Possess (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 1) (4 page)

M
axim

“
I
t’s been a long time
, friend,” Santo said three days later.

“It’s been a long time,” I replied, the urge to bury a sharp object in his neck making me clench my fists.

I’d wanted to kill Santo many, many times before, even before I had first found Senna, but I’d always stayed my hand. Because doing so before would have killed any chance I had of taking over the Syndicate, and later because keeping him in place had been expedient.

I was older now, even more disciplined, but the urge to kill him was still there. And I wasn’t entirely sure I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving in to it.

Every time I saw him, every thought of how close he had been to killing her, the awareness of the immeasurable pain he had brought to her, made it that much harder to get through this.

I focused my gaze on him, thought about my ultimate aim.

Senna was safe, and the Syndicate was powerful. I wouldn’t risk either of those things with no discernible upside, not yet anyway.

Santo would get what he had so richly earned, but I would be patient, unless he pushed me too far.

“I’m surprised you came here personally,” Santo said.

“And I’m
not
surprised that you’ve handled things so poorly that I had to,” I said.

Santo grimaced but didn’t say anything, that kind of restraint unusual for him. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had spent the years honing discipline.

But while I’d also learned to keep my thoughts to myself, not allowing body language or posture to give me away, Santo had not yet developed that skill.

I could see the anger in his face, knew that if he had the opportunity he would surely kill me like I wanted to kill him.

But he didn’t have that ability, couldn’t even attempt it without great risk to himself, and if nothing else, Santo was a coward. A vicious coward, but a coward nonetheless.

So there we sat, stuck in a stalemate that I would not tolerate for any longer than was necessary.

“We had an understanding, Maxim. This territory is mine, so why are you here?” Santos said, turning to the matter at hand.

“You had an understanding with the former leaders of the Syndicate. One that I extended as a sign of respect. That extension came with promises, and you’re not keeping up your end, Santo.”

The battle of a decade ago still loomed large in everyone’s memory.

I had systematically and methodically consolidated power inside of the Syndicate, but Santo, who had always been a favorite, his brutality and lack of remorse making him a useful instrument, had had his backers.

Much blood had been shed, many lives lost in the ensuing war, and the final terms had allowed Santo to retain some degree of power. I had built the Syndicate into an international powerhouse, while Santo’s influence was limited to a single state, but that he had any influence at all was an irritant.

The decision to allow him to retain his small territory had been based on the knowledge that Santo would fuck it up sooner or later, probably sooner.

To my surprise and complete disappointment, he’d kept it together for more than ten years, or more likely had selected talent that was smart enough to keep it together for him. There may have been one or two of his men who stayed with him out of loyalty, but I had no doubt fear played an outsized role in his ability to maintain his position. If I knew Santo—and I did—he had threatened all manner of pain to his men, those they loved, to retain their services. And I knew, as they did, he would keep those promises.

Things were different now, though. Santo had given me the opening I had been seeking for years. I wouldn’t rush this, risk losing this chance.

“You’re having issues, Santo,” I said.

“What concern of it is yours?” he replied.

“Your territory is in shambles. There have been five murders in the last two months.”

“Motherfuckers got what they deserved,” Santo said.

“Perhaps. I don’t care one way or the other, but you’ve been sloppy, bringing attention where there shouldn’t be any. That doesn’t escape my notice,” I said.

“Maxim, I think there’s been some misunderstanding,” he said.

“Enlighten me.”

“I think you think the Syndicate is in charge here. You’re mistaken.”

“Meaning?” I said, knowing where this conversation was headed. Santo’s mask was starting to slip, and I could see my presence here was enraging him.

“Meaning don’t fuck with me, Maxim.”

“Santo, that sounds very much like a threat,” I said.

“I wouldn’t threaten an old friend, but tread carefully,” he said.

“Careful, Santo,” I said.

“I could say the same to you. How’s your friend Senna? I still have the scar where that bitch scratched me,” he said.

I had expected this, thought I had prepared for it, but hearing her name in his voice set me on fire with rage.

Sergei rocketed out of his chair, but I lifted a hand, keeping my eyes on Santo until Sergei sat down. I stayed silent, watched as Santo grew more nervous. Then, finally, I spoke.

“If you utter her name or dare call her out of it, I will feed you your own tongue.” I didn’t raise my voice, made no motion, but even Sergei glanced at me, seemingly impressed by the menace that laced each word. I heard that menace too, but it didn’t even begin to convey the anger that now coursed through me.

Santo blanched, probably remembering well that I didn’t make idle threats.

Then I turned, walked away with Sergei at my side.

We got into the waiting car and Adrian pulled off.

“What the fuck was that?” Sergei said.

I looked at him. “You have to ask?”

“Yeah, I have to ask. You should have cut that fucker’s head off,” Sergei said.

I glanced at him with disgust, my own anger sapping away some of my patience.

“And you want to know why you’re not in charge of your own territory,” I said. This moment was again proving how right that decision had been.

“But he insulted Senna,” Sergei said.

“Should I feed
you
your tongue?” I snapped. I didn’t need Sergei to remind me of the insult, or how I should have responded to it.

“Sorry, Maxim,” Sergei said.

His apology didn’t placate me, couldn’t, not when I was still grappling with the anger at the insult to Senna, how I had done nothing about it.

“That’s part of the reason why you aren’t in charge,” I said. “If you say something, mean it. If you take issue with something I do, say so and prepare to deal with the consequences,” I said.

“Yeah. So why is Santo’s head still attached to his shoulders?” he said, changing the subject.

“For now, keeping Santo in place is beneficial. When it no longer is, I’ll handle him,” I said, nearly choking on the bitter words, the rationality of my choice not lessening my anger.

“And that shit about Senna? You’re going to let that stand?” he said.

The rage at Santo’s words rocked through me anew, but I bit it back.

“An empty threat, an attempt to rattle me. One that clearly worked on you,” I said.

“You’re fucking right it did. That piece of shit shouldn’t speak her name,” Sergei said.

“No, he shouldn’t, and he will be punished for that. But I won’t let Santo have me acting out of anger,” I said.

“Punished? How?” Sergei said.

“Adrian,” I said. He didn’t speak but met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “When you collect payments tonight, take one hundred percent,” I said.

Sergei raised a brow. “One hundred percent?”

“He’s getting off easy. Maybe he’ll remember to choose his words more carefully,” I said.

Sergei laughed. “Sneaky fucker,” he said.

I gave a brief smile but then went still and stayed silent. I wanted to seek some diversion, but there was none, because the only thing I could think about was her, about what I’d seen had meant. Unfamiliar anxiety ate at the back of my mind, and I knew that the only thing that would calm it was seeing her. Maybe seeing her would give that moment in the shower context, would convince me once and for all that whatever I thought I’d seen, I hadn’t, would allow us to go back to normal.

When I got to her room, I reached for the doorknob and turned it.

Stopped cold when I found the door locked.

I looked down at the offending portal, turned the knob again, disbelief morphing into anger when it still didn’t open.

She’d never done this, not once in ten years. I couldn’t believe she’d done it now. And I wouldn’t let it stand.

I leaned against the door and shouldered it open. My gaze landed on Senna, who sat holding a book with her legs folded under her. As she stared at me, she dropped the book and stood, her eyes never leaving me.

S
enna

I
t had been a long
, frustrating day, and looking at Maxim now, I knew it wasn’t over yet. I’d wanted to see him, had waited around to do so, but as the hours had passed, I’d become more and more self-conscious.

I hadn’t been able to shake the memory of being in the shower, bringing myself pleasure as I’d thought of him. That was enough to have me shaken, but it alone had not been the source of my self-consciousness. Even though I knew it wasn’t possible, I hadn’t been able to get the idea of Maxim listening, watching, out of my head.

Hadn’t wanted to.

And that had been enough to throw me off. Alone, in the dark of night, I could think of him that way, long for him, fantasize. But there was no room for that during the day. There was only room for the reality of what Maxim and I were. What we would never be.

So when those thoughts had lingered, refusing to stay consigned to their rightful place, I’d been thrown off and had retreated back to the safety of my room, the one place I could think of the man but not have to face him.

Or so I had thought.

I’d jumped up when Maxim entered, but stood still as he walked toward me, slow, calculating, ice-cold, and he didn’t stop until he stood close enough to touch me, huge, powerful, foreboding.

Maxim very often, almost always, actually, kept his emotions in check, made it impossible to understand or guess what he was thinking or feeling.

There was no question about what he was feeling now. He stepped toward me, his entire body radiating with anger. I backed away, twisted so I wasn’t facing him, needing to break his intense gaze.

He moved closer and stood behind me, his big body trapping me between him and the wall, his breath warm, rough against my skin. Though I didn’t look at him, I felt his eyes on me, knew that he would stand there for as long as it took for me to look at him.

After two long, tension-filled breaths, I did, saw how dark his eyes were with anger. When he moved closer, close enough that his lips almost brushed mine, I shivered.

He held my gaze, though, and I didn’t look away.

“No locked doors between us, Senna. Ever.”

The words came out a whisper, but I heard them, felt them, down to my very core. I should have moved away from that intensity, but I felt myself moving toward it, moving toward him, his warmth, his scent, the magnetic pull drawing me to him.

But when I blinked, he’d moved away from me. And after a long look, he stepped even further away and left.

S
enna

I
moved
through Maxim’s office and to the room he had converted into a gym and stopped in the threshold of the open door. His equipment was neatly laid out, the weights, jump rope, and punching post he favored, almost all of what was there.

He used them all, especially the punching post. In fact, his knuckles were scarred smooth from the repeated impact. I’d seen him punch it hundreds of times without flinching, seeming impervious to the pain, the sound of his hands hitting it making me wince, though it seemed to have no effect on him.

But as much as he may have it enjoyed it or the other equipment, more often than not, I found him as he was now, centered in the middle of the room, moving through his rotation of push-ups, slow and then fast.

His heavily muscled back was shiny with sweat, his tree-trunk legs unmoving.

I watched but didn’t speak.

I knew he’d heard me when I’d come in and also knew he wouldn’t speak until he was ready. But I stayed quiet for another, more selfish reason.

Seeing him like this, his powerful physique on display, still focused and controlled but a little wilder, almost like I’d imagined he’d be in the throes of passion, was something I treasured, being the singular object of that focus something I would give anything to experience.

With each motion, I could see the muscles in his broad back tighten, saw that same power in the bunching muscles of his biceps and triceps. Maxim was always a breathtaking sight, but never more so than when he was like this. To see him this way, get a small glimpse of the human he kept such a tight rein on, was one of the joys of my life.

Pathetic, I knew, but true all the same.

As I watched, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be like that with me as he made love to me.

But that wouldn’t happen.

Not ever.

Maxim didn’t look at me that way, never had, so I’d enjoy watching the sweat trickle down his back, the dampness of his dark hair making me want to go to him and touch it.

I wouldn’t, couldn’t, so I didn’t move from my spot, hoping he would take his time and let me enjoy more of this.

But, as if he was reading my thoughts, he finally acknowledged me. And did exactly the opposite of what I wanted.

“There,” he said as he continued to do push-ups.

He tilted his head toward the table beside him, and I went to it and spotted the small box there. I looked at the box, a heavy, lacquered cream rectangle and then pulled the ribbon to glimpse what was inside.

A small brooch shaped like a flower, the leaves, stem, and bloom encrusted with diamonds.

It would fit perfectly with the others, my garden of jeweled flowers, all given to me by him.

I smiled, thinking of how even on this day,
especially
on this day, this little glimpse of the Maxim that I cared for so deeply warmed and comforted me.

Maxim only gave me gifts on this date. Not Christmas, not my birthday, and certainly not just because. But on this day, the anniversary of the day everything had changed, he always gave me something.

“A flower for my flower,” he said, his voice heavy with his exertion.

He still didn’t look at me, but I smiled anyway, reminded anew that Maxim was one of the few who knew I shared my name with a flowering bush.

He always said that, and though his voice didn’t change, didn’t suggest that there was anything particularly meaningful about the words, I always welcomed them.

Which wasn’t to say Maxim wasn’t generous. He was, very, in fact. He’d taken care of all of my material needs and given me things I could have never dreamed of before I’d met him.

From the very first day he’d taken care of me, he gave me cash, credit cards, and let me buy whatever I wanted. He never picked anything for me himself and wasn’t the type to give trinkets and presents.

Except for today.

He always picked the flower out himself. Even five years ago when he’d been in the middle of a heated and bloody power struggle, he’d searched all of Bucharest until he’d found something he’d liked. I still had no idea why he went out of his way to do so, but just the thought of him doing so, the fact that he felt compelled to, always triggered the most pleasant warmth in my chest.

“Thank you, Maxim,” I said.

I didn’t say anything else, and ordinarily wouldn’t have waited for him to either.

This year I did. Stood there for long seconds, waiting as he continued to do his push-ups.

I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but when he didn’t look up, I left.

M
axim

I
heard
the door close softly behind her, but I continued with my push-ups, hadn’t looked at her once. I couldn’t because if I had looked at her, I would remember the sound of my name on her lips as she’d cried out, remember the shadow of her body through the fogged shower glass as she’d touched herself. I couldn’t think of that, had to forget it happened.

And I shouldn’t have given her the stupid flower.

It was a silly tradition, a meaningless indulgence, but I did it every year, and this year would be no different.

Because if I hadn’t given it to her, it would have been an acknowledgment, however minor, that what I had seen meant something, might lead me down the road of thinking I could have her. And that couldn’t be. Senna stayed with me for reasons I couldn’t really understand, and I treasured that. But it was nothing more.

I continued my push-ups as if the movement would make me believe the words, moving faster and faster until my arms gave out.

This was exactly why I should have left her to her fate in that small bathroom so long ago, why I should have been stronger over the years and sent her away. I maintained my distance, managed to keep my need for her from even myself, but doing so had only gotten harder, and might now be impossible after what I’d seen and heard.

When I looked at her now, I saw my little flower, the girl who had stared up at me with teary, brave eyes. Saw the woman who had been with me through all these years, as close to a companion as I had ever had and ever would.

But now things were different. Because I saw those things, remembered all those things, and now longed for something more.

Senna’s understated beauty had always been a given, as much a part of her as everything else. I’d noticed it, but abstractly before. It was no longer abstract. After what I’d seen, looking at her now touched me, threatened to shake something loose.

I had no time for it, no capacity to deal with it.

I had dedicated myself to the Syndicate. It was my life’s work, my only focus, and there was room for nothing else.

Yet, when I looked at Senna now, I wanted more. I wanted her. Completely, fully. I wanted everything.

But wanting was weakness, and weakness was death.

I started doing push-ups again.