Possess (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 1) (2 page)

M
axim

T
he SUV came
to a stop in front of the squat little storefront. I took in the surroundings quickly, pleased with the location. The small commercial space was located in the worst spot in the shopping center. A few other businesses operated, all Syndicate-owned, though that was not apparent to the naked eye. The place gave a feeling of a functioning if not particularly popular shopping center, which meant the incoming and outgoing traffic wouldn’t garner attention.

“Maxim.”

I turned at the sound of my name and nodded at Sergei, who stood in the storefront doorway. He was slouched, looking easy, almost carefree, but I saw how he stood at the ready, eyes searching the surroundings, though his face was still set in his trademark smile, his stance loose, easy. I moved toward him, thinking of how he’d been a scrawny, short kid when we’d first met.

He’d grown up now, at least physically. Whether his mentality and business acumen had as well was yet to be seen. Sergei led me inside, and when we stood in the small yet tidy office, he turned to face me.

“It wasn’t necessary for you to come all this way, Maxim. I can handle this,” Sergei said.

“If you could handle it, it would be handled,” I said.

Sergei continued to hold my gaze, his eyes darkening, some of the looseness in his smile dampening, but he didn’t disagree.

He couldn’t.

I liked Sergei, saw talent, but he was still young, not experienced enough to handle Santo Carmelli.

Even if I had trusted him to do so, I would still be here. I had more than a passing interest in the matter.

After a moment, Sergei nodded, signaling his acceptance of the current situation. I knew he hadn’t given up, though, wouldn’t have respected him if he had. We’d be discussing this again. For now, Sergei said, “Want me to set up a meet?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “By now Santo knows I’m here, but he doesn’t know why. I’m content to let him sweat.”

Sergei huffed. “He will. Santo’s paranoid as fuck.”

“As we all should be,” I replied.

“Right. So, is Senna here?” Sergei asked.

“What’s your interest?” I asked, my voice not changing. I tensed, though, not sure what interest Sergei had in her, not at all pleased that he had any interest in her at all. I’d overlooked Sergei’s tendency to seek Senna out, ask about her, but she had no role in our business, and Sergei needed to remember that.

“We’re friends, Maxim. You know, friends?” he said.

“No. I don’t know,” I replied flatly, keeping the rising anger out of my voice. I didn’t have friends, and I wasn’t certain how I felt about Sergei counting Senna among his.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to,” he said, a smile lifting his lips.

“Do you need a reminder?” I asked, anger increasing the longer I allowed myself to think about his relationship with Senna.

Sergei lifted his hands in surrender, his easy smile spreading across his face. “Chill out, Maxim. Sorry. No offense intended,” he said.

Though he was apologizing, Sergei’s eye held a mischievous gleam, one that suggested he well knew the direction my thoughts had taken. That shouldn’t have been a surprise. Sergei had been a part of the Syndicate for years and had worked more closely with me than most. Still, I didn’t enjoy the idea he might have such insight into my thoughts.

“Keep your ears and eyes open, but do nothing,” I said, turning back to the business at hand.

Sergei’s smile was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “I have someone on Santo and two of his guys twenty-four-seven,” he said, showing some of the intelligence and acumen that made up, but only barely, for his other, more grating characteristics.

I nodded and then turned and left. As trying as Sergei could be, and he was, I wasn’t entirely focused on him. He was eager to move up in the Syndicate, craved more responsibility, and that ambition would serve him well, assuming he didn’t push me or someone else into killing him first.

Despite his talents, he still needed time to mature, and I had limited patience. It would have been easier if Sergei was responsible for the tight anger I had to keep at bay.

He was, but only indirectly. His behavior was irritating, but nothing more than that. But his mention of Senna, my reaction to it, was of much more concern.

Of course Senna was with me. She was always with me.

I had tried to be without her before, had thought maybe I could leave her somewhere and drop in occasionally.

I had failed miserably.

Those first months, I’d made plans, told myself that when the time came, it would be easy enough to stash her away and get back to business. But it hadn’t been. The day I had planned to leave, I’d prepared, her watching me as I’d readied myself. I’d taken two steps and then turned to stand in front of her.

“Gather your things,” I’d said before I stopped to think about why.

Now, I didn’t even indulge the pretense that she should be anywhere but with me.

Sergei knew that, everyone knew that. Senna’s presence wherever I went was a given, as predictable as the rising sun. Which made it—her—a liability, and liabilities were dangerous.

But I could handle danger.

What I couldn’t handle was Senna’s hold on me, whatever it was about her that made me act counter to all reason. Nor could I handle the little voice that whispered questions about her closeness with Sergei.

In many ways, Senna was my opposite. She had a deftness with people that made them like her, care about her, an affection she genuinely returned.

With everyone except me.

I hadn’t let many close to me, and by extension her, but over the years, I’d seen it happen. Senna would find some point of commonality, build a bond with the hardest of men, one that would endure years of separation and pick up again immediately.

With me, though, it was never like that.

I never sensed the gentleness she used with Adrian, the easy fun between her and Sergei, the mutual respect she shared with Priest.

There was always something between us, rough edges that were always there just under the surface, not acknowledged by either of us, but still ever-present.

I suspected I knew what it was on my part, but I didn’t know what it was on hers.

Suddenly, I was anxious to see her and felt an incredible relief when the car rolled to a stop in front of our accommodations. I delayed, though, and instead checked the working quarters and made sure they were secured to my liking. Only then, after I had gathered myself, did I go up to the next floor.

I followed my nose and came upon her in the kitchen I had had added for her. I cared nothing for things, but I insisted on the best of everything for Senna, though she’d never once asked anything of me. She moved around the smallish kitchen, seemingly unaware of me, though with Senna, I couldn’t always tell. She was one of the few people I couldn’t read immediately. I watched her, something I’d done for a decade now. Something I had never tired of.

She was short, barely came up to the middle of my chest. When I’d first found her, her face had been round, plump with the youthfulness she hadn’t then outgrown. Now, though, while her face was still round, it had matured, her dark brown skin still smooth and unlined as it had been back then, but her features sharper.

I let my gaze drop to her shoulders, then lower, over the more-than-full curve of her breasts, the even fuller curve of her hips. I’d been with beautiful women, women whose looks far outshined Senna’s sweet, quiet prettiness, but I had never craved the sight of anyone the way I did her.

Countless times, I had beaten back the urge to hug her closer, fill my arms with her full yet small body, wanting to know once and for all if she was as soft as she seemed, wanting to know if she would be a perfect fit like I imagined.

I never had, though. Not once had I given in to the desire to hold her.

At first, I’d agonized over why I had discarded everything I knew and believed and let her live. I’d never understood why I’d done so, why I continued to every day. I didn’t agonize anymore. I’d accepted I might not ever understand the why, so I no longer bothered with the question.

All that mattered now was that Senna was my beating heart.

I never told her that, never showed it, but I accepted it as true.

I didn’t know what she felt for me, if she felt anything at all, but I didn’t care.

Senna was oxygen, my breath, my life. Not seeing her would surely end me, and I wouldn’t risk being without her long enough to try.

She turned, looked at me, seeming to finally notice my presence as she lifted her lips in a soft smile.

“Hello, little flower,” I said.

I could remember when I had first called her that, how I had watched her for some protest, some reaction, but there had been none. She hadn’t protested, she hadn’t shown any reaction at all. More than once I had considered not calling her that anymore, but I loved the way those words rolled off my tongue, the way I felt when I said them, so the name was one that had stuck.

“Hello, Maxim,” she said.

It was a common thing, the way Senna always said hello and good-bye and please and thank you, something I had picked up from her, at least the greeting aspect anyway. It was sweet, funny, one of those fascinating things about her in the list of things that I found endlessly fascinating.

“I made dinner,” she said.

I sat, and she walked toward me with two plates.

I didn’t ask what it was and didn’t care.

Over the years I had shed almost everything of the crucible that had been my childhood. I was a lifetime removed from the hunger, the desperation that hunger brought, but I still valued every meal and wasn’t picky.

I finished quickly and then watched Senna as she ate.

She glanced at me, furtively, a sign that something was on her mind.

This was a new development. Senna was seldom furtive and had always been far more direct than the circumstances should have allowed.

I knew the source of this furtiveness, though.

“You don’t like being here,” I said.

She paused, her fork dangling from her fingers in midair. Senna recovered quickly, took another bite.

“No. Not really,” she said.

“Do you want to leave?” I asked.

I hated myself for the words, but I couldn’t help them. I did this sometimes, gave her little tests, though I often wasn’t aware of what I was doing until after I’d said the words.

“What if I say I do?” she said, her eyes dark but giving me no hint of how she was feeling or what she was thinking.

“I’ll tell you that I’m sorry, but you have to stay,” I said.

She didn’t respond but continued to eat dinner. I thought on that dynamic, wondered what would happen the day she finally did say she wanted to leave.

I’d been waiting on that day for ten years now, certain that it would come. It hadn’t, though. I’d never told her she had to stay, but she’d never asked if she could leave. Had never even hinted at it.

Which was for the best. Because I’d never intended Senna to be my prisoner, had never treated her as such, but I didn’t trust myself to let her go.

I stood and walked toward the door, but I lingered for a moment, resisting, but just barely, the sudden desire to touch her shoulder. I kept my hand at my side, though, wouldn’t give in to the new and strong impulse no matter how much I wanted to.

“Thank you for dinner, little flower,” I said.

She turned, lifted her eyes to me, and give me a slight smile. I stared at it, watching the slight upward curve of her full, soft lips. Seeing her like this, having her near me, was the only reminder I had that there was a world outside of the Syndicate. That there were good people, people who deserved protection.

People like her.

Despite my earlier decision not to, I lifted my hand and grazed my fingers against her shoulder.

Her smile deepened. “You’re welcome, Maxim.”

S
enna

I
hadn’t seen
Maxim for several days, but I wasn’t worried. Adrian would have told me if there was something to be concerned about. So I ignored the lingering discomfort that knowing Santo was near brought and busied myself with getting us settled in. It seemed we would be here for a while, so I wanted to make sure Maxim was as comfortable as possible.

Like many things between us, this pattern was unspoken but expected, and I welcomed the calm of the process. It gave me something to do, and gave me some fulfillment. I treasured being able to care for Maxim, loved the chance to coddle him in this small way.

If I’d ever said so out loud, he would have put a stop to it, so I kept my mouth closed and just did the little things that brought me such joy.

This morning I was getting his office in order and had lined up supplies neatly. At first glance, this space could have been any CEO’s office. It was only with a second look that the differences would become apparent.

There was no phone, no computer. Though I always kept his office stocked with fresh notepads, he seldom wrote and never anything of consequence. Too risky, he’d told me once. Maxim kept his business entirely in his head.

Still, despite his quirks, the peculiarities that had taken time to get used to, with him, in these places, was where I was comfortable. My home, such as it was.

In the early afternoon, I stopped and turned at the sound of a deep-voiced, “Hello.”

I dropped the stack of blank stationery I had been arranging atop Maxim’s desk and rushed over to where the visitor stood.

“Sergei!” I said.

“Senna!” he said, reaching out to hug me. He then swooped me off the ground and swung me around as I laughed.

“What’s it been? Two years?” he asked.

“Three,” I replied.

“Too long,” he said, setting me down, though he kept his arm around my waist.

“Looks like this warm weather agrees with you,” I said.

“We all go where the boss sends us,” he said calmly, though I could see the humor in his eyes.

One could look at Sergei and assume he was some easygoing, slick playboy and nothing more. They would be mistaken.

Sergei, like Adrian—like Maxim, who had taught them all—was very good at what he did, despite what his outward appearance would have suggested.

He wouldn’t have survived this long if he wasn’t. Nor would he have garnered Maxim’s personal attention, but he had, moving up from a low position to an increasing amount of standing in the Syndicate.

Or at least I assumed so. None of them ever discussed specifics with me, but I’d been around long enough to piece it together.

There had been others like Sergei, those Maxim had seen potential in. Most of whom hadn’t lived up to that potential for some reason or another. Those men would come, then go again just as quickly, and I’d never see them again. I liked Sergei, though, was glad he was still around.

I patted his shoulder. “I don’t know if what you’re wearing is protocol,” I said, looking down at Sergei’s tight T-shirt and cargo pants.

“Shh. It will be our little secret,” he said, eyes twinkling at me mischievously.

“What is this about keeping secrets?” Maxim said as he entered, his gaze lingering on me before he looked at Sergei.

I stepped away from Sergei quickly, for some reason feeling like I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been. Sergei stood a little taller too, though he still maintained his calm, easy demeanor.

Maxim look at me again and then walked to his desk.

Sergei followed and stood in front of the desk.

I stayed exactly where I was.

Maxim did this sometimes, most often when he was displeased for one reason or another. He’d get even more distant, cold, and would try to use that silence and coldness to send me messages. Sometimes, I’d accept his silence, but other times I didn’t, feigned ignorance until he said out loud what he wanted.

Petty victories, perhaps, but victories nonetheless, and I was in the mood for one of those victories today, so I continued to stay put.

He glanced at me after a long minute, a flash of annoyance in his eyes.

“Leave, Senna,” he said.

“We’ll catch up, Se,” Sergei said.

Maxim’s scowl deepened for the briefest moment, but he soon cleared it, and after a few additional seconds, I left.

His command hadn’t been friendly, probably shouldn’t have been tolerated, but I knew what that meant to him. Maxim was accustomed to having people follow his every order, even the unspoken ones, so that he’d said the words was a victory in itself.

I went upstairs, smiled as I moved, thinking of this. My relationship with Maxim was a mystery to me. It was never warm, sometimes bordered on hostile, little skirmishes sometimes a part of the silent and sometimes very cold war.

And yet…

There was tenderness too, something like affection between us, comfort that had grown over the years. Perhaps I was reading things into it, examining Maxim’s so-often-distant behavior and trying to put borders around it, but there was something.

There had to be.

My feelings were understandable. I owed Maxim my life. Trusted him with it every day, and felt completely safe and secure with him, so it made sense I’d want that feeling as much as I could.

Understandable, but not the sum of it.

I craved him, his company, his quirks, his attention. Lived for the moments when I saw more of him, when I could let myself believe that I understood him in a way that no one else did.

Was there something more to it for him than simple pity, or maybe the novelty, though that should have long run out, of having me around?

I didn’t know, and I had always been afraid to ask.

Because Maxim would tell me the truth, and that truth had the ability to devastate.

So I stayed here in this stasis, the one where I pretended that this life we lived, the insulated world we had created, was enough.