Page 63 of The Stalking King

I didn’t plan on texting Maksim yesterday, but I was going crazy thinking about the sex. Before him, obviously I wasn’t a virgin. But I’m starting to think I might as well have been. I used to hear other women talk about their sex lives and believe I must’ve been wired differently.

Still, this is nuts.

He admitted to being a killer, and I’m taking him to meet my mother.

He’s waiting outside, leaning against his car, that confident smirk on his face.

The ride over is quiet, but not in a bad way. It’s like he knows I need the space to let the workday drain away before I face Mom. I shouldn’t think of it like that. Face Mom. She’s not some monster I should be wary of. But Maksim’s right. The toll is becoming heavy, and I need help.

I let myself in, finding Mom in the living room, staring at the switched-off TV.

“Mom,” I say softly. “I hope it’s okay. I brought somebody. His name is Maksim. He’s a colleague at the hospital. I’m giving him a ride home because his car is in the shop.”

She stands, brushing down her sweater, seeming to make an effort to be in the room. Maksim walks in beside me. Mom sizes him up, looking him up and down.

He offers his hand, speaking gently. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Quinn.”

“And you, Maksim. Would you like something to drink?”

“Allow me,” Maksim says. “If that’s okay?”

She smiles. “Of course. How kind of you.”

Maksim leaves the room. I shoot him a grateful look. Mom moves closer to me, lowering her voice. “A friend, you say?”

“A colleague.”

“That was quite the look for a colleague.”

I swallow. Crap.

“What look?”

When she smiles, she’s more like her old self. Cheeky and charming and present, that most of all. “This look,” she says, then imitates me going all goggle-eyed.

I laugh. “No, Mom, it’s not like that.”

Except, it’s exactly like that. Not even a week after that poor man’s murder and a revelation that should’ve sent me straight to the police station.

Maksim brings through a tray with three coffee cups on it. I try to keep the looks to a minimum, but it’s difficult. My heart gives a pang when Mom goes to the window and opens the curtains. Maybe I should’ve brought company by a long time ago. This might be just what she needed.

“You have a lovely home,” Maksim says. “Is this where you raised Lia?”

“We lived in an apartment before,” she replies. “But I worked and saved, then we moved here. And Lia, oh, darling Lia, she helped me.”

“Mom,” I murmur. “We helped each other.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Maksim says. “Let her give you some credit. You deserve it.”

I smile again, widely. He’s so caring sometimes. As I look into his understanding face, I find it difficult to believe that anything he’s told me is true. He’s killed ten men. He’s ordered more. He’s the king or leader of the Bratva.

Now, here, he’s just a handsome, caring man who wants the best for me.

“He’s right,” Mom says. “You should be proud.”

“Did she get her wicked sense of humor from you too?” Maksim asks, smirking.

Mom chuckles. “I think they both did.” Her expression darkens. She often does this, talks as if Evan is still here with us. “I’m… sorry.” She stands, getting ready to rush from the room.