AllFreeNovel
Share Us
James is afriend?of mine. I'm very fond of him; known him since before I can remember. He plays a role much like mine with Maksim—security and devotee—but he doesn't reap luxury like a personal car and an apartment as I do. He drives a supplied security SUV, as all the other men do, and lives in Maksim's attic because Maksim doesn't trust him like he does me. That's never affected my opinion of James though. He is one of the good guys. I've lost count of how many times he's taken a beating trying to protect me from our master. How many times he's let Maksim fuck him in an effort to ensure he doesn't fuck me.
“Have you spoken to Maksim?” I step out of my car and lock it with the key. It beeps and flashes, echoing through the eerie car park.
“He just rang me about some bloke called Charlie,” James says, his voice soft and husky. “Wants me to beef up security.”
“Beef up security?” My eyebrows snap together. “Did he say why?”
“No. It was a brief call, and I wasn’t about to start asking questions. Who is this Charlie?”
“I have no idea.” I lean back against my car, poking my chin with the key in a musing fashion. “Maksim is nervous around him though.” I’m quiet for a second, going over when Charlie told Maksim that he’s not talking to him in such an aggressive approach. “I’ve never seen him so... I don’t know.” I pause again, still recalling things. “Charlie kept cutting him off from talking and Maksim just let him.”
“What?”
“Yeah. And I will admit, I am nervous too. He makes me feel-”
“You're nervous?” James’ voice goes up a notch. “But, you don't get nervous about anything.”
“If you ever meet Charlie, you'll understand why. The way he looked at me in front of Maksim... spoke to me...” I get hot chills just thinking about it. “He said, and I quote, ‘I’ve always wondered about redheads’, like he was fantasizing or something.”
“Seriously? And Maksim did nothing?”
“Yeah.” I go right into detail about how much authority Charlie had over Maksim, how he insisted I drop him off even while he had drivers at hand. “Before that though, he interviewed me for a job; asked the oddest questions.”
“What questions?”
“Wanted to know if I lived alone, drove my own car... It was ages before he asked about my skills.”
“He's up to no good, that’s why,” James says, analyzing. I can hear he’s pacing the attic. It's empty of things, other than his bed and a wardrobe. It heightens the slightest of sounds.
“I think so,” I say. “I get that impression.”
“Shit,” he curses, then he's silent for a moment, I imagine thinking. “Keep your wits about you, Blaire. If Maksim is getting involved with people he's nervous about, it doesn't bode well for us.”
“I know it doesn’t.” I nod at the empty car park. “I know.”
Whenever Maksim gets in trouble with his dodgy dealings, one of us—his arsenals—takes the fall. It's always been this way.
“What job do they have you on exactly? Are you whacking someone?”
“No. Nothing like that.” I tell him about the job in great detail—Maksim lets us discuss things with each other. While James isn't much of a hacker, he's a bloody good fighter—almost as good as me. I trust him implicitly.
“You could only get, like... what... four/five minutes last time, couldn't you?” he says, referring to my access to London's CCTV system.
“Ah-huh.” I sound almost defeated because I am. It’s going to be mentally taxing trying to grasp more time. “But I wasn't about to tell Maksim that face to face.”
“No, I understand.” James sighs in sympathy. “Just try and get his fifteen minutes. Try. And if you can't, before you confess to Maksim that you've failed, call me and I'll come over to your place, okay? Don't tell him anything while you're on your own.”
My heart bleeds for this guy. There's nothing he wouldn't endure if it means he can spare me of pain.
“Thanks, James,” I say blank of emotion, knowing I'd never deliberately put him in the firing line. “I have to go.” I shove my keys in my jacket pocket and head for the private elevator that leads up to my apartment. “I'll speak to you soon.”
3
For the next week, in my London apartment that overlooks a gray River Thames, I test myself to the limit.
I eat plain minimal foods to prevent feeling lethargic and scarcely sleep five hours a night because my mind is on overdrive. Eventually, I have to give up on the hypnopaedia—learning while asleep via a recorder—because I can’t handle the overload of studying. I'll come back to it of course, once this job is complete. In my personal gym upstairs, I execute my usual combat routine for four hours a day—which steals time away from my work—but I have to train. Maksim would kill me if I let myself slip. It could cost him his life. The dark computer room at the back of my apartment, hidden behind fake white paneled walls, is my prized possession—except formy Porsche, that is. Spread across the back wall, ten computer screens in two rows glow over my freckly face. They offer the only source of light in here. From wall to wall, the floating desk boasts keyboards, black boxes, and other useful gadgets that help me safely link to The Dark Web.
I work like a dog morning and night, occasionally nodding off in the wide office chair.By day four, I manage to gain access to London's CCTV for a maximum of eleven minutes, controlling the traffic lights, certain security gates, and the city cameras, but I cannot get a hold of no more than eleven minutes. The system locks me out.
