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Maya almost laughed. Nikolai thought he could deal with her father? He looked tough enough, albeit a bit on the pretty side. Who was she kidding, the man was gorgeous under that gruff exterior. But that didn’t make him a match for her father. Especially not in his current state. She looked at the bump on his head that was still so prominent, she looked at the stiff way he was moving that proved he was carrying other injuries, and she privately doubted he was in any shape to consider scaring off anyone. “I’m okay. Thank you for being concerned, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
Nikolai nodded. He said nothing, but there was a sharp glint in his eyes that made Maya wonder what he was thinking. There seemed to be so many thoughts he held back. Was that related to his amnesia, or was he always like that? She guessed she’d never know.
They approached the front stoop together. Maya dipped her hand into her purse to find her keys, but as her fingers brushed them, she stopped and froze. The door was already open just a crack, so close to being closed that it was barely noticeable. Still, she knew for a fact that she’d closed and locked it before they’d left. There was no way that she’d left it open on accident.
“Nikolai?” Maya asked in a soft voice. “The door is open…”
There was a crash of something metal from inside, and Maya’s heart leaped into her throat.
Father.
“Stay put.” In the fraction of a second following the crash, Nikolai yanked the door open and darted inside. Maya gasped and tried to call after him, but her words were lodged in her throat, pinned by her heart. She clutched at the metal banister running down the side of the stoop and stepped back from the door, certain that she’d hear gunfire at any moment. She had to call the police. She had to—
There was another crash of metal. Someone bellowed with rage. A fleshy, crunching noise rang through the night, and Maya saw a figure move through the darkness inside her flat. She’d taken a step backward, ready to run, when Nikolai emerged, a slender body tucked beneath his arm. The intruder’s feet dragged across the floor.
“I found this in your apartment,” Nikolai said. His voice was detached, emotionless. “Is this the person whose call frightened you so much? Say the word and I will end his life.”
Maya couldn’t speak. Dread threatened to rip her apart at the seams, and all she could do was try to hold herself together. She’d seen cold, emotionless men like this before. One of them was her own father. Despite his injury, Nikolai had wasted no time in subduing and apprehending the young man who’d broken into her flat…a young man she recognized. Maya’s heart wanted to break, but she couldn’t let it. WhowasNikolai? And why was it that, when he looked at her with his cold gaze, she didn’t want to run?
Why did she feel differently about him than she did about her father? He was just as brutal and just as cold…
“Maya?” Nikolai asked.
The fear inside of her burst, leaving adrenaline in its place. Maya shook her head. Her whole body trembled. “That intruder you’re threatening to kill? He’s just a kid. He’s from the shelter. Let him go! Please.”
The kid—Michael—had nothing to do with her father. He was a gay teen who’d been thrown out of his family’s home and left to survive on the streets, and who’d subsequently developed a nasty addiction. He must have discovered her address while at the shelter and decided it’d be worth his while to try to break in.
But Nikolai? He may not remember anything, but the evidence was piling up against him being innocent. The fact that he’d been left to die in the alley, dumped on top of garbage, and the malevolence rolling off of him as he held the unconscious teen beneath his arm, along with that cold gleam in his eyes…
If anyone was on her father’s side, it was him. If that was the case, Maya was going to get to the bottom of it.
“Put him on the couch,” she instructed. “We need to have a talk.”
She only hoped that talking was all it would be, and that she wouldn’t find herself the next target of Nikolai’s fury.
CHAPTER6
Kostya
Kostya dropped the teen on the couch. Upon impact, he simply groaned. One of his arms draped over the seat and his knuckles dusted the floor. For now, he was no threat. Come five or ten minutes from now, he might be again, but by then, Kostya hoped to have taken action. He couldn’t understand why Maya wouldn’t order him to kill the man who’d broken into her apartment. Was she looking to get herself hurt?
“We do need to have a talk,” Kostya said as he turned to face her. She stood just behind him. The door was closed and locked, and they were alone. If anyone else was lurking inside, he would deal with them accordingly. “Why don’t you want him dead? Even if you know him, he’s violated your trust and threatened your well-being.”
“He didn’t threaten anything!” Maya crossed her arms over her chest.
Kostya shook his head slowly. He reached unceremoniously into the pocket of the kid’s hoodie and pulled out a switchblade. “Do you really think that he didn’t mean to threaten you? If you’d come in alone and found him here, he would have hurt you, Maya. He wouldn’t have thought twice about sinking this knife between your ribs. I know his type. Kids like him are all the same. They act on impulse.”
“Like you’re any different?” she demanded, her fists clenched so tightly that they trembled.
A sharp tongue. Under other circumstances, she would have regretted speaking that way to me…
Kostya looked into her eyes, challenging her. Maya looked back, steadfast. It was a rare occurrence when a woman had the courage to face him, and rarer yet when one dared face him with such effrontery even after he’d performed a takedown. But, despite her bravery, Kostya did not deign to answer. The more he said, the more he’d incriminate himself. Whatever he’d come to London to do, he was sure it was supposed to be quick and secretive. He didn’t intend to cause a scene.
“Are you not going to talk to me anymore?” she asked, tightening her shoulders like she was getting ready to attack. Her fists were still clenched. The sign of aggression didn’t frighten him. Even while injured, he didn’t doubt his abilities. If he could take down a punk with a switchblade, he could take down a woman with closed fists.
Not that he wanted to. Or rather, if he took her down, it wouldn’t be to hurt her. There were other things he’d be far more interested in doing to her. Pleasurable things.
Maya was beautiful, even if that beauty was untraditional. Her hairstyle and the clothes she wore didn’t define her—it was the glow of passion in her eyes, and the determination of her spirit, that made her shine. Kostya pushed away his thoughts about taking her to bed to thank her in other ways for saving him. Pleasure could come later—they had other things to discuss now.
