’t have time to glue my wig down this morning.

I’ve been sweating all day.

It’s hot outside.

Fuck.

The sound of Maxim picking up the food, followed by a groan of pleasure, encourages me to peek through my splayed fingers to find him sitting, with a boner, eating sushi with his fingers. When he finds me watching, he winks, and I dunno why, but I laugh.

“This is good,” he comments, stuffing his mouth full and smiling like a chipmunk.