Me: Are you removing body parts from people and NOT gifting them to me?
Maxim: You’d have a limb graveyard if I did
Me: I meant in specific relation to limbs removed as a result of failing me, or you failing me, I suppose
Me: In fact, is that what this limb removal stems from? An insecurity?
Maxim: Practice amateur psychology on me when I’m in person and not in a meeting. See you tonight, kotik. Try not to get into too much mischief before we next meet
Well, that sounded like a challenge.
Didn’t that sound like a challenge?
I heard a challenge.
The humming turns into outright singing as I arrange my snack station in the car, make sure my water’s close at hand, tweak my little ladybug charm on it, and then select the right playlist before setting off.
Behind me, I notice the Irish and Russian guards trailing me and shake my head at my little baby ducklings.
“Whoa, you have an entourage?” Wynter greets after she drops her bag off in the trunk.
“Yep. Story of my life. There are more in our street this weekend too. Some for me, some for Shay. Don’t you have any?”
“Nah. My family’s rich but we’re not Rockefellers. I had no problems in the city so I convinced them to keep it low-key here.”
“Was that wise?”
“At least your guys are discreet. My daddy sets bikers on me!”
“Yeah, the opposite of subtle.”
I may have grown used to the ride to the city, but that doesn’t make it any less boring, so Wynter’s company definitely keeps megoing. I’m more of a passenger princess, to be honest, and I’m beyond happy that Maxim offered to do the commuting because, ugh, what a drag.
Despite the fact that Wynter has me in hoots about this Ukrainian woman who lives with two of her dad’s brothers and palms off pets on random people, I try to be cautious with the snacks because of the dress I’ll be wearing, but who am I kidding? Your girl needs carbs to get through the tedium.
“You’re so lucky having Shay as a confidant.” She moans, chowing on some Skittles before giving me the bag.
“I’m beginning to think you have a crush on him!”
“Nah. He’s pretty though.”
“He is,” I agree. “Too pretty for me. I like them a bit rougher around the edges.”
“I think your idea of rough around the edges and mine are poles apart,” she teases.
“Seeing as you live on an MC compound, no shit, Sherlock!”
Wynter chortles. “Having seen all those scars, I can’t deny Maxim’s a scrapper.”
“Scrapper,” I deride. “He has ink, too. This massive tiger on his back. It’s freakin’ huge.”
“Ohh, I saw that at the first rite! Why a tiger, anyway? Thought the Bratva had stars inked on them.”
“Pfft. Like Maxim would get caught. They only have those done if they’re inside. The tiger’s an oskal.”
“A what?”
“Big ‘fuck you’ to The Man.”
