The Agreement (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 1) Bethany-Kris (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📖

Maxim had clearly taken liberties with the baseball bat before Roman even regained his consciousness. Why else were his ribs on fire?

“The fuck is this shit?” he managed to groan. “What did I—”

His words cut off from the dryness in his throat and mouth that had his muscles closing around the sound trying to escape. He wouldn’t ask for water when, given his current state, it would be a sign of defeat to a man like Maxim.

“You know exactly why you’re here,” Maxim said as he eyed the cloud of exhaled cigar smoke. It filled the darkened space with the sharp, bitter stench of tobacco fog and only made Roman’s ribs throb more when he had to breathe deeper through the smoke. “You should have kept your hands to yourself.”

Of course.

Why wouldn’t it be about Karine?

“How long?” Roman managed to ask.

How long did he know?

Maxim smirked, but it only felt cold when he replied, “Does it matter—you’re lucky I left you alive for this long, no?”

No, but it gave him an answer all at the same time. Maxim allowed him to fall into a false sense of security, leading him to believe he suspected nothing for days about his daughter’s involvement with Roman. That whole time—he was planning.

This, apparently.

Strung up to a beam, held accountable by a baseball bat, in what appeared to be a basement of some kind.

Roman almost respected Maxim for that. Except he knew enough now about the man’s life and business to confidently say he didn’t deserve any of his respect. Not when he treated his daughter as nothing but currency.

Flowers shouldn’t be hidden from the sun.

They wilted.

“Didn’t your father teach you loyalty?” Maxim asked, the cigar resting at the corner of his mouth while he drummed his fingers to a bent knee. “Loyalty to the boss? The respect of it all—any of it?”

As far as Roman could tell, no one else waited in the shadows. It seemed like it was just him, and the boss. Maxim stood, then, slowly stretching to his full height. He took a moment to pace back and forth in front of his captive’s stretched form.

“I’d at least like an answer,” the man said.

Fine.

“You are not my boss,” Roman replied, knowing what it would likely earn him. Still, he wanted it clear—all of this. “And you're not my father.”

As he expected, that wasn’t the answer Maxim wanted. He lunged for Roman, lifting the bat to crash it down on Roman’s head, but he stopped at the last second.

Stepping back to look at him one more time, Maxim shook his head, the disgust thick in his tone. “Good thing—had you been my son, I would have castrated you for doing that to another boss’s daughter. A lesson you wouldn’t soon forget. I might still.”

Well, then ...

Maxim continued on, seemingly unaware of the way Roman had flinched at the threat. “You would have gone far, Roman. You already were—you left me no choice here. All you had to do was do your job, stay loyal to my bratva, and keep your fucking nose out of my business.”

Roman let out a laugh that melted into a cough from the pain. “So, it’s not just about Karine.”

That earned him an arched brow, and a wicked sneer, saying only, “How long did you think your little friend could snoop around—asking questions he had no business asking—before word got back to me?”

Fucking Marky.

To be fair, it wasn’t his friend’s fault. Marky only did what Roman demanded—he’d known the risks when it came to digging for information surrounding the Yazov family. Back home, no one would have said a thing when Roman showed up asking for details.

Surprise.

He still wasn’t in New York.

Apparently, Roman forgot to act like it, too.

“How did you find out about us, then?” Roman asked, each breath and word measured to ease the pain.

It was the only thing left now. Everything else Maxim said was true—no point in denying it. He did fuck his daughter, and snooped around the bratva’s business. Roman played where he had no business being. He wasn’t loyal to them beyond paying his dues.

Maxim wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the bat swinging with it as he swiped away sweat. Roman got a whiff of that sour stench from where he was hanging, and it made him wonder how long the man had been swinging before he woke up.

The double vision, aching ribs, and constant throbbing said more than Roman cared to know.

“It doesn’t fucking matter how I found out,” Maxim said flippantly, waving that sweaty hand and bat high. “Nothing you say will change my mind about tonight.”

“This is the punishment for sleeping with your daughter?”

“You think a few cracks from a baseball bat is what you get for fucking her? You’re going to die tonight, Roman Avdonin. I hope it was worth it.”

“My father—”

“Won’t forgive me,” Maxim interjected with a nod, “but he will understand. An unfortunate byproduct of your choices—I’ll lose my only friend.”

He actually sounded sad about that, pained.

Roman still wouldn’t apologize.

What difference would it make?

With only a push of the bat’s tip against his chest, Roman’s ribs sent agony ripping through his body and straight up his spine. The groans that left him were inhuman—the sound a wounded animal might make as it lay dying. The action sent him swinging from the pole, back and forth, softly. The pain was still unreal, and only got worse with every slow second.

Maxim wasn’t oblivious to Roman’s plight, and in fact, smiled at the sight in front of him. Proud of his work, clearly.

“There has to be something else,” Roman added, teeth clenched.

He needed to work through the pain to get to the truth. That was the thing he hadn’t missed in all this—what he bet Maxim didn’t want him to point out.

Maxim said nothing in reply, but his gaze hardened.

“It has to be more than Karine, right?” he asked the man, his breaths coming in short, hard bursts.