It gets harder, louder, and faster.
The wood splinters near the lock and I scramble backward, pressing my back against the wall, my hands fumbling in front of me.
Maxim walks toward the door, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched.
"I said go the fuck away!" he roars and switches to yelling in Russian. It's too fast for me to understand.
Another bang.
And another.
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Who is trying to break in? Why? What's going on? This doesn't make sense.
Maxim reaches for the door handle, his hand gripping it tightly as he turns it.
And then.
It bursts wide open.
9
ADRIAN
We're in the grand hall in between a surprisingly packed schedule of events. If there is any trafficking here, or anything reasonably close to it, they've done a good job of keeping that away from us.
I stand near Victor, my shoulders tense beneath this goddamn tuxedo. The starched collar digs into my throat, and the bow tie feels like it's choking the life out of me one shallow breath at a time.
I don't like tuxedos. Suits, yes. These, no.
The politicians laugh annoyingly loud, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
I shake my head. These sick bastards all just gassing each other up in between their sick business deals.
They slap each other on the back, shake hands, and light cigars. It's like a big boys' club where everything is a transaction or an agreement that probably benefits them over the people they're supposed to be representing.
I scan the room again and see the same faces and fake smiles. It's the same fucking bullshit, but no Maxim.
I've been looking for him since we arrived yesterday evening, but the event schedule makes it damn near impossible. People move in and out of rooms like chess pieces. Deals are made in private, behind closed doors, in hidden corners. Men slip away into various rooms of this sprawling mansion, reappearing minutes or hours later. It's hard to keep track of everything. It's like a damn maze, and I'm losing my mind.
I suppose I'll have to wait until dinner tonight, where everyone is finally supposed to be in one room.
Victor is beside me, sipping champagne and nodding politely at some Austrian diplomat who won't shut up about economic policy between Romania and his country. Victor almost looks like he's enjoying himself, and being this is the kind of shit he does, maybe he is.
"I will say, sir," the diplomat says to Victor. "Your insights on the Romanian infrastructure reforms are quite compelling."
Victor smiles. "Thank you, Ambassador. I believe pragmatism is the only way forward in these uncertain times."
What the hell does that even mean?
I look away and tune them out and focus on the crowd.
A waiter passes with a tray, and I step aside to let him pass, my gun rubbing against my side.
It's there, hidden beneath my jacket, perfectly legal since I'm Victor's bodyguard, but every second I don't use it feels like a waste.
I crack my neck. Victor doesn't need me watching him. I mean, nothing's going to happen.