This time.
Shoving the hair-raising thought away, Sydney checked her phone. Why wasn’t he replying? Usually, when she texted, he sent a goading response back within seconds.
“No idea who might have done this, Mrs. Martin?”
Her back and ribs beginning to ache from where she’d landed on them on the stairs, her cheek throbbing from where the back of Andrew’s head had connected with it, Sydney adjusted the ice pack on the back of her head and swallowed hard as she looked away from the two forms she just couldn’t keep her eyes from returning to: Maksim’s men. Their bodies had been covered with sheets, but she and Andrew had already seen their charred skin; one man was missing an arm because he’d presumably been closest to her car. She closed her eyes. This should not have happened. Her son should not have seen that. He should not have been here and been affected by the mistake she’d made in baiting a man like Luiz Morales.
Had the bomb been planted while she and Maksim had been in Luiz’s restaurant last night? Or had Luiz had one of his men come here? How they’d have gotten past Maksim’s men, she wasn’t sure. Could the two have been killed even before her car went? The explosion covering for a double murder that had taken place hours before?
Andrew shouldn’t have been here, she thought again. If only there was someone she knew who could take him for a few days or a week. Just until this was behind them. But she knew nobody. Daniel’s family would likely say yes if asked, but could she so deeply involve people she knew only through drop-offs and pick-ups?
Through her own penchant for keeping people at arm’s length, she really had no one she could turn to. She felt awful about that, but more for her son’s sake than her own.
“Mrs. Martin?”
“It’s Ms.,” she corrected again as she opened her burning eyes and looked at the young detective. His wheat-colored hair and round glasses reminded her of John Denver. She still felt stunned. Why did he keep asking her the same three questions?
Who could have done this?
Could she think of anything she’d done to deserve it?
And did she think the person would strike again?
How on earth was she supposed to answer such nonsense? With the truth? Yes, Detective, I know exactly who did this. His name is Luiz Morales. Yeah, the drug lord. That’s the one. I bought a bunch of his shit and destroyed it instead of selling it through my club as we’d agreed upon when I approached him and made a deal with the devil. Now he wants to kill me. Can you help without sending me to jail and my son into the foster care system?
Her deep sigh stuck in her throat when her back protested it. “I don’t know,” she said again, and she would continue to say it until she was hoarse.
The yellow tape billowed in her periphery, distracting her. Two men had died because of what she’d done. Because she’d been angry about losing Emily. Had the men been married? Did they have children? She wondered, her heart aching anew.
“I don’t give a fuck about your goddamn crime scene.”
Sydney’s breath caught at the low, familiar growl. She got up, dropping the ice pack, and walked away from the ambulance and the detective. She saw Maksim before he saw her. He was beside a patrol car, scanning the scene, impeccable navy suit in place. Alek Tarasov and another man she’d never seen before were with him.
Maksim’s gaze clashed with hers when less than ten feet separated them, and without a thought Sydney walked straight into his open arms. He gathered her close and held her so tightly she moaned, her aching back protesting. He effortlessly lifted her off her feet and walked them a few steps away while she drew comfort from him. A comfort that was as dangerous as it was wonderful.
“You better not have said a goddamn thing to anybody,” he whispered into her hair. “You didn’t, did you?”
She shook her head because she couldn’t speak, but she wouldn’t cry. The effort it took to hold back her tears made her tremble, but she held on. She would not go all girlie and lose it like a big baby now that “her man”—who wasn’t even her man—had arrived. She was disappointed in herself that she wanted to do just that.
“Good girl,” he sighed. “Are you okay?”
She nodded again and forced out, “I’m so sorry, Maksim. Your men . . .”
“Knew the risks. That’s not on you. We all know the risks. Jesus Christ, Sydney.” His hand cupped the back of her head. “You ever send me a text like that again, I’ll spank your ass cherry red.”
And that’s what snapped her out of her stupor and brought her senses back online. She drew away, the shaking inside her slowly fading, and met those silver eyes. The pewter ring around them was more pronounced in the daylight. “I hope that’s your idea of humor.”
“It’s not,” he said with a steady look that told her he was telling the truth. Dominant and a spanker. Interesting. His fingers brushed over the tightness she could already feel on her cheek.
A deep throat clearing preceded a polite request. “Maks? You want to let me talk to her?”
Realizing their moment was being observed, she squirmed until she was placed on her feet and turned to face the handsome black man standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Alek. Both men nodded a greeting, and she forced her lips to work but couldn’t make the smile reach her eyes.
“Mrs. Martin? We weren’t finished yet.”
Her shoulders slumped at the sound of the detective’s voice. He must have followed her because he was now standing next to the patrol car with a wary look on his face. He was holding her purse, which she’d left in the ambulance, and she quickly took it, nodding her thanks as he glanced back and caught his partner’s eye. That detective also came over to offer support. Could they know who Maksim and Alek were? Or did they simply sense the power surrounding them?
“It’s Ms. Martin,” Maksim corrected deliberately. He stared down both men, easily asserting himself as the alpha by waiting until they dropped their eyes. “She’d like a moment with her attorney, if you don’t mind?”
“Is that you?” the detective asked.
“No. That would be me. Jeremy Dashel.” The black man shook hands with them. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me and my client a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.”
The detectives nodded and left, appeased by the professionalism.
Once they were far enough away, Maksim made introductions. “Don’t shake hands,” he snapped, snagging hers and bringing it to his mouth as though to kiss it. He bit her thumb hard.
“Ouch!” She jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry, okay?” she squeezed out between her teeth. “I’m not practiced at all of this sneaky bullshit.”
“I hope you never have children,” Alek said dryly to Maksim. “You have zero tolerance.” He addressed her next. “Ignore him and talk to Jeremy.”
“I will. Thank you.” Giving Maksim her back, she took a breath and tried to climb out of the playground and be an adult again. “I use a law firm—”
“You’ll use Jeremy,” Maksim interrupted from behind her.
Sydney held Jeremy’s dark eyes and continued as though there had been no interruption. “That I’m sure could recommend a criminal attorney, which is what I’m assuming you are.”
Before Jeremy—whose lips were tightening more by the second—could say anything, Maksim was talking again.
“You assume correct, and you’ll be getting no recommendations, lover.” He’d come in so close that his warm breath ruffled her hair. His fingers gripped her hips, and he squeezed. “This is one of those times that fall under the do-as-you’re-fucking-told stipulation we discussed at the beach. Remember that day?”
“And he says I have control issues,” she said casually with a nod over her shoulder.
Both men in front of her stifled a smile, and despite being the cause, she found the humor so misplaced it made her feel sick.
She sighed long and low and locked
her knees so she wouldn’t settle into the body at her back. “Thank you for being here, Jeremy,” she said tiredly. “What do you need to know?”
As the Tarasovs’ attorney spoke to Sydney, warning her to continue with her I-don’t-know angle, Maksim forced himself to release the narrow hips he was still gripping and take a step back. She wasn’t seriously injured, but he’d seen her wince whenever she moved too quickly and could easily tell she was going to have a black eye. Where did she hurt? He wanted to strip her and catalogue every fucking blemish, every bruise, every tiny ache. And he would retaliate in kind, but much more sadistically than anything fucking Luiz Morales and his crew had ever experienced before. Micha was working on making that happen right at that moment.
Maks made himself look at the charred shell of the BMW again and felt his rage climb, the malevolence of it swirling and writhing to break free of the hold he had on it. Goddammit, did his monsters want to come out to play.
All in good time, he promised. All in good time.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt for his key as he looked to the covered bodies of two of his boys. He said a prayer, asking for forgiveness of their sins, one he’d learned from listening as Vasily whispered it over anyone they lost. Thankfully neither had wives or children, just girlfriends he’d have to visit. Fuck, he hated being the messenger. Fucking hated it, but respected his team enough to do it anyway.
Listening to Jeremy’s easy tones, he snaked his gaze around and took in all that he could from where he was standing. Morales is a fucking dead man, he reiterated as he thought back to what it had felt like reading the text Sydney had sent.
Leaving the house at a ridiculous hour that morning—to him anyway—Alek had glommed on to him for some reason and accompanied him to the breakfast meeting he’d scheduled with Jeremy. As he and their trusted attorney of more than a decade discussed Sydney’s situation—Maks wanted to know if she had any legitimate avenues open to her—Alek had sat there, staring into space. When Maks’s phone had gone off, he hadn’t hesitated in checking it because he’d been feeling on edge whenever he left Sydney’s safety to anyone but himself lately—with good reason, he could now say.
My car just exploded in the alley behind my club. Can you call me?
He’d be seeing those goddamn words in his nightmares. He knew better than to ignore his instincts. That edginess, the gnawing at his nape, he should have fucking heeded the warning and stuck to her like honey to a nipple. Regret sucked ass. And he wouldn’t be welcoming any more of it. From here on out—regardless of the battle he would insist he wasn’t waging because he’d given his goddamn word to Vasily and he was struggling to keep it—he was on his target.
His attention came back, and he saw Alek once again zoning out as he’d done over his cooling eggs. Only instead of staring into space, his blank gaze was on Sydney. But it was clear he wasn’t seeing her. Guy was backsliding, beginning to look as bad as he had when he and Sacha had first called it quits—just as Gabriel had complained last week when they’d lucked out and gotten the chance to work out together in the gym at home. It had seemed as if he was getting over it, but maybe not. Could be the others’ happiness was driving home the fact that he’d pushed his away.
Alek looked over, meeting his eye, and tipped his head back as though asking what was up. That’s what Maks wanted to know. When the dust settled, they’d have a talk, he promised himself as he shook his head.
Jeremy and Sydney went to where the detectives were waiting patiently and struck up what seemed to be a one-sided conversation; Jeremy did most of the talking. Maks sent off a couple of texts and wondered if they’d allow him to poke around to see if her building had sustained any damage. Actually, he’d better wait for her, and they could check it out together. The workers should be there by the time she finished with the cops.
“You were a real asshole with her, you know?” Alek commented.
Maks allowed his gaze to drift over, and it made its way up from her low-heeled boots and black jeans. He lingered on her maroon leather jacket. Mainly to keep his attention off her curves. “I know,” he finally said.
“Oh. Well, I guess that makes it okay then. Since you know.”
His lips twitched at the wry tone, until he saw those covered forms being loaded into the coroner’s vehicle. He was glad Sydney had her back to them. “I’m dying to go over there and move this shit along.” He leaned his ass against the hood of the patrol car and crossed his arms.
“I’ll bet you are. But you won’t because you’ll draw attention.”
“That’s why I’m still standing here.”
“I can’t believe Morales started a war with us.”
Maks frowned as something about that sounded off. “I thought he was smarter than that, too, but pride’s a fucker, and his is bruised. I’m thinking my visit to his place with her last night might have pushed him to do this.”
“Or he could have been planning on doing it anyway,” Alek returned.
Which was true. “I think I pushed too hard last night,” he said again, decided.
Alek settled next to him. “How so?”
“Made out with her on the dance floor. Morales was front-row-center.”
“Ah. But it’s not like she’s his, or ever was, according to my uncle.”
“No, she wasn’t and isn’t.”
They were quiet for a stretch. “Also according to my uncle, you’re supposed to do only what it will take to get your message across. This isn’t about rubbing anyone’s nose in it.”
“He had to be convinced she was mine.” He tried to clarify when he heard how that sounded. “I mean, for the sake of this situation. My tongue in her mouth was merely the visual demonstration necessary to paint a clear picture that she belongs to me now.”
“Methinks—”
“Fuck off, Tarasov,” he drawled, cutting off the doth-protest he knew he was guilty of. “Why are you hanging around today anyway? You looking for friends?”
Alek chuckled. “Yeah. I’m lonely.”
Probably meant that. Maks thumped him on the shoulder and straightened when Jeremy and Sydney broke from the detectives and came back. He noticed right away that her right eye looked droopy from the swell that was already coming up from the bottom and her cheekbone was now red and puffy. A dark spot was forming in the outer corner of her eye, proving she’d been hit hard.
Stepping forward, he cupped her turned-down face and lifted it, everything he and Alek had just said flushing as if he’d pushed the handle on a toilet. “What hit you?” he asked curiously. Thing was probably throbbing like a fucker. Taking one in the face was a shock one never got used to.
She shrugged and brought her hands up to cover his. “Um, I don’t remember. It happened so fast.” She patted his knuckles and then rejected his comfort by gently removing his palms from her cheeks and stepping back. She emanated confusion and frustration. Aimed at him or herself? There was also a shroud of sorrow over her eyes that made him want to gather her close and simply hold her until it faded. Such a strange desire coming from him. . .
“Are you through for now?” he asked Jeremy, who nodded.
“I’ll deal with what I can and call if I need anything from either of you. I won’t bother telling you to enjoy your weekend.” With a salute that encompassed them all, the attorney—who had the best suit collection Maks had ever seen—walked away.
“Let’s go through the front and go upstairs so you can get some things.” Maks eyed the door. “It’s a safe house for you from here on out.”
“Uh, no, it most certainly is not.”
He tipped his head and raised a brow, as though tired of having to deal with a child. Waiting until the roar of the fire truck’s engine faded as it drove away, he observed her standing there fiddling with a small buckle at the waist of her jacket. Twirling it and then letting it go. Maks watched closely, cur
ious about the fidget. Scared? In pain? Worried he might share the safe house with her?
He stepped to the side, into her line of vision, and kept his voice low because there were still milling authorities and he was a private guy. “My final word, and Vasily’s, too, if he were here, would be that you’re going to walk through the doors of one of our safe houses in the next hour. Are you going to argue that, Sydney?”
Her slim arms intertwined and settled under her breasts. He was almost positive he heard a harrumph sound come from her throat. Thirty seconds ticked by on the clock before he got his answer.
“No.”
He was tempted to pretend to swipe the spat word off his face but thought better of teasing her when he noticed how pale she’d grown around the darkening bruise on her cheek. “Are you feeling all right? The friend I told you about from Coney Island is the best MD you’ll find. She won’t mind coming to check you out.”
She made a just-licked-a-lemon face and shook her head. Did her jaw just ripple? One of the gestures had her wincing slightly. “Like I need a doctor to tell me I’m going to have a black eye and a headache.” She shrugged. “It’ll go away on its own.” She hiked her purse higher onto her shoulder and took her cell out from where it had been tucked into the waistband of her jeans.
“Who are you calling, lover?”
She gave him an icy look and dialed. “I need someone to come fix my door before a pack of rodents decide to move in.”
He plucked her phone from her fingers and ended the call before it could connect. “They’re on their way.”
“Excuse me? You better mean the rodents.”
“I called my guys earlier.” As he tucked her phone back where she’d gotten it—naturally he had to steal a caress against that firm navel—two men in jeans and jackets that needed washing chose that moment to come sauntering down the alley. They spotted Maks and came right over.
“Mr. Kirov. What did you need?”
An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) Page 14