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His breathing is heavy, but a stern reminder to calm down does the trick. Impressively, he plays his part well. He informs the guards that I'm asleep, and I overhear what sounds like Konstantin tipping him. Before I know it, we’re in the elevator, jostling through the hotel’s back corridors. We pass the kitchens and then the garbage bins, their odor unmistakable.
Finally, he whispers, “Coast is clear.”
I step out of the cart, offering the kid a smile while keeping my hood low over my face. "For your troubles, sir." I hand him a thousand dollars in cash. Maxim’s fault for leaving so much money lying around.
Then I tell Russell to scram.
As arranged, a black town car is parked in the shadows across from where Maxim’s chauffeur typically picks him up. The driver of the town car knows me well—he was my driver when I was with the Kozlov Bratva—so he knows better than to make conversation or ask any questions.
Tony nods at me as I enter the backseat, and I nod back at him. "When a handsome, dark-haired man gets into that vehicle," I instruct him, "follow it, but keep your distance. We can't afford to be spotted, and they'll be on the lookout."
“You got it,” he promises.
True to his word, when Maxim slips into his car not long after, Tony discreetly follows at a safe distance.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a dilapidated building.
What in God’s name is Maxim doing here?
From a distance, we watch him exit onto the street level. Unusually, his driver doesn't wait for him; instead, he peels off into the night. Maxim glances left and right before heading down the stairs to the basement of the building.
Weird. Really fucking weird. This is not the Maxim I know, the man who wouldn’t be caught dead in anything but a bespoke suit and cufflinks that cost more than most people’s rent. But tonight, he looks more like a member of a motorcycle club than a billionaire, dressed casually in worn jeans and a leather jacket, and damn if that’s not a hell of a turn-on.
“Do you know what this place is?” I ask Tony, leaning forward between the front seats to get a better look. “A club of some sort?”
Maybe a sex club? The thought alone has my molars grinding together.
“I don’t think so. Give me a minute,” he says and types something into his phone.
“No one can know about this,” I remind him.
“I got you.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “No one will know.”
After we’ve watched a few other men surreptitiously enter into the building, Tony’s phone chimes.
“Well, look at that.” He fully turns in his seat to face me. “It’s an underground fight club.”
Oh.
“Totally anonymous, but no one steps into the ring here unless they’re a top-tier fighter. Only big bets are on the table, cash only, no weapons allowed, and fights stop when one man can't stand or surrenders.”
“I’m going in,” I tell Tony.
“Want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “I got this. Don't wait around. It might take a while.”
I hand Tony my pistol, aware I won't be allowed in if I'm armed. Unlike Maxim, Tony knows what I’m capable of. He’s seen me in action.
“By the way, maybe you can not mention this to my brothers.”
He winks. “Call if you need me,” he says as I open my door and step out of the car.
“Thanks again.” I give him a final reassuring smile, but I sure as hell hope I don’t need to take him up on that offer.
Following Maxim's lead,I head down the stairs to the lower-level entrance. A big burly guy that looks like he could be a fighter, broad and with a heavily scarred face, stands guard. A toothpick dangles from the corner of his lips as he gives me a thorough once-over.
I square my shoulders, refusing to be intimidated.
