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He's quiet for a while. I train my attention on the road so I don't look too interested.
“Remember last month?” he says in time. “Tatiana and I had you study Mexico and the Los Zetas?”
Tatiana is his boss—and more, the Russian Mafia leader. She never makes an appearance unless it’s absolutely necessary, and that’s only ever when she needs to cause bloody murder.
I nod when Maksim looks at me, then I turn right onto the motorway.
“Charlie... Charlie Decena is the son of the man who first deserted his army rank and created the Los Zetas.” Maksim doesn't sound too comfortable speaking about this. He pauses every so often. “They are considered the most dangerous criminal organization in the world... famous for their torture techniques and power throughout Southern America.”
That explains the American accent with a touch of Latin.
“Charlie in particular is known famously for his wicked torture techniques,” Maksim continues. “He... he likes to break women down with pleasure and pain, always ensuring their humanity remains intact.” Maksim laughs like he's proud of this, his voice a bit croaky. “Women are nothing if not weak when it comes to humanity.”
I cannot relate to this, so I don't ponder over it too much.
“And the men?” I ask, swerving into the fast lane. “How does he torture men?”
Maksim stares at me with grave, golden eyes. “He will chop off their cocks inch by inch, and so slow that time feels like it no longer exists.”
7
After a long, emotionally grueling weekend of watching Maksim's back, I return home and try for the fifteen minutes Charlie wants to shut down London.
James texts to say he's okay, informing me that he has a few broken ribs, bruised kidneys, and a bloody, messed up face, but he'll be right as rain in a few weeks.
- You know I'm sorry, don't you? -
Though I never usually would, I text him back. I just feel so guilty about what I did—it's fucking weird. I never feel guilt for anything. I don't know what's sparking my emotions.
- I know you're sorry. Don't worry about me. I'm fine. And I hope that you are too. Text or call if you need me. -
That makes me smile, a little. Hopefully by the time I see him again, he'll look as good as new and this frustrating guilty feeling will leave me the hell alone.
Putting everything and everyone out of my mind, I focus on the job at hand, working my butt off in my office.
I'm exhausted by day three.
The swelling on my left eye and lip has gone down a bit, so I'm almost back to normal—well, physically I am. Mentally, I'm fucked.
Regardless, I continue punching in codes and filling London's CCTV system with glitches so I can take over it, but by the end of the week, it's confirmed that it is impossible to grasp fifteen minutes. When the system locks me out, that's it, and it's always on eleven minutes. I can do no more, and my time to try is up.
Two hours it takes me to work up the courage to call Maksim—two bloody hours—because I know he's going to punish me for failing.
And I'm not wrong.
He isn't happy when I lie and say that I need another week, that I only have eleven minutes—I'm just trying to spare my ass some time. He curses down the phone in Russian, telling me, “Charlie will lose it if we don't give him what he needs, Blaire. Do you understand that? Do you fucking understand what he'll do to me? To us? Pizdets!” he screams with fury, ‘this is the fucking end’.
I'm quiet throughout the whole ordeal, shitting bricks, and once he's finished rambling, he hangs up on me. He shows up at my apartment half an hour later, as I knew he would. Punishing me in my own home is his way of letting me know that while I don't live with him, I can't escape him.
Three loud knocks echo through my personal space. My heart is racing. My palms are sweating, and my mouth is so dry.
With a trembling hand, I open the front door to him and stand there with as much innocence as I can conjure up, sinking into my shoulders and my waist length hair.
He looks the part in a sharp gray suit paired with a crisp white shirt, but that's where his customary, docile facade ends. His eyes flair with disappointment as he looks down at me, shaking his head.
This isn't good.
Though Maksim sometimes beats me to teach me a lesson, he never looks disappointed with me.
