He spilled out onto the back of the property. He’d forgotten how expansive it was. How quiet. Situated ten miles outside the city, it sat on nearly a hundred acres of desert terrain that featured hills for hiking and several streams. It was the perfect location — not another house in sight, the glow of their city at night still visible in the distance.
It had been easy to imagine the broken windows newly replaced, soft yellow light glowing from the other side. In his vision, all the dead brush was cleared away, bougainvillea climbing in bursts of color on trellises around the house. He could hear a fountain bubbling somewhere in the courtyard, a backdrop to the laughter of children.
In his mind’s eye, the house had been filled with old furniture, the wood glowing in the sunlight slanting in through soaring windows, and the massive fireplace in the living room had been restored, warming the cold desert night, the house filled with laughter and love and life.
He cursed, turning away from the house and scanning the back of the property, the trails leading through brush toward the mountains in the distance. They were far enough outside the city that he caught the scent of sage and eucalyptus in the hot, still air, smelled the hint of all the wild things in the desert beyond the property. It would be October soon, and he could already see the land shining with the uniquely golden light of autumn.
The property had nothing to do with his sudden reluctance.
That was all Jason.
Abby was devastated by the loss of her little house, but she’d barely been able to go back long enough to pick through the rubble, searching for old photos and mementos, for anything that could be salvaged. Max had breached the subject of rebuilding it several times, but Abby hadn’t wanted to talk about it. They were both still learning to talk about the darkness that lurked in their souls, but he had a feeling this particular refusal had something to do with the taint of Jason.
The house had been her refuge. It had been shabby and outdated when she’d bought it — a folly, Max had thought at the time. But little by little, she’d stripped off all the ugliest parts of its past, restoring it to its original shine.
She’d come back to life renovating that house, had come into her own, grown stronger and more confident with every day spent hauling debris to the dumpster that had taken up residence in her driveway for an entire month, with every bruise and scratch earned during the work she learned to do by reading articles and watching videos online.
It had been all hers until the day Jason had sent Bruce Frazier to light it on fire.
And the fire was the least of Jason’s violations. It was the fact that Frazier had been in Abby’s house, in her domain, in the moments before he’d lit the match to the gasoline he’d poured in the kitchen and living room while Abby had been upstairs.
In that moment, the house had been tainted forever.
Max had started looking for other houses a month after the fire, when it had become obvious Abby would never be truly comfortable in the old house again. It didn’t matter that it would have to be almost entirely rebuilt, that any house replacing the old one would essentially be a new structure.
It would never be the same for her.
So Max had entered every fixer-upper and hovel around the city, looking for one that whispered Abby’s name.
This was it. This was the one.
But Jason had ruined that too. Max had committed himself to hunting Jason for the rest of his life if necessary, but he hadn’t expected him to walk back into Vegas, bold as ever, like a king reclaiming his throne.
Now buying the house felt like a jinx. Like Max would be daring the universe to upend his plans to marry Abby, to build a life with her in the town they both called home.
Would she even want to stay if Jason stayed too?
Would Max?
It was hard to imagine an eventuality where Jason would be able to walk away from the shooting at the Tangier. Nico and Max had been witness to Jason’s killing of Fredo DeLuca and his guard, and while they weren’t exactly eager to cooperate with the FBI, neither was Max willing to let Jason walk.
His Board of Directors couldn’t be eager to have him back at the helm after everything that happened. They might accept his return in the short-term, but Max was willing to bet they were already looking for someone to stage a hostile takeover of the company.
And yet if anyone could find a way out of the situation, it was Jason. He had an uncanny knack for finding opportunity, for taking the smallest advantage and turning it into a game-changer. He’d done it by being friends with Max, by taking advantage of the mentorship offered by Max’s father, by stealing Cartwright Holdings and using it as collateral for the lines of credit he’d needed to start his own company.
It wasn’t as far-fetched as it should have been to imagine Jason surviving the current crisis.
Which brought Max back to the house.
He turned away from the fields and looked up at the faded exterior. If worst came to worst, he could resell it, but it still felt like a moment of truth. If he bought it, it would be a commitment to a future for him and Abby in Vegas, a claim staked on their town and their lives together in it.
His resolve hardened. He didn’t know what the future held, but he refused to make decisions about his future with Abby with Jason in mind. He wouldn’t give Jason that power over them. They were in control of their lives. They always had been, and he’d be damned if Jason was the one to change it.
He headed for the side of the house and made his way toward the front. He didn’t need to look anymore, didn’t need to think about it.
“Are there any questions I can answer, Mr. Cartwright?” Concern for a potential lost sale was written all over poor Zach’s face. “Anything I can do to put your mind at ease before we make an offer?”
“Yeah.” Max stalked toward him. “You can get me a pen.”
Five
Abby was putting the finishing touches on a platter of olives, cheese, farm-fresh radishes, and pickled vegetables when the doorbell rang. She glanced up at Max, who had been pacing back and forth between the living room and the kitchen for the past half hour.
He was wearing dark jeans just tight enough to give her a hint of his muscled thighs and the significant bulge between them. His gray button-down pulled around his biceps and hugged the expanse of his shoulders, the collar meeting a lock of dark hair, curled and still damp from the shower, at the back of his neck.
She’d stopped being surprised at the way he still stole her breath. The attraction she’d always felt for him was only magnified by her now-intimate knowledge of his body, the memory of him between her thighs.
“You going to get that?” she asked him, her face suddenly hot.
“Do I have a choice?”
She moved around the island, put a hand on his arm, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “You always have a choice.”
He muttered something under his breath and stalked toward the hall.
She returned to the tray of food and carried it into the living room. She would be able to throw everything else together while Max grilled the steaks, a menu choice he’d insisted on even though she’d wanted to serve salmon.
His stubbornness didn’t fool her: his plan to grill was a built-in opportunity to escape pre-dinner conversation by stepping out onto the terrace.
He’d resisted hosting the dinner for Carlos even as he’d been the one to arrange it. She’d gotten only bits of information, but from what she could discern, Nico had made it clear that Max needed help in Vegas — and that didn’t mean the receptionist Abby had hired for the office, or the men, many of whom were holdouts from DeLuca’s operation, who were now his soldiers on the streets.
Nico wanted Max to have more of a right-hand man, someone who could act as a bodyguard and advisor. It made Abby nervous, but not because she disagreed. It was an acknowledgment of the danger Max would continue to be in as head of the Syndicate’s Vegas territory. He was like Fredo DeLuca now — a man with a perpetual target on his
back, one who would be wanted by both the FBI and every criminal in the city looking to make a power play for its significant illegal cash flow.
It was the only thing Abby thought twice about, a fact that would once have alarmed her. She’d been straight and narrow, even more so than most people. She’d been determined to prove she was a productive member of society, to avoid any brush with the law, anything that might paint her as a member of the fringes she’d been part of almost her whole life.
And yet, after everything Jason had done, she could only be relieved by Max’s new affiliation with the Syndicate. Jason was an enemy whose moves she hadn’t predicted, and she knew now that he wasn’t alone. The city — the world — was full of people like Jason and Fredo DeLuca: people who took what they wanted without regard for the innocent, who operated below the waterline of rules and laws that kept everyone else in line.
They were things she couldn’t un-know. She would never feel truly safe in the world again, not as one of the law-abiding members who went to work every day and looked forward to happy hour and a weekend watching TV or going to brunch or working around the house.
She wasn’t like them anymore. Could never be like them again. The only way to live in the world she now knew was to become part of it, to surround herself and Max with the kind of protection necessary to survive it.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. Understanding, demystifying, had always been a coping mechanism for her. It was why she’d gone into finance — that and the relative job security.
Learning everything she could about money, about the stock market and investing and interest, had given her control over her financial destiny, had guarded against the kind of poverty that had been a hallmark of her childhood.
Max’s affiliation with the Syndicate wasn’t very different.
She heard murmuring in the hall and looked up in time to see Max enter the living room ahead of Carlos Rodriguez.
She smiled and walked toward them. “Carlos, it’s so nice to see you.” She kissed his cheek. “Can I get you a drink?”
He nodded. “Whiskey, if you have it.”
She grinned. “We definitely have whiskey.”
She walked to the bar and poured whiskey into two glasses while Max and Carlos made small talk about the house. She doubted Carlos could see it, but it was obvious that Max was uncomfortable. He didn’t want a right-hand man. He didn’t want any man except the ones he could keep at a distance the way he kept everyone at a distance.
Everyone but her.
The kind of man Nico thought Max needed would have to be in Max’s business. He would have to know things about Max, and about Abby too. He would have to be around the house, would have to know their schedules and habits.
Max didn’t like people knowing him, and while Abby wasn’t crazy about it either, she saw Nico’s point: Max needed someone he could count on. Someone who could protect him if push came to shove.
They weren’t exactly overrun with possibilities. Other than Jason and Abby, Max had never had a lot of friends, and he’d kept to himself since returning from Afghanistan.
Carlos was a good suggestion. Abby didn’t know him well — and neither did Max, which was made obvious by his attempt at small talk — but Carlos had always seemed solid to her. He’d been reliable since Max brought him on, and he was direct in his communications, something that was important to Max.
As a high-ranking soldier in DeLuca’s operation, Carlos had been looking for a way out when he heard DeLuca was involved in the weapons and trafficking trades, and he knew DeLuca’s operation, knew the players in and around it, understood the way illegal enterprise was run in the city.
She gave Max one of the drinks and handed the other to Carlos. “Please, sit down and dig into this food, or we’ll be eating it for a week.”
He was slightly shorter than Max, with the compact muscle of a baseball player and an uncanny stillness, like his dark eyes were taking in anything and everything, committing it all to memory for use later. His dark hair was cut close to his head, and he had the pronounced jaw and cheekbones of a cover model.
Carlos laughed. “I can definitely help you out with that.”
“I’ll start the steaks,” Max said.
She squeezed his arm. “We have plenty of time. I’ll put the finishing touches on the other stuff while you relax.”
She hoped Carlos couldn’t see Max’s reluctance as he sat in one of the chairs opposite the couch. She’d told him to keep an open mind, and she couldn’t tell if this was the best he could do or if he was being stubborn.
She returned to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine, then started working on the salad that would accompany the steaks.
True to his word, Carlos dug into the platter of appetizers with the unselfconscious exuberance of a teenage boy. In between bites, he asked Max questions — about his childhood in Vegas, his time in the Army, the land around the house. Max’s answers were stiff at first, but little by little, Abby sensed him loosening up.
It might have had something to do with the healthy second round poured by Max, but Abby would take it. Nobody wanted this to work more than her. Having someone like Carlos watch Max’s back would allow her to breathe a little more easily when Max was working.
She finished the salad and started chopping fresh garlic for the bowl of butter that would be spread on the loaf of bread waiting to go under the broiler.
“You can probably start those steaks now,” she said, directing her voice toward the men in the living room.
Carlos stood. “I can help with that.”
Max rose from the couch and put a hand on Carlos’s shoulder. Abby held her breath in the beat of silence.
“I’ll handle the steaks,” Max said. “But you can come out onto the terrace and keep me company if you want.”
Carlos nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Six
It was nearly midnight when Max stepped out onto the porch and walked with Carlos to the red Audi in the driveway. The dinner had been surprisingly enjoyable, and while he’d been grateful for Abby’s presence in the beginning, he’d gradually gotten used to Carlos being in his home. He liked the other man, and if he still had a ways to go to trust, liking him was a start.
“It’s nice out here,” Carlos said. “Quiet.”
“It is,” Max said. “We can still see the lights though.”
Carlos looked toward the city, shining like an electric mirage in the distance. “Best of both worlds.” He turned and held out a hand. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.”
Max shook his hand. “Our pleasure.” He hesitated. “Nico tells me in your business, a right-hand man is called an underboss, but I have to be honest, it sounds melodramatic to me.”
Carlos laughed. “I don’t disagree, although I’ve never been close to the position myself.”
Max nodded. “Thing is, I need someone to keep an eye on Abby when I can’t.”
“Are you asking me to be your wife’s bodyguard?” Carlos asked.
Max sighed. “Fuck. No. Sorry. It’s not just Abby. I’m not bringing anybody to the table in my association with the Syndicate — and Nico tells me I need someone at the table.”
“What do you think?” Carlos asked.
“I think Nico knows a hell of a lot more about this business than I do. I think Jason fucking Draper is back in town, and he once pointed a gun at me and tried to have Abby killed. And I think by taking over this business, I’m opening myself up to other enemies like him.”
Carlos nodded. “You’re not wrong.”
“So?” Max asked. “Will you do it? It comes with a hefty raise, but more work too.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Max said.
“Are you offering me the job for a specific reason? Or because there isn’t anyone else?”
Max grinned. “Why not a little bit of both?”
Carlos chuckled and shook his head.
“Listen,” Max sa
id, “I told you I’m not bringing anyone to the table. That’s true. I don’t have any close friends besides Abby, and I don’t come to trust easily. But you have the skills and background I need. You’ve been a big help in bringing me up to speed on DeLuca’s operation, his men, his interests in the city. That’s as close to trust as I can get right now.”
“What about me?” Carlos asked. “Why should I risk my life for you?”
It was an honest question, and one that took Max by surprise, mostly because Carlos had the balls to ask it.
Max let his gaze travel out over the brush around the house. The moon was full over the desert, the sagebrush and cactus casting strange shadows on the cracked earth.
“I didn’t come to this business lightly,” Max said. “In fact, I didn’t want to come to it at all. It started as a desire to protect Abby from Jason, to shut down the trafficking operation and weapons game he was running with DeLuca. The plan was to get it done and go back to my normal life, although looking back, it wasn’t much of a life after I came back from Afghanistan.”
“What happened to change your mind?” Carlos asked.
Max shrugged. “Realized this shit is going on all the time whether we see it or not. We can either let people like DeLuca run it — people who take advantage of the depravity of a few — or we can try to run it clean.”
“Never heard someone describe the Mob as clean before.”
Max ran a hand over his face. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not so crazy,” Carlos said.
“The Syndicate makes their money illegally. There’s no sugarcoating that. But they have an honor code, lines they won’t cross. Seems better than the alternative.”
“So you believe in what they’re doing?”
Surrender to Sin (Las Vegas Syndicate Book 3) Page 3