An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (8 page)

“So, do you know Sydney?” he asked when Vasily made him wait for an answer by checking and responding to a text. “How do you know her age? Do you know anything else about her?” All this time, after all his dead-end research, all he had to do was ask Vasily?

Uh, slow the eager beaver, dude
, his manhood drawled.

After giving him a look, Vasily placed his empty glass on the bar top and took a bottle of water from the ice bucket. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but Pant used to belong to Cezar Fane. When he found out his wife was cheating on him with his
byki
—after he took care of the disloyal worm—he liquidized most of his assets so the wife would be left with nothing after the divorce. He offered the club to a few of us, and even for the peanuts he was asking, we declined. Afterward, he told me he was going to pass it along to one of his girls—a bartender of his. I assumed she was his mistress but he was adamant there was nothing like that between them. Sydney received the club shortly after, and, since he was stepping back because of his illness and Pant is in our vicinity, he asked if I’d keep an eye out. The boys and I introduced ourselves a couple of years ago, and things have gone well enough for her that I’ve never had to involve myself in her business, until now.” He settled on one of the chairs in front of Maks’s desk. “Cezar spoke highly of her, carefully though, as if trying not to let something slip. I found that interesting but not interesting enough for me to look into her.”

Pretty much the same story Sydney had given him earlier, only with more details. “Well, I’ve looked into her, and her past is missing. Nothing comes up on a search of her name, so I’ll assume it isn’t really hers.”

“Find out tomorrow,” Vasily suggested. “If she’s asking for help, we have the right to know who we’re helping.”

Maks felt good about that. They did indeed.

Finally, he would get something on her. The anticipation that had been simmering under the surface since Sydney’s call, the same anticipation that had fizzled and died when Vasily had called him off the chase, sparked back to life. There was nothing he loved more than information.

“When will you contact Morales? Or do you want me to?” he asked as Vasily replaced the lid on his water bottle.

“I’ll call him myself. I have to work on a reason for not having revealed your ‘personal connection’ to Sydney during our meeting tonight.”

“Say she and I keep it on the DL so my enemies don’t use her or her business to get to me.” That’s what he’d do if this farce were real.

Vasily inclined his head as the door opened, and Alek came in, followed by Micha. “Done,” he said. “Have your meeting with her tomorrow, and let me know what you learn about what she’s running from.”

“Will do.”

“Who?” Alek asked.

“Sydney Martin,” Vasily answered. “She and Maksim are officially an item, so be friendly.”

Alek’s raised brow was nowhere near as disturbing as the knowing look Micha threw his way.

He easily ignored them both as he went around his desk and sat. In his mind, he was rescuing a damsel in distress amid the deserted rides at Luna Park. He was also demanding answers and getting them.

It was brutally disappointing that he and his “date” wouldn’t be conducting any of their coming get-togethers while intertwined amid some tangled sheets, hands roaming, eyes rolling in supreme pleasure, but he got the whys.

Distraction got people killed. No second chances.

And Vasily had issued an order.

Nika’s face flashed in his mind, followed by the image of her shot and bleeding out in front of him. Yeah. Being emotionally involved in a situation—even peripherally—sucked dick when things went wrong. The business-is-business rule was a good one. If he implemented it, maybe he could be spared the grief he’d suffered after his most spectacular fuckup to date.

What if next time he wasn’t gifted that two inches and the shot was a killing one?

His Aussie’s face flashed next.

Fuck that.
Not on his watch.

Vasily surreptitiously watched the chill settle into Maksim’s stare and wondered where the guy went when he adopted that I-am-an-island countenance. Did he go to that cage Vasily had found him in? Or to the home he’d left behind in Russia? Was he thinking about what had happened with Nika?

If only they knew what the triggers were so they could avoid sending him there so often. But after nearly twenty years, Vasily was coming to see it was more about what went on in Maksim’s own head than anything anyone else said or did.

Wandering over, he again saw Pant’s website on the computer monitor and felt the oddest need to smile. He doubted Maksim himself knew what to do with the attraction he felt for this girl. His ferocious need to protect her, the confusion she’d put in his stare from the moment they’d met, the arm’s length she insisted on with him. Vasily had watched Maks’s fuck-it-if-it-moves-then-get-it-away-from-me antics for enough years to know Sydney Martin’s pursuit was different. She was making him work for it, and he didn’t yet realize that was part of the draw. He also didn’t realize the draw was a strong one, and now that Vasily was finally seeing Maks experience it, there would be no interference. But that green light would come after this job. Because they all knew what distraction on the job could bring. Death.

He supposed he could set Maks on the back burner and hand the assignment over to one of the others, or refuse to get involved at all.

The latter hadn’t really crossed his mind. Aside from his vow to his dead friend to watch Sydney Martin’s back, she seemed like a woman who did things for a reason. And he was very curious as to what the reason might be for crossing Luiz Morales.

As for delegating the job to someone else, again, he wouldn’t have done that to Maksim. Even though the guy was one of his most powerful, and dangerous, Vasily knew he was also one of his more volatile. Understandably.

Maks, as civilized as he most times was, still had moments when he was downright feral. As he’d been when Vasily had found him, hair shaggy and hanging in his eyes, living in his own filth. Having heard about an organization making their dime in the kidnapping/ransom market, Vasily and his crew had gone in as soon as they’d located the operation. They’d released more than a dozen young men and women from that vile-smelling underground horror show. But not Maksim. Yes, Vasily had sensed the threat in the kid immediately, but he’d also gotten something else. Something that wouldn’t allow him to walk away.

A big skeleton with skin had sat with his back to him that day. Vasily hadn’t called out but had stood, knowing his presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. It had taken Maksim fifteen minutes before he’d turned. His silver eyes had met Vasily’s; they were unusual in their beauty, but it had been the strength of the hate in them, the absolute rage, that had made an impact.

You lost?
Maks had murmured.

Later, after having explained for the third time who he was and why he’d come, Vasily had unlocked the cell door.

I don’t trust this
, Maks had said in his deep, raspy voice.
I don’t trust what you’re doing. Where are you taking me now? Where are the others?

My men have brought them to the hospital.
Fourth time he’d had to say it.

But not me.

No, not Maksim, who Vasily had instinctively known was more dangerous than all the others put together. Dangerous, and intriguing. He’d told him so.

The emancipated kid had shuffled out, holding his gaze. Stopping, Maks had hesitated, stiffening, as if waiting for a blow. When it never came, he’d held out a big hand.

My loyalty is yours until the end of my life.

Their connection had been sealed, and Maks had been part of Vasily’s organization ever since.

Focusing on the present, hating to play the heavy, but with this headstrong man he sometimes feared for and loved as he had his own blood brother, Vasily knew he had no choice. “One more thing.” He turned and waited for that dark head to rise, those shadowed eyes to meet his. “You have Micha for a reason. You go anywhere without him or one of your boys during this assignment, I’ll cut you off at the knees. Don’t think I won’t. Your updates will be often enough that I want them to get annoying. Understand?”

When Maksim gave him a solemn nod, he drained the rest of his water and tossed the bottle into the blue bin next to the printer. “Since it seems we’re done here, I’m going home. I’m having breakfast with my daughter first thing, and I know she worries when I’m late. Good night, boys. Alek?” He stopped before his hollow-eyed nephew. “Didn’t you come into the city with Vincente?”

“Yes. He must have assumed I’d hitch a ride home with you.”

“He texted me a few minutes ago to make sure I didn’t leave without you,” Vasily assured him as they headed out. The way these boys watched out for one another, even in so small a way, was comforting to him. Most days, in this business, even the smallest gesture of support was valued.

CHAPTER 4

Having spent most of the night in her son’s room, all the lights on in the loft, ears straining, heart jumping at every little sound, Sydney was worn-out as she walked home from the bus stop where she’d left Andrew and his friends. Her son had given her an odd look when she’d put her jacket on while he did the same, but he had shrugged it off when she’d said she needed some air so would walk him to his stop.

After letting herself into the loft, she took a hot shower and then tried to lie down for a while, knowing her aching stomach and throbbing head had just as much to do with fatigue as the anxiety carving out her chest.

She could not have sex with Luiz Morales. She could not let him use her. Possibly abuse her. Because of what she’d done. The thought was revolting.

Would Maksim be able to help her?

She stared at her jewelry box on her dresser. Who’d have thought after all this time wishing him away, she’d suddenly be happy he was in her life? She actually felt grateful she knew him. That she had something he wanted. But could she barter her body—to get out of someone else using her body—to save herself? The irony wasn’t lost on her.

And, no. She couldn’t.

Could she do so to save Andrew?

Yes. Absolutely.

It might sound strange to give in and do with Maksim exactly what Luiz wanted—assuming Maksim would even be willing to offer his protection for sex—but she wasn’t sure that was all Luiz wanted. Eberto had mentioned bringing his daughter and Andrew together. That would never happen. Not if she could help it.

And maybe with Maksim it wouldn’t come to sex. Maybe he would surprise her by getting Luiz Morales to back off without demanding her body in payment. Maybe cash would do?

And maybe she should just pack up and leave town before the flying pigs descended.

Frustrated, she gave up on attempting to sleep. It wasn’t going to happen. She got up, threw on some leggings and a tee, and went down to her office, thinking back to when she’d met her first mafioso.

Vasily Tarasov, the leader of Maksim’s organization, had come into the club not long after she’d taken over. His nephew Alek and a dark terror they’d called Vincente had made up the trio. They’d introduced themselves, and without staying long enough to even have a drink, had offered their names, implied who they were without uttering a single surety, and left her with an offer of aid, telling her to call if she ever needed a hand.
We know the neighborhood.
She’d been given business cards and off they’d gone. She’d programmed the numbers into her phone without any intention of ever using them.

Until now.

She bit her lip as she opened the panels to show her monitors and kept an eye on them as she sat behind her desk. She flipped up the screen of her laptop and logged on, nervously swirling her mouse in a circle while she waited for her programs to load. Was she traveling the proper channels by speaking with Maksim first? Maybe she should call the number Vasily had given her to make sure. Then again, who went straight to the top like that? It might appear too presumptuous. Even with Luiz she’d gone through his street team before finally speaking with him. And she did, in fact, know Maksim personally, so to speak.

She double-clicked the Excel icon and brought up a spreadsheet she’d started on yesterday but hadn’t finished. Trying not to think, she opened her desk drawer and took out a stack of receipts. She employed an accountant to do this sort of thing, but she did it regardless. Call her paranoid. She would then compare all the figures to make sure they jibed. Her plan had been to do so for only her first year as owner to make sure there were no discrepancies and the company could be trusted. She was still doing it two years in. Thank God for online accounting courses.

The ringing of her cell nearly had her springing to the ceiling to hang by her fingernails. Looking at the display, her nape tingled at the “private number.”

“Hello?”

“Since you answered that means you’re awake. Come to the beach, Sydney. I’m waiting.”

Her lower belly rolling with something that wasn’t fear was annoying. “Maksim?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and low. “Unless you were planning on holding more than one meeting in the sand today, yes, it’s me.”

“You’re at Coney Island now?” she squeaked as she closed everything up and stuffed her receipts back into the drawer. She was already climbing the stairs when he replied.

“I had to be up early for something, and it didn’t take long, so here I am. You on your way?”

“I’ll be there shortly.” She hung up on him, shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers, snagged a hoodie, and was parking with a prime view of Luna Park before her in record time.

She got out of the car with her hand secure around the cold metal of the gun she’d removed from her glove box. She’d bought it years ago, had taken lessons at a shooting range, and was confident in her ability to use it if the need ever arose. She prayed it didn’t, but she wasn’t so sure. Making a swift 360 to see that she hadn’t been followed—nothing but empty parking lot greeted her—she headed for the boardwalk at a steady clip, worried Maksim might grow impatient and leave. What if he refused to help her? She thought again. What would she do?

Go to Vasily Tarasov.

And if he refused?

Try Gabriel Moretti. She’d already decided that. Gone over it enough times in her head. She knew that was even more of a long shot than asking for Vasily Tarasov’s help, but she was desperate. Maybe the Italian mobster would be willing to help her since she’d aided Vincente the night she and Maksim first met.

And what would she do if
he
refused to help her? She couldn’t go to the police. Because she had, in fact, been buying illegal fucking drugs for a fucking year, regardless what she’d done with them afterward. And how would she prove she hadn’t sold them and made a ton of cash? By pointing to a pile of ashes in a hidden patch of land in New Jersey?

Right there, Officers. There are the drugs. See that charred stuff—those were the baggies with the cute cartoons on them.

She groaned, rubbing at her stomach as she came up on the spot where they’d agreed to meet . . .

Sydney’s groan turned to a moan before she could stop it. He’d waited. The Russian she was pinning her hopes on.
Oh, my, my, my.
Had someone gone into her head, plucked out all she found attractive in a man, and slapped him together, Maksim Kirov would be the result. He stood tall and full of authority next to an empty bench, his suit covered by a lightweight three-quarter-length wool coat that looked much warmer than the hoodie she’d donned in her haste to leave the loft.

Seeing him, she was reminded why the thought of sharing his bed wasn’t as repugnant as the thought of sharing Luiz Morales’s. It really should have been. But it wasn’t.

As she drew nearer, noting two men dressed similarly but not as beautifully standing about twenty feet away, she tried harder to be repulsed. By nightfall tonight, she might be naked with this man who’d banged his way through half the women in Manhattan. The expected disgust surfaced but was made a fool of when her breath caught and her limbs weakened because he turned to watch her approach.

Sydney didn’t even try to fight the buzz traveling through her. In fact, she had the strongest urge to walk directly into what she knew would be a strong embrace and let him do what he looked so capable of doing. Protecting her and her son. It was too bad she had no intention of telling him about Andrew. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake? News that her son still existed getting back to his father or her parents. The last thing she needed on top of the mess she was already in was a legal battle for visitation.

Stopping with the length of the bench between them, she was barely aware of taking her hands out of her pockets and twisting them in front of her. “Hello, Maksim. Sorry you had to wait.” She didn’t bother attempting a nice-to-see-you smile.

He reached up to remove the sunglasses he wore even with the heavy clouds in the sky. She tried not to let him see what the sight of those unusual silver eyes did to her—they had a pewter ring around the silver that was so gorgeous in the light of day. And would it kill him to attempt to hide the hunger in them when he looked at her? Chemistry was a powerful thing, she decided. And something she couldn’t control but could ignore. So that’s what she’d do. Or try to do.

“Hello, Sydney. No apology necessary. I don’t mind waiting for you.”

She realized immediately that was the first time he’d ever greeted her with something other than “Hello, lover.” She swallowed around a dry throat and indicated the bench. “Would you like to sit?”

“I’m fine as I am.”

Yes, you are
, a very feminine part of her brain sighed. She nodded and wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so bloody nervous. Licking her lips, she was just about to begin, not sure where to even start, when Maksim shocked her speechless.

“We know about Morales.”

She blinked and took a few seconds to rally after that staggering revelation. “I—you know . . . Who? I don’t understand how—” She took a breath, refrained from slapping herself, and tried again. “
What
do you know?” she asked, her voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper that got carried away on the damp wind blowing around them.

“We know you’ve been in business with him for a year and that things have suddenly gone south. What we don’t know are the whys.” He took a few steps forward and lifted his hand. His long tattooed fingers casually pulled free some strands of hair she could feel caught between her lips. Lips she could barely feel because she’d pretty much gone numb.

“How could you possibly know that?” She looked up at him through new eyes. Yes, she’d known he was a powerful man. But she hadn’t expected him to be omniscient.

He leaned in until his scent, that luscious dark-chocolate scent he threw off to tempt her, mixed with the sea air to drift under her nose. “Because Luiz fucking Morales contacted Vasily Tarasov directly when he heard you were under our protection. We met with him last night, and he filled us in on your deal. He also made it clear he wants to be mollified for what he considers a double cross of sorts. What exactly have you been doing with the drugs you’ve purchased, Sydney? And why the fuck have you been purchasing them at all?”

Her knees gave out, and her ass met the bench with a thump that jarred her spine. She looked down at her clasped hands and saw her knuckles were white and nearly protruding through the skin she was straining so hard.

Holy shit.
How could this have all gone so horribly wrong?

Was she going to have to whore herself out to Maksim’s boss now, too?

Maksim gave Sydney a moment. She looked as though she could use a thousand moments.

The briny smell of the ocean was a pleasant change from the city, he thought, as he settled himself next to her. He left about a foot between them and cursed the promise he’d made to Vasily last night. Abstain? From this one? Was he fucking nuts?

He tried to concentrate as he hooked his ankle on his knee, noticing a scuff on the side of his polished Ferragamo as he laid his arm out on the back of the bench. His Armani suit jacket beneath his overcoat protested in a how-dare-you stretch.

Bet she wasn’t having that problem, he thought, looking her over again while she got her bearings. Her hair was down, strands of silver-blonde blowing around in the wind. She wore a pair of pewter leggings, bright-white sneakers, and a thick white zip-up, the hood of which was lined with a furry mass that looked warm and soft. Damn, she looked cozy and absolutely breathtaking. Her skin in the light of day was luminescent. This was the first time he’d seen her free of the face she wore every night in her club. No makeup. No mask. Just her bare pink lips and surprisingly lush lashes surrounding those incredible eyes of hers, which he’d noted at closer inspection had flecks of green interspersed within the amethyst. Gorgeous, even with the dark shadows of fatigue beneath them. And if her scent blew his way once more, he was afraid he might groan out loud. Every time he caught it, it was like being transported to the deepest part of a forest in the middle of summer. She smelled of nature itself, and it was enticing.

His dick jerked behind his zipper.
Big surprise.
All he had to do was think about this one and he was hard. Examining her as he was, unapologetically and kind of invasively, was like being out-and-out stroked.

Time’s up.
“Tell me again why you chose this as our meeting place.” He put forth the random request in an effort to pull her from her thoughts. He could see her legs trembling, and he suspected the cold breeze wasn’t the only cause.

She turned that brilliant gaze on him, and it actually traveled his face, resting a moment too long on his mouth. Fuck him, she had to stop that. Yet he didn’t think she was aware she’d done it. “I feel calm when I come here. Usually.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Australia.”

She seemed so serious his lips twitched. “I know that, lover. Where in Australia?”

Almost as if coming out of a trance, she straightened her spine and shifted so that she was half turned toward him. “Why did Luiz Morales contact your boss about me?”