Page 13 of Malicious Claim

Makros ignored the question, posing a better one. “Where's Leila?”

“She's fine. Maria is helping her get settled.”

Makros halted, his entire body stiffening. “You left her with who?”

Dragon cursed under his breath. “Shit! Boss, wait.”

Makros didn't wait. He stormed down the hall, pushing open his bedroom door. All he saw was chaos.

Leila, holding a handful of Maria's hair flung her across the room, sending her knocking the lamp on the nightstand. Before Maria could recover, Leila dug her foot into her face. The sound of bone crunching filled the air and Maria spat out a bloody tooth.

“What the fuck?” Dragon said from behind his boss, staring bulged-eyed at the scene. He would have considered this the hottest thing he had ever seen. Except this wasn't two girls trying to be sexy.

“Enough,” Makros ordered coldly, cocking his pistol.

Leila froze.

“She attacked me with a knife!” Leila quickly defended.

“Puta!” The struggling girl spat, struggling to rise.

“You.” Makros pointed the pistol at Maria who had managed to stand up despite her injuries. “Get out of my room. If you ever come in here again, I won't be held accountable for what I'll do to you.”

“Makros, per favore...ascoltami!(Makros, please...listen to me!)”

“No, Maria. You're done. You're no longer welcome in my bed or my room.”

Maria’s face crumpled. “Mi hai usato!(You used me!),” her voice crack, “lo ti amo, Makros!”

“Love? You don't know the meaning of the word, Maria. Now, get out.”

Maria's hands clenched at her sides. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You'll regret this.” Then she turned and stormed out.

Dragon let out a low whistle. “That was dramatic.”

Makros cut him a glare. “Get out.”

Dragon chuckled and followed Maria out, shutting the door behind him.

Now alone, Makros shoved Leila onto the bed. He crouched in front of her, his gaze penetrating the depth of her soul.

“Are you insane?” He asked, too softly.

“Don’t call me that and...she attacked me first.”

Leila didn't see it coming, a backhand slap delivered sharply across her face. “I can call you whatever I want.”

Leila held her cheek as it burned, stunned. If it wasn't for the gun he had on him, she probably would've returned the slap.

Makros straightened.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. There wasn't a shadow of doubt in his voice. No hesitation. And most certainly no room for negotiation.

Leila’s spine went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. “What?” she asked, her stunned expression shifting, morphing into something rawer. First, disbelief, then horror.

Makros’s eyes were keen, unrelenting, unforgiving. “I said, remove your clothes.” His breathing was even, but his patience strained like that of an over-pulled rubber band on the verge of breaking.

Leila took a step back, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Realization struck like a blade to her gut, cutting through any illusion she harbored.