Page 44 of Twisted Little Game

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Maks says from the backseat.

I want to believe him.

But I have no idea what the hell to believe anymore.

Maybe police will find my dead body in the back of this trunk later on, complete with a massive goddamned precum-soaked spot on the front of my underwear because that’s the level of crazy I am.

I’m relieved when I see the denser trees start to thin out along the road. I can tell we’re getting closer to the Crimson campus again. I still feel like being in this car is like sitting at the center of a ticking time bomb, but there’s no way out.

I look out the window.

If I look at Roman, I’ll be terrified.

And I hate myself for the fact that I’m somehow also still turned on when I look at him.

Roman pulls up outside of a classic-looking diner a few minutes later. A big, red neon sign says Capp’s Diner in cursive in the front. I watch through the windshield as Maks strides inside.

I become hyper-aware of the fact that it’s just me and Roman in the car again.

The air feels suffocating.

Nothing but the center console separating me from…

Whoever he is.

“I’m going to ask you something,” I tell Roman softly.

“Yes?”

“And I don’t want you to lie to me.”

“Ask.”

“Tell the fucking truth,” I say.

Finally I turn my head to look at him, and I’m met with those gorgeous, deep blue eyes.

“I’m listening,” he says softly.

“Are you in the mafia?”

His gaze dances from my eyes to my lips, then back up.

Don’t do that.

Don’t distract me, giving me that look like you're going to devour me.

“My family is large. We conduct business,” he tells me.

“Answer me. Are you in the mafia?”

He furrows his brow, flicking his hand like he’s shooing a fly. “Of course not.”

Something plummets in my gut.

“You fucking liar,” I whisper.

Roman shakes his head. “The Bratva is not mafia. We run things properly. Or we fucking did, until people like Kuzma and Yegor decided to make my life hell.”