An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (12 page)

Her head tilted at
that
angle. The one that let him know his head was about to start bleeding from banging it on those bricks. “It just will,” she insisted. “So let’s move on, okay?”

“You certainly enjoy your control, don’t you, princess?” he observed as he settled in.

She glanced at him and then away. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

“Sure.”

Fiddling with the key fob for her car, her attention went to the chain-link fence that divided her alley from the neighboring one. “If you really want to know, it’s not so much that I enjoy it—I’ve just gotten used to it. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to hand this over to you. I’m not used to others doing things for me.”

Maksim barely dared breathe. She was offering him a glimpse into who she was. Giving him information. His ears practically separated from his head.

“At the beach you mentioned coming to New York when you were seventeen. Were you on your own?”

Her lip went between her teeth, and he could see she was debating whether to answer him or not.

She nodded once.

He nearly shit. She’d left home and moved to the other side of the world when she was only
seventeen
?
By herself?
“Why?” His voice came out hushed. He didn’t want to spook her into sidestepping back behind that monstrous shield she called silence.

“Because my parents made it impossible for me to stay with them.”

Questions crowded his mind so quickly he wasn’t sure which to voice first. But before he could ask even one, a high-pitched voice gave a muffled shriek.

“He’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die!”

Maks looked around. “What the fuck was that?”

Sydney chuckled. “My text tone.” She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her black sweater-coat and waved it. “I like my minions,” she murmured as she read. “I have to get upstairs. One of my servers needs to speak to me about something personal before her shift.”

What? No!
He wanted to shout. He had questions he needed answered. The first being what the hell was a minion? “Fuck tha—”

His own phone went off, and he rattled off a few curses in Russian as he snatched it from the console. It was a text from Vasily asking for his presence at a meeting he’d mentioned earlier in the day. Lucian and Gheorghe Fane would be arriving at Rapture in the next thirty minutes.
Shit.

“Okay,” he said. “If I have time later, I’ll drop in and we can have a drink. Keep a booth open that’s highly visible.”

She nodded and ducked her head, becoming cautious in the same way she had last night when it had been time for them to part on the sidewalk in front of her club. He’d held her in his arms and told her dirty jokes until she’d broken and giggled so that it looked to anyone watching that they were enjoying each other’s company.

“Fine. Stay there.”

She slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder and pocketed her phone before getting out of the SUV. He watched her walk around the hood and come up to his side. Man, did she know how to move that body. A hum sounded when he pressed the button to lower the window.

“How many men have been up to your loft in the two years since you’ve had it? And before you refuse to answer,” he cut in when she opened her mouth, “this would be one of those questions you’re not allowed to evade.”

She took a moment, looking as though she was counting in her head. Her tongue tapped on the inside of her top teeth, reminding him of the night they’d first met. “Thirteen. Eleven of them in the last month.”

He blinked and felt the monsters inside him release a portion of their darkness. The shit ravaged him when it shouldn’t have. “Eleven? In a month?” he spat.

“Uh-huh.” She smirked. “I had the hardwood redone, and to make things move along they sent two teams in at the same time. We’re talking almost four thousand square feet, you know. Big job.”

The darkness receded. “You’re a brat.”

“I know.” She came up, and he received a blast of her deep-forest scent when she stuck her head into the SUV. If anyone was watching, it would have looked as though she were kissing him. She wasn’t.

“I have a complaint about dating you,” she said, the sweetness of her breath drifting over his jaw.

“Already?”

“Uh-huh. You don’t feed me. Now I have to go up and cook something.” She blew a light puff of air into his face and hopped down. “See you later, boyfriend,” she said quietly before heading for the door that led to her loft. It was shortly after eight, so they both had a couple of hours before their respective clubs opened.

“I see panty lines,” he called, just to prove he was a degenerate.

She flipped him the bird before the steel door slammed shut behind her.

CHAPTER 6

“You should not be smiling,” Sydney muttered to herself as she punched in the code to reset the alarm. She skipped up the stairs and let herself into the loft, punching numbers once again into the pad next to the coatrack.

“Andrew?”

Two pairs of shoes that didn’t belong to her or her son were lying haphazardly on the welcome mat.

“Hey, Mom.”

She shrugged out of her sweater-jacket and hung it up while kicking her boots off. Remembering to grab her phone from her pocket, she went inside to call her server. The one that didn’t exist who supposedly needed to discuss that personal problem that also didn’t exist before a shift that, yep, didn’t exist. She’d felt bad for lying to Maksim about the text, but she hadn’t had much of a choice. For now, he was calling the shots. When he asked her something, she had to tell him. Little portions of her past she didn’t mind parting with. All of it? No. And she knew him well enough to know the more details she gave up, the more details he’d want. So the minute she’d gotten Andrew’s text telling her his friends were leaving soon, she’d said what she’d had to in order to get out of the confines of that vehicle that had smelled overpoweringly like its owner. Maksim had needed to be gone before he witnessed two teenagers leaving her loft.

Plus—naturally there was a plus she couldn’t deny—sitting down there, she’d been affected. Spending time with Maksim, she was coming to see, wasn’t completely awful. Some of what he made her do was unnecessary; she was sure. He’d told her to put her hand inside his coat tonight.
Show me again how sharp those nails are
, he’d drawled. She’d refused, and he’d smirked at her, proving she didn’t have to obey
everything
he said. He was entertaining and funny. So funny in that way few naturally were. Especially as they’d people-watched. The random comments he’d made had had her giggling like a teenager with her first crush.

That had felt good. Too good.

Also bringing up the dial on his attraction meter—cliché or not, it had worked on her—had been the generous donations he’d dropped into the hat or tattered paper cup of every homeless person they’d passed. One sleeping teenage boy had gotten a few bills tucked into his hood from the roll Maksim kept in his pocket. Those weren’t small denominations.

Do you carry that instead of a debit card because you think it makes you look all gangster or something?
She hadn’t been able to keep a straight face, so it had been obvious when he’d looked down at her that she was teasing.

He’d chuckled.
Nah. If I want to look gangster, I’d flash one of my guns. Or better yet, the machete I keep strapped to my back.

She’d rolled her eyes at his wink and thought, sure, because men in the mafia wore short swords on their person. She did believe he carried a gun, though.

Flopping onto the couch next to her son, Sydney shoved her Russian from her mind—didn’t even move on to learning that Eberto had been following them because she’d decided not to make herself crazy with worry until Andrew went to sleep—and asked the kids how their evening had gone. She listened to stories of their game play, who had beaten who harder and who had let the other win, until it was time for Daniel and Heyden to go home. She walked down with them, making sure Maksim’s vehicle was gone, and waved to Heyden’s mom—who’d clearly just finished her shift because she was still wearing her nurse’s uniform—before resetting the alarms and coming up to fix Andrew a light snack. She ate, too, not having lied about being hungry, and before long it was bedtime for Andrew and work for her.

Once more, because she’d been ordered not to linger on the club floor, Sydney found herself roaming her office, studying her monitors, watching with a special interest the ones that showed the front and back entrances to the club. Any minute she expected one of her staff members to call her down because she had a visitor. None came. Not even Maksim for that “drink in a visible booth.” After closing up shop at the end of the night without incident, she got Andrew off to school on time and then went to bed, feeling almost optimistic. She even slept soundly enough so that when Maksim’s text came midafternoon, she handled it like a pro.

Dinner at seven. Look sexy.

She rolled her eyes even though she was sitting at her breakfast bar alone. Her phone buzzed again, and she hit the screen to turn it back on because it had just flashed off. This message was from Andrew.

Daniel asked me over for a sleepover. Can I? It’s Friday.

Not an unusual request since the group of them had sleepovers all the time. She texted her son back first, telling him it was okay but that he had to call her when he got out of class. After she received an okay back from him, she then texted Maksim.

7:00 is fine. But I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Which one?

She felt too edgy having him come here, even if in the alley, without Andrew home as a chaperone.
How pathetic is that?
she thought as her alert went off.

I’ll pick you up.

Her mouth twisted. “Stubborn man,” she muttered, typing again.

I’m going to be out, so it will be easier to meet you.

She tapped her nails on the side of her favorite mug as she waited for a response.

Out where, lover?

Dammit.
Now she had to go out. She thought for a moment and then shrugged.

Shopping, darling. Where else?

She drained the last of her tea and read his response.

Not that I wasn’t fully aware before, but you are all woman. Be at Apetito by seven sharp. Make it count when you greet me.

She nearly spit what was in her mouth at the screen. Make her greeting count? What did that mean? He wanted her to climb into his lap in the middle of a restaurant and purr? For goodness’ sake, the man was ridiculous. She disregarded her quickened pulse at his “all woman” remark.

She texted back a thumbs-up emoticon and went to shower and decide what to wear.

At seven o’clock, following orders, Sydney found herself handing her car keys over to the valet at Apetito so she could meet her Russian mobster for dinner at an exclusive restaurant she’d never thought to enter. How was this helping her? She had to wonder. How would eating among the snobby upper crust of society protect her and Andrew from a drug dealer she couldn’t see coming anywhere near this place?

She didn’t see how it could. But it was certainly doing a great job of making her feel as though she were on her first real date in years. Their first evening out, she’d been too deep in worry to allow for anything but settling into her role. Last night had been better, but it had simply been a walk in the park—one she’d enjoyed. Right now? She couldn’t deny the anticipation and nerves thrumming through her as she handed her wrap to the woman in the entrance.
So much for the pep talk last night
, she thought mockingly.

This man has slept with more women than you’ve ever known personally
, she reminded herself, adding,
and he’s a freaking organized crime figure that can get you and Andrew killed in a situation as innocent as standing on a sidewalk chatting.

Smiling pleasantly at the host, Sydney finally felt her anticipation flee.
Good.
If that’s what it took, then those were the things she’d remember. As often as needed. Regardless of the back burner Maksim had spoken of, she could not weaken in the interim. She’d be fair game by the time this all played out if she allowed him to get to her. Ripe for the picking. Again,
if
she allowed herself to be charmed by him.
If
she allowed herself to get to know him as a person, rather than keeping him in that little slot labeled “Dangerous Materials.”

Dangerous, mouthwatering, tempting materials
, she thought, turning the words into curses in her head when she spotted her Russian on a raised platform across the crowded, softly lit room. The chill of the evening left her, and she found herself glad the material of her dress was thick enough to hide her hardening nipples. She ground her teeth through a shiver, tipped her chin up, and followed the host after motioning to whom she was meeting.

Maksim’s silver eyes followed her every move, his expression becoming more and more predatory the closer she got. He stood when she reached the small table, and she only vaguely noted his bodyguard—Micha, he’d introduced him as—and another man she hadn’t seen before, sitting at a table not far away. That must be awkward when making reservations.

It was too bad that she didn’t have to force her body to relax when Maksim slid an arm around her waist to pull her against him.

“So naturally beautiful, you,” he whispered as he bent to kiss the pulse at the base of her throat.

Her hands gripped his shoulders when her knees weakened.

“Don’t forget, role-playing. Eyes are everywhere,” he informed her as he straightened. His words hit her like a runaway bus, bringing with them a reminder of why they were here. “Get that fear out of your eyes, Sydney. Just follow my lead, and it’ll be fine.”

He released her and held out her chair, waiting until she stiffly sat before going around and taking his own. She wanted to ask if he knew for sure someone was watching them and who it was, but before she could, a waiter appeared with a bottle of white wine, presenting it with a flourish. Maksim nodded his dark head and held a hand out.

“Oh, but, sir, I would be pleased to open it for you
. . .
?”

Maksim shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it from here.”

Eyes darting around, as though expecting to get yelled at, the waiter quickly handed it over with the bottle opener and left. The cork was popped, the wine poured, and she was handed a glass. She took a much-needed gulp before Maksim could do something as cheesy—romantic—as make a toast. She could see him watching her with a discerning look, which had her trying to gain that air of distance she’d perfected when she was only fourteen and sitting at a table she wasn’t allowed to leave even though she was being ignored by all the adults.

She met that intent silver gaze of his and could tell he knew she was floundering. She took another drink and tried not to wonder what kind of kisser he was—languid and coaxing, firm and demanding—all the while trying desperately not to fall into his trap. When she was around him she felt she was constantly jerking back on the reins of her libido—one that had awakened with a vengeance the day they’d met and had yet to go back to sleep. It badly wanted what he’d already given to so many others. It didn’t care about all the reasons it shouldn’t. Didn’t care that he was a dangerous organized crime figure. That many things he did throughout his day were likely illegal. Her fluttering stomach didn’t care that his activities might also be immoral. For all she knew he was a pimp.

“Do you know many prostitutes?” she blurted, forcing her attention to remain at their table rather than allowing it to roam the room in search of someone with opera specs trained on them.

“A few.”

She balked and became more determined than ever to fight her attraction.

“I consider a good many of my associates’ wives prostitutes because they married for the money and house rather than any feelings they might have for the man supplying the lifestyle. That’s the worst form of prostitution. Don’t you think? At least the men and women you see on the street are honest about it. And I don’t have any on my payroll, if that’s what you were really asking.”

“Sorry.” She looked around at the cozy tables for two and spacious booths for larger parties. Had to—it was the lesser of two evils, after all. “I was thinking about you—I mean, about what you do for a living—and was curious but didn’t think it polite to ask if you were a pimp. Or manager, or whatever it is they call it these days.”

“Sydney.” Setting down his glass, he picked up her left hand. “You have to relax, lover. Just play your role. You’ve been doing well so far. Why are you feeling off balance tonight?”

Her focus came back to him, and she lost her breath when he smiled across at her.
I really should have gone to Gabriel Moretti for help rather than this temptation.
Her teeth gnashed together as she shook her head. “Things seem
. . .
different tonight,” she said honestly.

“They’re not. You’re in love with me, of course. Can’t get enough of my body. Would do anything, anywhere, blah, blah, blah. You know, the usual.” He winked, seeming unaffected by what he’d just said. But then, why wouldn’t he be? It was his shtick. She was at odds because this,
all
of this, was unfamiliar to her. From the criminal activity to the make-like-we’re-lovers.

“The usual. Yes, of course,” she muttered, raising her glass to her lips once more.

His thumb running over her inner wrist had her practically dropping the fine crystal rather than placing it back on the table. “Tell me about this,” he said, lifting her hand and running his nose across the elephant/Andrew tattoo on her wrist.

“It’s a tattoo,” she said in a tone snootier than she’d used with him in days.

“Is that so?” he said dryly. “What does it mean to you?”

“That’s private. Tell me about your tattoos,” she forced herself to demand as she tried to pull herself from the moment. He needed to stop what he was doing with his thumb.

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and a calculating light entered his eyes before he came at her with both barrels. “For all anyone in this fucking place knows, we walked in separately for modesty’s sake. I could have taken you in the car on the way here. You could have taken me, ridden me like the stallion I am. Or you could have interrupted my shave an hour ago by sliding up on the bathroom counter between me and the mirror to tempt me with a smooth shave of your own.”

She gulped. “Maksim
. . .
”

“I could have had you in our breakfast nook this morning, or maybe at lunch. Right on the table because you’re my favorite thing to eat.”