Max nodded. “I’m expected.”
One of the men held out his hand. “ID.”
Max produced his driver’s license. The man looked at it, turned it over in his hand, then handed it back to Max.
The other man stepped forward. “Arms at your side.”
Max laughed. “Are you kidding?”
The other man met his eyes. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Max said. “Because you’re not fucking touching me.”
The other man straightened, his significant height expanding further. When he spoke, Max recognized the dangerously low volume as a warning sign.
“Listen, motherfucker, you’ll either lift your arms or — ”
The door to the conference room opened and Nico Vitale appeared in its frame. He looked from Max to the guards and back again, then rested a hand on the shoulder of the guard who’d ordered Max to lift his arms.
“Everything all right, Bobby?” Nico asked.
“Mr. Cartwright here objects to our weapons protocol,” the man named Bobby said tightly. He was at least as tall as Vitale, but he somehow looked less ominous in Nico’s shadow.
Nico glanced briefly at Max before returning his attention to the guard.
“We can make an exception this time,” Nico said. “But I’m sure you know how much I appreciate your vigilance.”
“No problem, boss.” Bobby resumed his position at one side of the door without so much as a glance at Max.
Nico turned to Max. “Join us.”
The words held more than cursory meaning for Max, who had no intention of joining anyone, least of all a bunch of criminals. It was why he’d demanded the meeting before finalizing his agreement to work with the Syndicate. He knew next to nothing about the Mob, but he’d heard stories about people being unable to get out without cement blocks around their ankles and a deep dive in Lake Mead.
He stepped through the door after Nico.
Three men sat around the conference table. There was no water, no coffee, nothing to indicate this was in any way a normal business meeting.
Max took a quick inventory as he walked toward the table.
A giant of a man, even taller and bigger than Nico — taller and bigger than Max himself — with a scar running down the left side of his face and eyes that could turn a man to stone.
Another man — wiry and slightly smaller — wearing a leather jacket and appraising Max with curious eyes.
The third man wore an expensive suit and sat so still, his eyes showing such an utter lack of interest in the proceedings that Max wouldn’t have been surprised to find he was a statue.
“This is Farrell Black,” Nico said, indicating the man with the scar. “Farrell, Max Cartwright.”
They shook hands and Nico made the rest of the introductions. The smaller man was named Luca Cassano and was in charge of Miami. The third man, Christophe Marchand, ran Paris.
All three were partners with Nico Vitale in the Syndicate.
Nico took a seat at one end of the table, Luca on his right, Farrell and Christophe on his left. Max chose the chair opposite Vitale at the other end of the table. It didn’t matter that there were chairs between them Max could have taken. He didn’t want to send even the smallest of signals that he was open to a partnership.
He was there for one reason and one reason only — to keep Abby safe.
He would not be partners with the Syndicate. Not now and not when this was all over. Theirs would be a temporary association cemented only by the common goal of determining if Jason was running the DarkNet games, and if so, shutting him down.
“Thank you for joining us,” Nico said.
Farrell Black shook his head. “Yes, thank you for dragging us all to this godforsaken desert to discuss what should be a very simple operation.” He spoke with a clipped British accent.
“You called me,” Max said.
“Not willingly, I can assure you,” Black said.
Max shrugged. “That’s not my concern.”
“It may become your concern if you keep this up,” Farrell said.
“I suggest we get on with the meeting,” Christophe said.
There was a trace of an accent there, too, although barely perceptible. Max wouldn’t have been able to place it if not for Nico’s introduction of Christophe Marchand as the head of the Paris territory.
French, then.
“I agree,” Nico said. He looked at Max. “You asked us to convene. Here we are.”
Max leaned back in his chair. “I’m not convinced Jason Draper is running the DarkNet games — but I need to be sure.”
“Because of Abby Sterling,” Farrell said.
“That’s none of your fucking business,” Max said.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, the fact that Farrell Black knew abut Abby. Nico had mentioned her in their first meeting, and it stood to reason the Syndicate would have done a thorough background check before approaching him.
But the instinct to protect Abby was elemental. It was bad enough that she was working for Jason when he might be party to things that could put her in danger. He didn’t want her exposed to the Mob, too.
“Everything is our fucking business now,” Farrell said coldly. “You better get used to it.”
Nico held up a hand. “I think we can all understand Max’s desire to protect a woman.”
Farrell cursed under his breath and leaned back.
“Does this mean you accept our offer to work together?” Nico asked.
“I have some conditions,” Max said.
Nico nodded. “We’re listening.”
“First and foremost, Abby Sterling isn’t a topic of conversation unless I say she is.” He looked at Farrell. “That point is nonnegotiable.”
“And if she becomes material to the mission of exposing Jason Draper’s enterprise?” Christophe asked.
He was so polite that Max couldn’t summon the same kind of coldness he’d felt addressing Farrell.
“I’m the only one at this table who has a stake in keeping her safe,” Max said. “I decide if she’s material.”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” Luca Cassano said quietly. “By all accounts Miss Sterling’s work for Draper is aboveboard and only related to the Tangier. No need to make her part of this if we can avoid it.”
“Abby Sterling isn’t my concern,” Farrell said. “This wanker’s attitude is. If we agree to his terms, it’s because we choose to — not because he tells us to do so.” His eyes were absent the fury Max had seen there a few minutes before. Now they were just empty, something that made Max even more uneasy. “It’s important he understand who’s in charge here.”
“That’s easy,” Max said. “I’m in charge.”
“The fuck you are,” Farrell growled.
“I’m willing to agree to these terms with some additional clarification,” Nico said.
“What kind of clarification?” Max asked.
“Farrell’s correct in stating that we’re in charge. We run an enterprise that spans the globe. Any operation under the auspices of the Syndicate affects thousands of people all over the world. That reality can’t be ignored.” Farrell seemed modestly placated by Nico’s words as he continued. “However, I understand your concern for Miss Sterling, and I have a feeling the others at this table understand it as well, apart from the issue of leadership.”
“Leadership?” Max repeated.
”We’re in charge of all Syndicate operations.” Nico’s eyes turned flinty “That will always be the case, but I think we can all willingly agree to this… request regarding Miss Sterling. For now.”
“For now?” It wasn’t the only part of Nico’s statement Max wanted to question, but he had the sudden feeling he might have pushed as far as was reasonable.
As far as was wise.
“If we decide Miss Sterling is material to the operation, the matter can be discussed again. Of course, if an agreement can�
��t be reached, you’ll be free to go.”
It wasn’t what Max wanted to hear. He would be the one to decide if Abby had anything to do with the operation to take down Jason. But this was a compromise he could live with, because the truth was, he was going to get into Jason’s game with or without the Syndicate’s backing.
He had to — for Abby.
He’d rather do it with the Syndicate’s backing. Max could hold his own in a fight — with or without weapons. Afghanistan had assured that would always be true. But he couldn’t help thinking that if Nico was right about the games on Echo Peak Lane, there were going to be some bad motherfuckers there, and Max was going to be sorely outnumbered by said bad motherfuckers.
It couldn’t hurt to have backup — for him and for Abby.
“I can live with that,” Max said. “Which brings me to my next issue; when this is all over, however it ends, I’m out. I’m not interested in a long-term partnership with the Syndicate.”
Farrell’s laugh was so short it almost sounded like a snort. “Do you see anyone here extending you an offer of long-term employment?”
“Just clarifying,” Max said.
“No clarification needed,” Farrell said. “We’re not any more interested in working with you than you are with us. This is just a marriage of convenience — a temporary one."
“Good,” Max said. “Lastly, if I get into trouble at Draper’s, I’ll expect backup.”
“Of course,” Nico said without hesitation. “And you’ll also have access to our resources.”
“Resources?”
“Nico refers to our equipment,” Christophe said. “Surveillance equipment, weaponry, data from our cyber lab.”
“You have a cyber lab?” Max wouldn’t have expected a criminal enterprise that was once called the Mob to maintain a cyber lab, but he was starting to think the Syndicate wasn’t the Mob he’d read about or seen in movies.
“Of course,” Christophe said. “A rather impressive one, in fact.”
“You’ll also have access to our people, to some degree anyway,” Luca interjected.
Max had almost forgotten he was there. Luca was quiet, a calm observer to Farrell’s hotheaded fighter, to Christophe’s cultured reserve and Nico Vitale’s steely leadership.
“I’m not sure I want access to your people,” Max said. he’d always been a loner, even in the military. He worked with people when he had to, but he preferred working alone.
Luca shrugged. “They’re good people. They’ll be there if you need some extra muscle.”
Max nodded. “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“Is there anything else?” Nico asked.
“That’s it.” Max stood to leave.
“What is the next step?” Christophe asked.
“The next step is getting into Jason’s game.” Max headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
Eleven
Abby took a nervous drink from her glass of wine, studying Jason as he drained yet another double bourbon.
“That’s the problem,” he said. “We’ve been thinking too small.”
“The Tangier is pretty big,” she said. “A lot people didn’t think you could do it, but you proved them wrong.”
“And it’s time to prove them wrong again.”
She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home, getting ready for her first real date with Max, but Jason had insisted on a business dinner, saying he needed to run some ideas by her. He’d agreed to make it an early night when she told him she had plans at eight.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, hoping to hurry things along.
He gestured excitedly as he talked about the possibilities — getting into venture capital, expanding the hospitality side of his business by opening hotels in up-and-coming countries like Abu Dhabi and India, getting into tech by buying up small, bleeding edge companies.
She half-listened. When Jason was like this, he wasn’t looking for substantive input. It was, for all intents and purposes, a dreaming session, the inspiration segment of his brilliance. Later, he would whittle down the ideas to a manageable few and assign teams to investigate and report on the possibilities.
It wasn’t the first time he’d gotten carried away — both with his drinking and with his ideas — but it had been awhile. It had made her nervous the first time she’d been witness to it, his drunken enthusiasm an oddly similar counterpoint to her father’s drunken depressions.
Over time, she’d come to see the former as harmless. Jason was under a lot of pressure: pressure to keep the ball rolling, to top his last big achievement, to maintain his position on all the important lists. Draper Enterprises had become a massive operation with assets exceeding a billion dollars and more than two hundred thousand employees, and Jason had joined the ranks of prominent entrepreneurs who had achieved astronomical success before they were thirty.
To his credit, he rarely drank. Rarely lost control in any fashion. He was allowed to blow off some steam now and then, and while they hadn’t stayed quite as close as she and Max over the years — being someone’s employee created a necessary sort of distance — he was still one of her oldest friends.
“Those sound like great ideas,” she said, when he seemed to wind down. “Any one of them could be viable.”
He nodded. “It’s all about capital. You know how I hate to borrow.”
“I do know, and I don’t blame you,” she said. “But growth is one of the only good reasons to take out loans.”
“You’re right about that.” He looked around for the waitress. “Let’s get another round.”
She laughed. “I can’t. Really. I have plans, remember? I need to go.”
He looked wounded. “Are you sure you can’t reschedule?”
There was no way she was rescheduling her date with Max — not even for Jason.
“I can’t. But let’s make plans to do this again.”
“All right,” he said. “Let me walk you out.”
It wasn’t necessary — they were at one of the restaurants in the Tangier, and her car was in the lot where it always was after a workday. But he insisted, and they made their way outside and into the concrete shell of the parking structure.
“You’re staying here tonight, right?” she asked him when they got to her car. He had a house outside the city, but he kept a luxurious suite at the Tangier for those nights when he worked late and didn’t want to make the drive home. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
“I will not get behind the wheel tonight,” he said, holding out his pinky. “I promise.”
She wrapped her pinky around his, sealing their familiar childhood promise. “Good.”
He met her eyes and smiled. “I’d be lost without you, you know.”
She laughed. “You’re only saying that because you’re drunk. You’d be just fine without me.”
“No.” His voice was solemn. “I wouldn’t. You’re my touchstone, Abby. Don’t you know that?”
There was an unfamiliar energy around them. A tension that set her on edge.
She reached for his hand. “I’ll always be here for you,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
He surprised her by lifting a hand to her face, holding his palm against her cheek. “That’s the thing, Abby. I do. I do know it. You’re the only one who would still give a shit about me if I were poor again. If all of this,” he gestured at the parking structure, the Tangier’s blinking lights flashing beyond it, “went away.”
Her brain was screaming. This was not good. This was Jason touching her, not like a friend, but like a man touches a woman.
Like Max had touched her in her bedroom on Sunday.
Like she wanted Max to touch her again.
“That’s because we’re friends,” she said firmly. “Best friends. We’ll always be best friends, Jason.”
“I don’t want to be best friends anymore.”
She froze as he bent his head to hers, her body’s defense mechanism shorting out the wa
y it had when she was a child, the way it still did anytime someone touched her in a way she didn’t like.
The way it hadn’t when Max had kissed her.
Jason’s lips were mere inches from hers when she got ahold of herself.
She pressed her palm against his chest and leaned back. “Don’t do this, Jason.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why the fuck not, Abby? I’ve loved you forever.”
She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Please don’t say that.”
He straightened, and she was surprised to find something like anger in his eyes. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.
“I’m trying to save our friendship. Nothing is more important than that.”
“You’re ruining it.” He paced in a circle, his hands in his hair. When he turned around, she hardly recognized him. “Why are you ruining it?”
She couldn’t speak, could only look at him as his face contorted into an unfamiliar mask of fury.
“You know what? You’re right,” he said. “You’re right. This was a mistake. My whole life has been a big fucking mistake.”
He turned away, swaying slightly as he made his way toward the elevators in the parking garage.
“Jason, wait,” she called after him. “Let me at least help you get to the suite.”
It would make her late, but she couldn’t leave him like this.
He spun to face her, and she was surprised to see tears on his face. “You don’t get it, do you?” He continued without waiting for her answer. “It was all for you.” He opened his arms and shouted. “Every fucking thing was for you.”
“Jason…”
She felt like someone had cracked her heart open as he disappeared behind the elevator doors. She had to force herself to get in her car, not to run after him to make sure he was okay.
It wasn’t fair. She had never given him a single indication that she was romantically interested in him. She’d played by all the rules, had been his friend. She’d never asked him to do anything for her. She had never asked for the job at the Tangier, and she sure as hell hadn’t asked him to build an empire for her.
She started her car and headed for the exit. The lights on the Strip blurred through her tears as she started for home. By the time she pulled into her driveway, she’d replayed the night four times, trying to find warning signs that it hadn’t been just another business dinner.
King of Sin: Las Vegas Syndicate Book One Page 7