Blaire's World: Volume One

by Box Set

  “You never mentioned how bonita she is,” Charlie says softly, causing me to straighten out my features. “Nor did you mention that lovely, whispery voice.”

  “Ohhh, my friend”—Maksim smiles cunningly at me, his golden eyes crinkling in the corners—“don't take it personally. I do not boast of her to anyone.”

  “Why not? She's a nice looking girl.” Charlie’s voice lowers as he says in Spanish, “Siempre me he preguntado acerca de los pelirrojos.” I’ve always wondered about redheads.

  I swallow, hoping I'm not visibly sweating under the pressure of these two.

  “I wouldn't want you excited to see her,” Maksim says, “for she is mine and mine alone.”

  “Hmm.” Charlie hums, staring right at me with brazen audacity. I get the feeling he isn't a pawn in Maksim's game. He's too confident. “She sounds kinda Russian,” he says after a while, still tapping his fingers against the couch. “Where's she from?”

  “She's not Russian,” Maksim says, and I see that he shakes his head at Charlie.

  Charlie nods once, understanding the gesture. “How old are you, Blaire?”

  I look at Maksim. He nods.

  “Eighteen.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Charlie seems stunned. I'm not sure why.

  “What do you do, exactly?” he asks. “I've heard various stories.”

  Maksim gives me the go ahead, so I say, “I deal in technology.”

  “She's also on my security detail,” Maksim adds.

  “This small girl is part of your security?” Charlie stops tapping the back of the couch, his eyes taut with confusion. A crease forms between his eyebrows, and it makes him look evil.

  “She is.” Maksim smiles up at me again, knowingly proud. “She is a beauty in battle. Trained to defend me on instinct unless I say otherwise.”

  That’s true. I am trained to defend him however I can. Though, I wouldn't just say I'm trained. I'd say I'm more conditioned. My brain works to please and protect my master without me actually having to think. I used to find it disturbing. Now, I'm used to it.

  Charlie doesn't believe Maksim—it's written all over his face—but that's good. This is Maksim's trick with me. I have always been the element of surprise for his enemies.

  “And your parents?” Charlie says, still frowning at me.

  I don't show my confusion to that question. I just look at him.

  “Erm, Charlie—”

  “I'm not talking to you, am I?” Charlie cuts Maksim off dead.

  My heart drops like a boulder.

  “Don't you understand me, girl?” Charlie says. “Where are your parents? I won't repeat myself again.”

  I don’t know how to respond, so I keep my mouth shut. But Maksim thumps the desk, snapping, “Answer him, Blaire.”

  I cringe as he uses my name, muttering, “I only have Cэp Maksim.”

  Silence.

  Charlie's glancing between us, an air of frustration on his face. “Where are her parents?” he demands to know, leveling his attention on Maksim. “Dead? Did they sell her to you? Where are they?”

  My eyes flitter between them, and I'm beyond confused. I don't get why he's being so ascetic all of a sudden, or why he'd want to know if I have parents. What does that matter?

  Maksim manages to give Charlie another curt head-shake, which Charlie also understands.

  The next questions are sharp and snappy, like the tension that's now in the room. Charlie states my address in London, and asks, “Is that where you live?”

  I nod.

  “Alone?”

  I nod again, keeping it brief.

  “Is the apartment yours?” He raises his eyebrows at me, making his blue eyes seem wider.

  I nod a third time.

  “And you drove here tonight on your own?” He gestures at the office door with a large, steady hand. “You have your own car?”

  What kind of a question is that? What's it to him if I live alone or if I own my own car?

  “Yes, the car is hers,” Maksim answers for me, though he doesn't gain Charlie's attention. He is still looking at me.

  “I have her on the payroll,” Maksim explains. “She's not a prisoner like the rest.”

  “Is that right?” Charlie sounds like he's stuck in thought, while his eyes flicker all over my deadpan face. “So, you trust her completely?” he breaks eye contact with me to focus on Maksim. “Because if you have any doubts...I can't risk having sloppy workers on the job.”

  Maksim doesn't hesitate. He says a powerful, “With my life,” then it's quiet again.

  Why do I feel like I'm being interviewed for something?

  “Okay,” says Charlie eventually, nodding to himself. He then summons my attention by rasping out my name. “Maksim tells me you can hack into any computer system, no hay problema?”

  Bingo. He is interviewing me.

  “You can answer him,” Maksim says. So I nod, my hands still firmly folded behind my back.

  “How can you do that?” asks Charlie.

  “My friend,” Maksim butts-in, clearing his throat, “the details are better left unsaid. Just know that My Little Pet is masterful at—”

  “I'll decide what details are better left unsaid,” Charlie says. Sitting forward, he puts his elbows on his knees and narrows his blue eyes at Maksim. “I'll consider pardoning things that might make this girl feel uncomfortable, but you'll tell me the finer details.” His square jaw ticks, though when he stares up at me, that anger in his face vanishes. “How can you do that, Blaire?”

  “I spent three years in a room with books, codes, and computers,” I say without thinking, and bizarrely without Maksim's permission. “I taught myself the things I know.”

  Charlie gives Maksim a baffled look, wrinkling his nose. “She actually thinks she became a hacker in three years?”

  No one answers him, and he runs a hand through his thick black hair, ruffling the strands at the back of his neck. “C'mon, don't try to take the piss outa me.”

  Maksim's face tightens with what almost looks like...fear? No. Can't be. He shakes his head at Charlie again.

  “All right.” Charlie lifts a hand, understanding Maksim's expression.

  Is he hiding something from me? Why won't he just tell Charlie that he bought me from a man in Russia, or insist it's none of his business?

  Digging into his jeans back pocket, Charlie pulls out a piece of paper and proffers it to me between scissored fingers. I glance at Maksim. He signals for me to take the paper, so I reach for it. I briefly touch Charlie's fingers in the process and a warm, tingly sensation spreads through my body, causing me to snatch back my hand—and without the paper. Our eyes meet in a moment of dead quietness, with his glowing like he knows what I just felt.

  Everything around me becomes nonexistent. Even Maksim fades into the background. And I just look at this man who's invading our personal space with pure perplexity. He doesn't look away or blink, just stares right through my fucking soul.

  A pool of anxiety coils inside me, making my toes curl in my trainers.

  I have a dark feeling he's going to turn the world as I know it upside down.

  “It's the latest in technology for a certain CCTV system,” he says softly, insisting I take the paper from him. “Here you go.”

  To break whatever the fuck this is, I pinch the paper out of his fingers and scan the notes written down, mentally willing my heart rate to calm.

  It's the details for London's closed-circuit television system.

  “Can you shut that down for fifteen minutes?” Charlie asks, his voice still unexplainably soft.

  I've entered this system a few times before, as Maksim likes to know that he can control a city if trouble breaks out.

  “Can you shut it down, My Little Pet?” Maksim says.

  “I can shut this down for four, maybe five minutes before I get locked out.” I lean over to give Charlie back the piece of paper, avoiding his touch—and his eyes. I have the contents of the note now sto
red in my memory.

  Charlie shakes his head, screwing up the paper in a large hand before tossing it across the office. “I need fifteen minutes.” He exercises his eyes on Maksim, who seems a little uncomfortable, pulling open the top buttons of his shirt. “You said the redhead could get me fifteen minutes. I. Need. My. Fifteen. Minutes.”

  His tone makes my hackles come up hard, and my protective instincts kick in. I step closer to Maksim's desk, zoning into myself.

  I have to protect Maksim.

  I have to ensure nothing happens to him.

  Maksim is all that matters.

  And above all, no one talks to my master with such contempt. No one.

  I center my attention on the enemy. He’s glaring at Maksim with his nostrils flaring, unbothered by my change in persona.

  “Can you do it, My Little Pet?” Maksim says in a rush of words, visibly nervous with deep swallows. “Can you get the fifteen minutes?”

  “I'll need a few weeks,” I whisper. I actually need more than a few weeks, but I'll tell Maksim that over the phone. At least this way, if he gets mad at me, I have time to mentally prepare.

  Mad Maksim doesn't bode well for my ass.

  Charlie nods. Then Maksim tells me two weeks is fine, that there is no room for error. “Don't run over schedule, My Little Pet. You know what will happen if you do.”

  “I won't,” I say, as I do know what will happen all too well.

  Just as quickly as it bloomed, the tension in the room vanishes, though I stay by Maksim’s desk to ensure his safety.

  Charlie pulls another piece of paper from his jeans back pocket. “For Maksim. Please, give it to him.”

  Maksim gives me the okay, so I take it from Charlie and put it on the desk.

  “That's a Dark Web link. Don't lose it.” Charlie gestures out. “To contact me, the password is Guzmán Decena.” He follows with saying out each letter of the password like we're fucking dyslexic or something. “Keep me updated regarding Blaire and the job, comprender? You can e-mail me any time, and I'll get back to you within the hour.”

  Regarding Blaire and the job? Why would he need to be updated about me?

  “Of course, my friend.” Maksim touches his chest in a deceivingly composed approach. “Of course.”

  I feel Charlie is looking at me again, and my anxiety spikes when he asks, “Will Blaire be attending Rumo's poker game next weekend?”

  A few seconds of edgy silence pass through us. Then Maksim says, “She will be.” He smiles at me with an agenda, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “I might even put on a little show for you.”

  Charlie doesn't understand, so Maksim explains that he sometimes has me fight for entertainment. “Like I said a moment ago, she's a beauty in battle.”

  Chills run down my spine because I know what's going to happen. I know who he'll make me fight.

  “You will come to the poker game, won't you, Charlie? You will come watch her fight?”

  “Ohhh, I wouldn't miss it.”

  My stomach twists.

  “Good. Very good, my friend.”

  While I stand here staring ahead impassively as not to draw attention to the fact that I'm sweating bullets, they start chatting about what's been going on in London over the past six years, which isn't much short of sex, crime, and murder. Charlie doesn't sound impressed as Maksim blathers on about his power in Western Europe. Seeming to have heard enough, he cuts Maksim off mid-sentence to say he needs to go. “Time’s getting on.”

  That’s when Maksim focuses on me. “Do you have any questions before you go, My Little Pet? Is there anything you need?”

  “No,” I whisper, devoid of emotion.

  “I guess we're all done here then.” He reaches over to shake hands with Charlie, making his chair creak under his weight. “It's good to see you again, my friend.”

  Nodding once, Charlie stands and fixes the hem of his t-shirt over his jeans. He's really tall. I'd say at least six foot two, and he's bigger than I thought with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and hard muscles stretching under dark, olive skin. He looks like a Spanish soldier.

  “If you’re heading back to London, Blaire”—my name rolls off his tongue like satin—“I'll get a lift with you.”

  What?

  My heart does this weird doubling over thing. I whip my eyes from Charlie to Maksim, who strangely nods.

  “You will have to forgive my little pet's attitude, as I am sure you will learn she has.” Maksim chuckles under his breath. “She's as arrogant as a redhead comes.”

  Charlie laughs, too, clearly amused. “I can handle one small girl, no matter how arrogant she might be. Don't worry about that.”

  My stomach is sinking, thinking this is a test. It has to be. Maksim would never leave me alone with another man.

  Ignorant to my apprehension, Maksim tells me that I must be polite to Charlie, that I'm not allowed to fight him. It isn't a request. It's an order. “You can speak to him, also, just not about me.”

  “Of course,” I say, head-bowing to my master, hiding the fact that my anxiety is going through the roof.

  2

  After bidding Maksim goodnight, I lead the way out of the club with Charlie Decena hot on my heels.

  The place is still booming with music and perverts littering the naked strippers in pound bills, chanting, “Take it off! Take it off!” I'm surprised Charlie doesn't want to stay and have a nice European girl for himself, given they’re likely free for him. Any normal man would stay.

  At the exit, I nod to bid the doorman goodbye and steal out into the cold night, beneath a cloaking black sky sparkling in stars. My silver Porsche is by a flickering streetlight at the end of the parking lot. I open it using the key in my pocket, making it flash three times with a low, deep beep.

  “This is a nice car for such a young girl,” Charlie says, walking past me to open the driver's door. He rests his forearm there and looks down on me, head slightly cocked. “Did Maksim buy it for you or did you buy it for yourself?”

  Maksim? I grunt under my breath. That’s so fucking disrespectful. It's Maksim-Markov to him, and those considered friends or work acquaintances.

  “Do you want to drive or something?” I ask, arching my neck back to squint up at him.

  Charlie tips his head to the other side, with his eyes glancing back and forth between mine. “Why'd you ask that?”

  I gesture at my car. “You’re holding my door open.”

  He laughs, flashing even, white teeth. “Tis' called manners, Señorita.”

  My face twists with perplexity. Holding my door open is considered manners?

  “In you get.” He nods at my car, amusement glittering in his eyes.

  I stare him out, baffled to say the least. He looks a bit different up close, more...I don't know. Beautiful? No. Handsome. He's too masculine to be beautiful. His lips are perfect, the lower fuller than the top, his cheekbones are sharp and high, and his eyes are deep set, a lagoon blue in this light.

  For a second, I forget why I was staring at him.

  “Do you want me to drive?” He nods at my car again without breaking eye contact. “I can if you want. I know where you live.”

  I scoff at the audacity of him, sink into the plush leather, and yank my door shut. He's laughing as he walks around to the passenger side, but I don't get what he finds so funny.

  Pressing the power button, I fire-up the engine, revving to warm it up. Charlie settles in the passenger seat, sliding it back to give his long legs some room. I immediately notice he smells sweet and musky, a weird scent for a man but bizarrely appealing. Bizarrely nice.

  A quick glance, and he catches me staring. My heart almost jumps out of my chest, but I save face by telling him, “Put on your seatbelt and then we can go.”

  He pulls it across his chest and plugs it in, as I shift in gear to reverse out of the parking lot, heading down a bumpy country lane. He is blatantly watching me, though he doesn't speak for a while. So I flick on the radio to drow
n out our silence, and check the rear-view mirror, clocking twin SUVs on our shadow with blinding headlights. They look suspicious with heavily tinted windows, both going at the same speed. Maintaining my eyes on them, I drive carefully as not to draw attention. But as I turn off to hit the clear highway, they follow us.

  I press on the throttle to speed out of Dartford, keeping one hand near my gun in my inside jacket pocket; my other on the wheel.

  “What's wrong, Blaire?”

  “I think we're being followed,” I say, reaching one-hundred miles per hour, dodging what cars are on the road. “Have you got a gun?”

  “Have I got a gun?” Charlie laughs, and when I look at him, he smiles. “Relajarse,” he says relax, “it's just my men. No need for guns.”

  “What?” I drop a gear to slow the pace. “If you have men with cars, why did you ask me for a lift?”

  He doesn't answer my question, which I don't like. He diverts with, “How long have you known Maksim?”

  Maksim-Markov to you! It really bothers me that he addresses my master like this.

  “That's none of your business,” I say, and my voice comes out surprisingly calm.

  “Well, I'm making it my business. How long?”

  Huffing, I try not to react to his cool, dominant approach, though it's hard. I want to punch his lights out because he's so fucking conceited.

  “I cannot comment without his permission,” I say in a flat tone.

  Charlie laughs at me again, though in a more mocking fashion. “You know, in all the years I've known your boss, you're the first of his girls I've seen off a leash.” Reaching over, he grabs my seat headrest, forcing intimacy.

  I shift over in my seat, a little uncomfortable. I can feel the warmth of his large body at my side.

  “Maksim must really trust you,” he whispers, checking me out with obvious lust.

  I don't say anything in response. Of course Maksim trusts me. I'm his most trusted devotee.

  In our silence, I glance at Charlie a few times because I sense he's still staring at me with stark concentration. I wish he'd stop. I'm already on guard, and he's making the whole ordeal ten times worse with that penetrating gaze.