Beautifully Brutal (Southern Boy Mafia #1) (3 page)

Chapter Three

A weakness…

Those were easy to resist, right?

Courtney forced herself to walk away from Max, reminding herself—again—of the reason she was there tonight. It certainly wasn’t to steal glances at him from across the room or battle the jealousy that coursed through her when she saw him talking to other women. She was the one who had broken it off with him nearly a year ago, which meant she had absolutely no right to be jealous.

No right to him at all, in fact.

It wasn’t easy, pretending not to want him, but then again, it never had been easy to walk away from the one man she wanted more than she wanted anything else.

For the past two years, since the very first time she’d given in to Max, making out with him in a hallway in this very house, she’d felt as though she were living in a modern-day version of Romeo and Juliet. Her family, a group of elite security advisors, spent their lives protecting people, saving them from dangerous situations, handling their every protection need in some cases. As for Max’s family … they were gangsters fueled by money and power, and they’d stop at nothing to get what they wanted.

She and Max were from two very different worlds.

And it’d taken every ounce of willpower she had to stay away from him, but somehow Courtney had managed for the last year. She’d used her best friend, Marissa, as an excuse, wanting to focus all of her extra energy on bringing her back home after their families had started stashing Marissa in safe houses across the US in order to keep her safe from the man who was hell-bent on kidnapping—or worse, killing—her.

How well did that work for you?

Ignoring the prickly voice in her head, she forced her attention on the mission. Z was waiting at the rear entrance of the lavish ballroom for Courtney to deliver Marissa to him. They needed to get their principal out of there, and that was Courtney’s one and only job at the moment, ensuring Marissa made it safely from point A to point B.

There were voices sounding in her earpiece. Excited, eager voices. Trace. RT. Z. The determination in their tone spurred her into action as she made her way across the room, coming to assist.

“Well, look there. It’s none other than Special Agent Dan Duchein. Didn’t know you had an invite to this party.”

Courtney noted the urgency in her brother’s voice. Apparently their guest of honor had arrived and set his sights on Marissa, as they’d expected him to.

“We need to get her out of here.” That had to be Duchein. He sounded almost frantic. Impatient.

Trace’s voice broadcasted in her ear again. “Her?”

“Marissa Trexler,” Duchein snarled. “The woman behind you?”

Courtney continued walking while waiting to hear what Duchein’s excuse would be. He didn’t disappoint.

“I’m here on official business. We got some intel that this is a setup. You’ve walked her right into a trap. The Adorites won’t let her leave here alive.”

Courtney rolled her eyes. If that’d been the case, Max would’ve had Marissa eliminated before they stepped foot
in
the house. He wasn’t the type to delay the inevitable if he felt it would benefit his cause.

“Ask him where his backup is.” RT’s voice came through loud and clear, but Courtney had yet to locate where her team leader was.

As she continued to listen to the conversation, she moved closer, squeezing between the other guests lingering in the ballroom.

“Where’s your backup?” Trace asked.

“Two stationed at the front, two at the back.”

“If they are, they’re invisible.” Conner’s rough grumble resounded in Courtney’s ear. Her oldest brother was stationed outside, keeping an eye on things with Z, one of Sniper 1’s tenured operators, along with RT’s brother, Colby.

“I’m taking her into protective custody, Kogan. Nothing you can do to stop me.”

A chill washed over her when Courtney heard her brother’s answering growl. “Over my dead fucking body.”

“This isn’t your call. She’s in danger, and you’re putting her there.”

“You’re the only danger to her, Duchein.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Yep, definitely guilty. Duchein’s defensive counterpoint had come out far too quickly.

“I’m on your six,” Courtney said, smiling sweetly as she squeezed past another couple standing directly behind Marissa. “I’m escorting Marissa to Z.”

“Confirmed,” Z responded in her ear.

The conversation between Trace and Duchein continued, but Courtney tuned them out, focusing solely on getting her best friend to safety. Peering around Marissa, Courtney saw Z standing at one of the sets of doors leading out onto the terrace. Gripping Marissa’s wrist firmly, Courtney led her to Z, not releasing her until Z had her.

“I’ve got Marissa. Conner’s with us. Escorting her out.” Z’s monotone drawl was in stereo—she heard him speak directly in front of her, and it echoed in her earpiece.

Nodding her head, she turned as they disappeared outside. “I’m on my way back to you,” Courtney told Trace.

Courtney noticed people were beginning to focus on the heated squabble, other guests now circling the men arguing as they watched the verbal spar. She knew they needed to find somewhere private to deal with this issue. And fast.

“Gentlemen,” Courtney said, injecting as much saccharin in her tone as she could, “why don’t we take this somewhere with a little more privacy. Our gracious host has offered his office.” It was a lie, but she figured it was a safe one. She knew without a doubt that Max did not want this to take place in public.

“After you,” Trace told Duchein, signaling for him to lead the way.

Unfortunately, it didn’t appear that Duchein was worried about other eyes watching them because he didn’t move. That blatant disrespect for Max sent warning bells clanging. If the man knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t cross the one man who
would
eliminate him right here, right now, witnesses be damned.

“Where is she?” Duchein barked. “Where is Marissa Trexler?”

“
Who
?”

The sound of Max’s voice had Courtney’s entire body going on high alert. The venom dripping from the single word told her that he’d passed the point of calm. And when he placed his hand at the small of her back, she sucked in a breath. His touch had always done that to her, and clearly she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d hoped.

No one replied to Max, and when he spoke again, there wasn’t an ounce of request in his tone. “Gentlemen, either we relocate this conversation to my office or things are about to get real ugly.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Adorite,” RT stated in response.

Courtney had no choice but to walk when Max pressed her forward, the warmth of his hand searing her back. Those sensations she’d worked so hard to stop thinking about once again rioted inside her. Unfortunately, and despite knowing what was best for her, Courtney feared her body would always belong to Max. No other man would ever be able to touch her the way he did.

As Courtney walked close to their gracious host, she heard him when he leaned over and spoke to RT. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you myself.”

Courtney rolled her eyes, knowing Max was referring to her. From the moment she had met him, he’d been the protective, possessive type. At no point during their entire relationship had she ever given him the idea that she needed him to take care of her, but he apparently had never noticed.

Without looking at either of them, she said to RT, “He always had an issue with me knowin’ how to protect myself. It’s one of the reasons our relationship never worked out.”

Not the main reason, but one of the many.

Courtney picked up the pace, heading directly to Max’s office. She needed to get this over with and get far away from this man before she did something really, really stupid.

Like give in to him again, because no matter what she tried to tell herself, Maximillian Adorite had always—
always
—been her weakness.

Chapter Four

No more games… Dead man walking.

Max followed closely behind Courtney as she stepped into his office. He nodded to the two armed bodyguards as he walked by them, signaling for them to follow him inside. This evening hadn’t gone quite as he had anticipated. The events thus far had pushed him past the point of furious, despite the fact he’d been the one to set this in motion.

Regardless, he was done playing games with these people. It was time to put an end to this shit once and for all. He would allow RT and Trace to get the answers they were looking for—if they could do so timely and without bullshit—but he wouldn’t be much more gracious than that.

“Where is she?”

Max turned to face Duchein, noticing his usually calm façade had slipped, his face splotchy and red, his anger evident. No, the ATF agent hadn’t managed to get his hands on the woman he was seeking, but Max hadn’t intended for him to when he’d offered the invitation for tonight.

Although he’d known that this would happen, his motives had been not at all altruistic. That wasn’t Max’s style. If anyone believed him to be one of the good guys, they didn’t know him. At all.

He could’ve easily resolved this by putting a bullet in Duchein’s head long before now, and his men would’ve disposed of his body, never to be seen or heard from again, yet here they were. Duchein’s chest puffed up as though he actually had any sort of authority with his government job and his fancy-ass title.

Remaining close to Courtney, Max tilted his chin toward the doors, and the two men stationed there closed them, flipping the lock.

No one took a seat.

“Where is
who
?” Courtney said in response to Duchein’s question.

Peering over at her, Max fought the surge of lust that ricocheted inside him at the resonance of her sweet voice and the cocky look on her beautiful face. She sounded oblivious to what was going on, but he knew better. The woman knew how to play a man well.

Too well.

“Marissa Trexler,” Duchein sneered.

Courtney glanced at her brother. “I thought she was with you.”

RT turned to Trace. “I thought she was with you.”

Trace shrugged. “I thought she was with you.”

Max was quickly growing tired of this fucking game. These guys—the ones who considered themselves the
good
guys—might have their own way of doing things, but here, in Max’s house, he called the shots.

“Question is, what do you really want with Ms. Trexler?” Max asked, his tone hard, firm.

“She’s … uh… We’re… That’s none of your goddamn business.”

Really?

Max sighed.

Here was a man Max had done business with for quite some time. A smart man. A powerful man. Also a thief, a liar, and a cheat. One who provided Max with confiscated guns that were in the hands of the US government, and the bastard was going to talk to him like he was a piece of shit on his shoe?

No.

Not going to happen.

Rather than retaliate by killing the man instantly, Max continued to stare at him. He’d successfully honed his patience, learned not to react. It had served him well over the years, and it had earned him a shit load of respect.

From smart men. Men unlike Dan Duchein.

Max kept his voice calm yet deadly when he said, “No? Considering this is my house, my fucking party, I’d say it’s exactly my business.”

“I don’t answer to any of you,” Duchein retorted hotly. “Don’t forget who I am. Who I work for. Trust me, you’ll regret double-crossing me.”

“Double-crossing? Is that what you call this? Seemed more to me like biting the hand that feeds you,” Max imparted. God, he hated this little shithead, but he had to admit, the guy had served his purpose over the years. “Now, we can settle this like men or you can take your chances with my boys.” Max nodded to the two gunmen flanking the exit. “Either way, we’re going to get a few answers before you go.”

“I have nothing to say. To anyone.”

What happened next ripped every ounce of Max’s well-honed patience to shreds in an instant.

The world around him slowed, everything centering on Duchein when the man reached out, wrapping his thick fingers around Courtney’s slender arm and wrenching her toward him. Caught off guard, she stumbled but righted herself as Duchein slammed her body against his, her back to his front, as his right arm rose, his gun aimed directly at Courtney’s temple.

Courtney’s stunned gaze slammed into Max’s, and right then and there, something snapped inside of him. Something colder and darker than anything he’d ever known before, something that he knew he would never be able to get back again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Time seemed to slow even more as Duchein shifted toward the door, and that was when Max slipped his gun out of his waistband and aimed it at Duchein’s head. Trace and RT, as well as Max’s guards, followed suit. The sound of weapons being cocked resounded in the room.

Max felt an internal shift, and the growl that came out was reflective of the beast roaring inside of him. The one that told him to kill the fucker who’d dared to touch the woman who meant more to him than his own fucking heartbeat. It’d been Duchein’s last mistake. Max would make damn sure of that. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Let me out of this room and I’ll do that,” Duchein countered, as though he had a chance in hell of walking out of there alive.

Max decided to placate him for the time being. “Open the door for him.”

His guards moved to the doors, opening them as they kept their attention locked on Duchein and Courtney, following every movement while Duchein backed them toward the exit.

Max fought the red haze that blurred his vision. “Duchein, I’m gonna make myself very, very clear. You better listen to every single word. You hurt her in any way, I’ll gun you down myself and put a bullet in your face. Feel me?” Truth was, Max would prefer to gut the fucker and watch him bleed out while suffering for as long as Max could keep him alive.

Duchein nodded as he continued to back out of the room. When he got to the door, Duchein released Courtney. As she toppled forward, Max reached for her, just as she pulled her little .38 from beneath her dress.

Relishing the thought of killing Duchein slowly, Max called out. “Hey, Duchein! You can run, but I can guarantee I will find you. And when I do…”

“Goin’ somewhere?”

Max clenched his teeth in anticipation when he realized his night wasn’t over yet, his chance for immediate revenge not out of his grasp. One of the other good guys—the big bastard who’d come with RT to talk last week—placed his gigantic hand in the center of Duchein’s chest and forced him back into the room. More of RT’s people followed behind the giant, including Marissa Trexler.

A reunion took place as Trace claimed his woman. Max turned his attention to Courtney. She didn’t look at all fazed by what had happened, which didn’t surprise him. She was, without a doubt, one fierce woman. Then again, how could she not be, considering the world she’d grown up in?

The world that had molded her into who she was, the same as Max’s world had molded him.

Good versus evil.

Max reined his thoughts back in. “I guess the night’s not over yet, huh?”

Knowing things were about to get really ugly, Max repositioned himself, pulling Courtney behind him. She did surprise him then when she didn’t put up a fight, which likely meant she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be. The possessive beast inside him roared once again, desperate to claim her. To show her that, yes, she did belong to him.

RT interrupted Max’s thoughts when he said, “So, why don’t we try this again.”

Duchein didn’t look at all happy.

“What do you want with Marissa Trexler?” Max ground out as his patience slipped another notch. He wasn’t interested in having a chat over fucking tea. It was time they got this shit over with.

“To take her into protective custody,” Duchein stated firmly.

“That’s horseshit,” the big guy—Z—declared.

“Do you even know who I am?”

The smartass answer that followed came from none other than Courtney’s brother Trace. “I’ve got this one. I think I’ve answered it before. A prick in a suit. That’s the right answer?”

Duchein snarled.

Max saw the instant Trace decided to take charge. A sideways glance at Z, who then reached for Marissa, and then Trace was stalking toward Duchein. It was an almost casual move, one Max actually admired.

And when Trace gripped the front of Duchein’s shirt and yanked him closer, Max admired him all the more. “I’m fucking tired of the bullshit, asshole. Either you answer the questions or I’m gonna assume I know them already.”

“What do you think you know?” Duchein growled in response.

This was the part where Max had to be careful. It was one thing for Sniper 1 Security to want to protect their own. But it damn sure wouldn’t be at Max’s expense. He had a business to run, and Duchein—although he didn’t realize it yet—was about to become an example to all the others whom Max did business with. He wouldn’t sit by and allow Duchein to share details of his organization’s dealings. There were partners to protect, some very powerful men who respected Max and trusted him with their livelihoods, not to mention, Max had his own reputation to protect. He certainly hadn’t made it this far because he’d tolerated bullshit from men like Duchein. Quite the opposite.

Trace lifted his gun and trained it on Duchein’s forehead. Max didn’t worry that Trace would shoot the guy. Sure, Trace was capable of capping him, but he knew that was the difference between Max and the good guys. They had a sliver of conscience that would step in and stop what had to be done.

Max did not.

He’d already taken stock of the situation, understood where RT and his crew stood. They were willing to protect Marissa at any cost. In any normal circumstance, Max might’ve reconsidered his options, but he didn’t fear what they would do to him. They wanted to be rid of Duchein as much as Max did.

Trace growled, his face close to Duchein’s. “That you’re a greedy fucking bastard. That you’re sellin’ confiscated guns, and when the media got a little too close to the truth, you panicked, taking out an innocent journalist and trying to kill Marissa. That sound about right?”

Duchein’s jaw clamped shut.

Smart bastard.

Of course, as Max expected, Trace continued, and he let him.

“So, during this war of yours for the past year, we lost one of our best agents, another took a bullet from one of your hired guns, and Marissa has lived through hell trying to hide from you. All because you wanted her silenced.”

Duchein’s eyes darted over to Max. “She knows too much. She can bring us all down.”

Exactly what Max had been anticipating. Duchein wasn’t going to go down alone, but Max had known that about him all along. One of the reasons Max had made sure to have eyes on Duchein since the stupid asshole had approached him in the beginning, offering his “services.” Duchein was fueled by greed and the need for power.

Max was not. He had both.

“Who’s us?” Max asked innocently.

“That’s bullshit. Don’t you dare pin this shit on me,” Duchein snapped.

Max heard the big guy—Z—relay instructions into his earpiece, and the door at the back of Max’s office opened. Never allowing an unknown to come from behind him, Max shifted so that his back was to the wall and so that Courtney was still behind him. It put him directly in line with Duchein’s profile. A perfect shot.

“Recognize him?” RT asked. “The guy used to work for you, right? But then you sent him to us. Asked him to try to get some inside information.”

It was the mole that the Sniper 1 boys had in their midst.

“Mr. Rhames, you have anything you wanna say?” RT asked.

“He’s the one I work for,” Isaac said.

Max rolled his eyes. These people. Seriously. Sure, the guy had a gun pointed at his head, but he seemed awfully eager to tell the truth. As though that was going to save him. Had it been someone in his own organization, the fucker would’ve already been buzzard food in one of Max’s many landfills.

“Bring the other one in,” RT insisted.

Max nodded at the guards near the door. Once the door was opened, Leyton joined them, holding their surprise visitor at gunpoint.

“Gotta name?” RT asked.

“That’s the guy from the mall,” Courtney commented from behind Max, her hand resting on his arm. “The one who tried to grab Marissa.”

“Barry Thompson,” the guy mumbled.

“Who do you work for, Mr. Thompson?” Max questioned. He already knew the answer to that, but he figured what the fuck. These people were in search of answers, he might as well help them out a little.

“This asshole,” Thompson declared, nodding toward Duchein.

“And what is it that you do for him?” RT asked.

“He hired me to snatch the girl.”

“Which girl?” Trace asked.

“Marissa Trexler. He told me that Mr. Adorite was blackmailing him and he had to produce the girl or he was as good as dead.”