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- Is it true that Charlie pardoned Maksim a debt of thirty-five million Euro's for three months with you? Tatiana is screaming at Maksim as I write this text, saying that he should've gone to her for the money, not sold you. Maksim is fighting his corner, telling her that Charlie wouldn't take any amount of money. He wanted you as payment. Is this all true? -
- Blaire Tatiana has warned Maksim that if Charlie doesn't give you back, he's not allowed to come after you. She won't start a war with the Los Zetas. Everyone is shit scared of the Los Zetas, and when I say everyone, I mean everyone! The Albanians say not to fuck with them; the Turks; the Columbians... Who are the Los Zetas? -
- I know you haven't messaged me back, but it doesn't matter. I know what's going on now. Tatiana has been questioning me, and in exchange for my answers, she's told me where you are and that you're okay. Apparently, she wants to talk to you also, but Charlie refuses to let her. I'm glad he won't let her.
I just want to say, if you can, you should stay with Charlie and try to find some peace Blaire.
I'll never forget you. -
I read a small portion of his text messages, stunned. I'm so stunned that I can't really process anything. It feels like so much has gone on in my absence—it's almost like everyone has been going crazy over another girl and I'm reading about it from afar.
Feeling numb, I shove my car into reverse, straighten up, and then I steer out of the underground, into the gray day.
Charlie wasn't lying when he told his brother that he's run a check on me. I don't know why this thought creeps into my mind, but it does, and I can't will it away.
Turning right, I cross The London Bridge, barely registering the city bustling before me.
How did he get my fingerprint? I subconsciously watched him wash up everything after our meals, and when I ate alone, I cleared up my own mess. There wasn't any surface he could have gotten my fingerprint from...
...Maybe he obtained it from my apartment?
I stop at a roundabout as the lights signal red to wait, amid bumper to bumper traffic.
And, how did he get my photo? Maksim doesn't even have a photo of me.
The light flashes green, so I maneuver through the traffic. I take the third exit off the roundabout and reach the motorway junction for Dartford, and I don't know what comes over me. Hitting the break, I come to a screeching stop in the middle of the road, all those messages hitting me like lightening.
MI5.
Tatiana.
Tatiana telling Maksim he's not to come after me if Charlie decides to keep me.Fuck,if Charlie didn't send me home, I'd still be with him.
A flock of people surround my car, and I vaguely hear them yelling to see if I'm okay, am I hurt.
I stare at the sign that will take me back to Tonbridge Wells—to Charlie.
A part of me—my heart—wants me to turn toward Tonbridge Wells. I want to go back to Charlie.
The other part of me—my head—tells me to veer for Dartford. I know I have to go back to Maksim. I've always known. But there's something else at play now.
I don't know what to do, so pushing the car in gear, I do the only thing that feels right.
29
I find Maksim at his house in his office, sitting behind his desk with cool composure.
My heart drums at the sight of him. He’s wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his brown hair tied back, his golden eyes trained on me here in the doorway.
The life that I've spent with him coils in my mind, his voice on repeat while I slept, whispering,“We'll kill for each other. We are each other's.”The hidings, the darkness and the dampness...
Half an hour ago when I was in my car, conflicted between my heart and my head, I chose this path. I chose this path because it's the only path I am allowed to walk. Of course I'd greedily take a life with Charlie over a life with Maksim, but I'll only do that with my master's permission. Icanonly do that with my master's permission.
So, here I am.
Holding the doorframe, I smile awkwardly at Maksim. He extends a hand for me to sit in the chair opposite his desk, so I do, keeping a wary eye on him.
“You are wearing your hair down?” he asks in Russian—the whole conversation is in Russian—and then he tips his head, his eyes thinning at me.
