An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (19 page)

“But don’t you want to stay for dinner?” she squeaked. “I’m actually a very good cook.”

He smiled. “Sorry, Sydney. Maybe another time. Maks will have to enjoy your expertise on his own this time.”

As he walked away and began gathering his papers, she felt Maksim at her back.

“See? Even Alek thinks I should enjoy your expertise.”

Her eyes flared wide at the feel of what had to be his finger trailing from the top of her spine to her tailbone. There was no way he missed the shiver that rocked her. Little did he know the expertise he spoke of didn’t exist.

“Relax, lover. You’re safe for a little while longer,” he whispered.

And to prove that, relief arrived in the form of Micha coming in with some bags of clothing from one of her favorite stores. She disappeared into the bedroom with them and thought she might just stay in there for the duration.

A few hours later, Maks finally felt the tension in his muscles loosen. He’d had no choice but to get them the fuck out of that apartment.

He’d done all he could in researching the Morales family and setting up contingency plans in the form of knowing every business they owned and any home they spent more than a few days in every year—all locations now had a Tarasov man or two on them, and he’d soon be aware of the sites most visited. Done with that, Micha had wandered off, and Maks had been left to sit at the recently cleared table—computer forgotten, leg bobbing, fingers drumming, belly full of the delicious carbonara Sydney had whipped up—watching her do the dishes. He’d pointed out the dishwasher, but she’d said she needed something to do. Then she’d put a pair of earbuds in that she’d gotten from her purse and stashed her phone in her back pocket. He’d never seen anyone so serious when doing such a menial task. The stress lines around her mouth had moved every little while as she’d either sang along to her music or talked to herself.

She’d looked up at one point, and their eyes had clashed over the breakfast bar; the rush that came with that connection was as infuriating as it was invigorating. He didn’t want to feel that shit. Not where he was feeling it anyway. In his groin? Yes. In his chest? Fuck no. Didn’t want it there. Couldn’t trust it. He would not allow this woman to have that kind of effect on him.

And really, the fluid movements of her body as she’d washed and dried and put away, while swiping her hair out of her eyes and rubbing her nose with her wrist and sneezing that one time, had been the most erotic foreplay Maksim had ever witnessed.

Get. Gone. Before. I. Break
, his body had growled. That’s when he knew he needed to find something to occupy them, body and mind, preferably around a bunch of people.

Hence the reason he was standing inside a shooting range, looking down into Sydney’s upturned face, the bruise on her cheek pissing him off as he slipped a pair of headphones over her ears. Christ, that little smirk playing over her mouth was sexy, he thought around the sound of shotguns, Glocks, and AR-15 rifles going off all around them.

“I can’t believe you own this place,” she said, her voice a little too loud owing to the ear coverings.

Rather than place his finger on her lips, he bent and took her mouth. He could have used the excuse that someone from Morales’s camp might be watching, but in this place, that would be impossible. He kissed her because he wanted to kiss her. Needed to. He did so lightly but thoroughly, stopping only when he felt her give in and melt against him.

Straightening with a crushing reluctance, he pulled one bulbous headphone from the side of her head and brought his mouth to her ear. “Voice down, lover.”

Dazed, she nodded and glanced around nervously, looking for what, he didn’t know. All there was to see was their cubby in the long line of cubbies that had been built onto the rear of a gun shop in Queens he and Micha had purchased years ago. All completely legitimate, they had a handful of range masters who followed the state’s rules for this place to a fucking T because both Maks and Micha liked owning it. It was lucrative, a good cover, and just plain fun.

He inclined his head to the weapon in Sydney’s hand. “Now, do you remember all I told you? Put your safety glasses on.”

She did one of those ghostly expression changes that he remembered her making the first time they’d met, showing some impatience without changing the actual expression on her face. “I told you, Russia. I know how to do this. Aren’t you listening to me?” She slipped her glasses on and turned away.

“Not really,” he muttered. “Like every asshole we passed on our way in here, I’m too busy staring at your ass to pay much attention to what’s coming out of your mouth.”

She stepped forward, not having heard him because the noise in the place was so great. Then she proved her claim. She braced her legs apart in her new white yoga pants—that lovingly hugged those rounded globes he wanted in his hands—lifted her arms straight out in front of her, gripped the SIG Sauer like a pro, and emptied the entire magazine. She pushed the button, and the target followed the track and came to a stop within arm’s reach. She looked at him over her shoulder and gave him the sauciest smile he’d ever seen her wear. Perfect shot. A cluster on the left side of the chest. She was proud.

“Can I take her with me on my next job?”

Maks didn’t even look at Micha, who had just shown after doing a perimeter check. “Only if you want to find yourself pissing your teeth out through your morning wood.”

“Ouch.”

Sydney skipped back over to them. “God, that felt
good
! I swear—”

Maks reached over and took her headphones off so she’d stop yelling.

“I swear,” she continued in her normal voice, “if I had this place, you’d never get me out of here. I felt so . . . so powerful. Let me do it again, please.” She handed the gun to him, barrel first, and looked up at him, amethyst eyes shining and hopeful.

And right then he was incapable of telling her no. He’d have given her anything she asked for in that moment. Without hesitation. Which manifested into him reloading and waving her off so she could feel invincible for a short while longer.

That short while ended after more than an hour of shooting the shit out of countless targets with every type of gun Sydney could handle. He’d seen her expression tighten the odd time and knew she must be feeling the effects of being thrown by the blast that morning. But she was a trouper.

“You’ve obviously spent a great deal of time here,” she said as they got into the SUV—Micha was gracious enough to allow her the front seat, and she took it this time.

“Enough.”

“That was so much fun. Thank you, Maksim. I’ll have to bring—uh, my own gun next time.” She stumbled around her words, ducking her head to put her seat belt on. “You still haven’t returned it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over to get it out of the glove box. “Now that I know you can handle it.” She took it and checked that the safety was on before putting it in her purse.

Very hot.

He started the SUV and hit a button on the dash to turn on the radio. He needed a minute to get his head on straight. Maybe if he talked himself down, his battered resolve wouldn’t turn this into the disaster he could see coming.

“Why don’t you have any friends?” he found himself asking, as if he’d somehow turned into a fucking woman and couldn’t get enough girl time.

“How do you know I don’t?”

He glanced at her. “Do you?”

She looked away. “No.”

His lips curved. “Why?”

“I don’t know. My intolerance for surface chatter and small talk isn’t conducive to getting to know people, I guess.”

He stayed silent, hoping she’d go on, and metaphorically hunched his back and rubbed his hands together when she did.

“I’d rather my staff—who are pretty much the only people I associate with—talk to me about the personal argument they had with their mother than the funny thing they saw on their way to work. But people aren’t like that. One of my cage dancers sat next to me at the bar before open a while back. I asked him how he was, and he told me he was concerned about his boyfriend’s refusal to take things further in their relationship by moving in together.” She shifted so she was sitting almost sideways in her seat, facing him. “I invited him up to my office and we chatted about it through half of his shift—I gave one of my servers some bills to tuck into his waistband before close so he wasn’t overly short on tips. Anyway, I guess my point is, had he come back with the usual
Good, you? How about that weather?
I’d have zoned out and drifted away as soon as was polite. But he engaged me. He was real and showed a little depth. I like that and don’t find it often.”

He liked her. More and more. “You might like it, but you’re not open to it.”

She stopped playing with the ends of her hair. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not approachable. You’re intimidating—from your eyes to the expressions you wear to the regal way you hold yourself. Any woman would run the other way rather than want to stand and be compared to you. Emily must have had some balls.”

“Emily was . . . a beautiful, special person that could have stood next to anyone and been proud.”

“I sure hope she valued you as much as you valued her.” It would be tragic if Sydney had brought Morales down on her for a friend who wouldn’t have done the same for her.

“She did.”

“Would you like me to try to find the daughter?”

She surged toward him so fast he jumped and had to jerk hard on the wheel to avoid clipping bumpers with a passing taxi. The grip she manacled around his forearm had the strength of a small army. “How? How would you do that? Do you really think you could find her? How?”

“Easy, lover.” He chuckled. Her enthusiasm was telling. She loved the girl. “I’d go into some school records and find out where she’s registered. It might take some time, though, unless you know which area of the city she might be in. Or which city, for that matter. She
is
still in the US, isn’t she?”

Her grip loosened as she wilted like a pricked balloon. “I don’t know. God, you don’t know how badly we’d love to see . . . uh, each other.”

She released him and went back in her seat, her movements deliberate, her lithe body now stiff. She didn’t want him to question her latest slipup.

So he didn’t.

But he would.

The minute they were behind closed doors, he was going to learn about where she’d come from. Learn what she was trying so hard to hide from him.

Nerves ate at Sydney’s stomach lining, ruining the short reprieve their trip to the shooting range had given her. The outing had been just what she’d needed. Andrew would have loved it—as she’d almost told Maksim. Ever since Daniel’s father had brought him along one day when going to a range with his friends—stating he’d rather teach his son about gun control himself than have Daniel learn about it on the streets—Andrew had periodically questioned her about taking him. He knew she’d frequented a shop in New Jersey when she’d been learning how to handle the weapon she’d purchased. She wished he’d been there tonight. Wished his existence still wasn’t a secret.

She watched the numbers above the elevator climb. Micha was on her right, Maksim on her left. She’d seen the calculating light in his silver eyes in the SUV when they’d been talking about finding Eleanor. Sydney’s time was up. She’d put off telling him about Andrew over dinner and since then because she hadn’t felt comfortable, especially with Micha present, revealing a secret she’d kept for so many years. But now, after having been so transparent, stumbling over her words one too many times, she had to tell regardless of her audience.

The bell dinged and they stepped out into a large foyer that had six doors in a semicircle. They went for the closest one on the left. Micha opened and went in first. She was about to follow when Maksim’s hand landed gently on her navel, holding her in place.

“One minute,” he said without looking at her.

After at least thirty seconds of silence, they heard a low, “All clear,” and Maksim’s warm palm was removed.

Okay.
Now her nerves were raw. How badly she’d wanted to cover that hand and move it up. Or down—she wasn’t fussy. She just wanted him touching something other than her belly. Repercussions? What were those? Regrets? Never heard of them.