Micha bypassed the chair and laid the unconscious man on the floor while Maksim washed up in the stainless-steel sink in the corner. A quick glance was given when his phone beeped, and then he was taking care of his machete—with a solution one of their boys had cooked up in a lab that would remove all traces of blood. He resheathed it before taking off and wadding up his ruined shirt. He was just pulling a clean one from the stash he had in a stand-up cabinet when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned, shrugging into the winter-white button-up, not worried because the alert he’d just gotten had indicated a programmed card key had been used to gain entry into the club.
Gabriel appeared first, Vincente—the one with the card and codes to reset the alarms—behind him. Quan Mao, G’s tight and deadly bodyguard, brought up the rear. They took in the scene with a quick glance.
“Told you we should have left when we saw the door open,” Gabriel said as he went over, nodding to Micha, who looked up from his cauterizing. Quan remained on the outskirts as a show of respect. He was more than five years in with Gabriel, but the majority of that time had been spent in Seattle and not in New York with the rest of them, which meant they were still getting comfortable. But the guy was swiftly earning his place. He knew how to conduct himself, and Maks liked that.
“These two have anything to do with the explosion we heard about this morning?” Gabriel asked, nodding to the bodies. He was six foot five, had shoulders like a linebacker, and could ring your bell as loudly as any UFC heavyweight fighter. Maksim’s respect for his skills was as high up there as his respect for the man’s intelligence.
He wandered over, tucking in his shirt and doing up the buttons at his wrists. “They put the device on her car.”
“How is she?” Vincente asked, bending to get a closer look at the hands. “What’d you use to go through these? Clean cut.”
Maks reached behind and tapped his back. “Come on. Let’s leave him to work. He doesn’t appreciate an audience.”
Micha grunted in agreement and started on the other wrist so that the smell of burning flesh followed them to the stairs.
Once in the club proper, Maks led them by the empty tables and booths to the bar. “Anyone thirsty?”
V and Quan shook their heads, so he poured only two, sliding a Stoli on ice across the bar to Gabriel.
“What dragged you two away from your warm bodies this fine Saturday afternoon?” Morning had long gone; his breakfast with Jeremy and Alek seemed as though it had been yesterday.
Gabriel settled on a stool and took a long swallow before answering. “I had to meet with Mikey—sorry, Father Russo.” He pulled a face. “Can’t get used to calling him that. When I went to Seattle, he was still just Lorenzo’s little brother. Anyway, we had a sit-down about the family’s involvement in this year’s Thanksgiving drive. I think he’d have preferred to deal with Eva, but she insisted I get social with the priest she and Nika still see weekly.”
Eva watching out for Gabriel’s soul. Very nice. “Your wife reminds me more of her old man every day.”
He and the boys had hung out with Father Russo’s older brother, and they had been pretty close until the guy’s career choice went public. Lore was now a highly respected NYPD detective . . . who Maks had yet to shake hands with for putting that final bullet into Nika’s abusive husband’s head. He would eventually. When he could be sincere about it, and look at the guy without seeing a turncoat.
He tuned in to what Gabriel was saying, mainly because he didn’t want to think about what he himself had done to Nika, or what Lore had done to them.
“In the end, we decided it would be best to push everything for the drive under TarMor’s name. Keep the church legit.”
TarMor, which was short for Tarasov/Moretti, was Alek and Gabriel’s project management firm. The company had a suite of offices in Manhattan, but lately they’d all been working from the house.
“Makes sense,” Maks said.
“Mikey doesn’t really seem to care, as long as his parish gets what they need. He said if people want to tiptoe around the Moretti name, it shouldn’t bother me.” He chuckled darkly. “ ‘They’ll eventually have to answer for their judgment, Gabriel.’ The kid doesn’t seem to get that the opinions of his herd aren’t what keep me awake at night.” The Don of the Moretti crime family gave his head a shake and moved on. “There’ll be some overflow coming from my father-in-law that Saint Luke’s can share with others, and that seems to be making everyone happy.”
“You’re beginning to remind me of another famous Don who had a close relationship to the church,” Maks needled him with a grin. “You gonna start making us kiss your ring when we see you?”
“Yeah. Corleone this,” Gabriel muttered, his hand disappearing under the bar so he could presumably grab his junk.
After Vincente’s snicker died off, a comfortable silence descended. Maks took a swig from his glass and then set it aside, not in the mood. He didn’t need to cloud his mind—unless shit really fell apart, as it had after he’d shot Nika. But that was one of the few times he’d wasted himself. He didn’t like when he wasn’t 100 percent functional. It made him feel . . . susceptible. Helpless. As if he could become a victim again.
He leaned into a stretch, curving his back to loosen the tightness in his shoulders. He could feel Gabriel studying him. V, too. He glanced over at all that glossy black hair the Reaper insisted on keeping and unhinged his jaw.
“Eva know you borrowed her hair today?” he drawled, wishing he could distract from what he knew was coming. But his boys could be merciless when they wanted to be, and Maks could tell they had something on their minds. “We all know you’re waiting for an opening. You might as well take it,” he added.
“I heard from an associate about a show he saw at Apetito last night.” No hesitation on Vincente’s part. No beating around the bush. Not even with an audience, the bastard. Though to give Quan credit, he couldn’t look less interested. “Guy said someone I know nearly took a little blonde on the dance floor in front of anyone who felt the need to watch.” His dark brows rose. “Are you following protocol, Maks? Because that doesn’t sound like you’re holding off on playing until the job is done.”
“Did you hold off on playing with Nika until Nollan was a corpse?” Maks said silkily, dead to rights because he knew V hadn’t. “No. And you have the face to stand there with your chin up?” he added to Gabriel, leaning in slightly. “You took my Pakhan’s daughter without his knowledge or blessing. Just because it worked out for you, that doesn’t change the fact that you did it backwards.”
Gabriel had the grace to look uncomfortable. But only for a second. “Come on, Maks. You’re usually quicker than this. Why do you think we’re here?” He shifted on his stool, and it was clear by the darkness now in his eyes that the memory of how he and Eva had come together still didn’t sit well with him. “It’s easy to give advice when the shit feeling of fucking over someone you respect is still so fresh. Believe it or not, we’re trying to save you some grief.”
“No need. I haven’t crossed any lines with my Aussie. I’ve done exactly what Vasily and I agreed on.” In body, not in mind, he knew. “And think back to when you were panting after Eva—not that that’s changed. Now tell me how well you’d have listened if one of us had warned you off.”
Tapping his glass on the bar, G muttered, “Touché,” before draining it and setting it aside. He sat back, done, and Maks turned to Vincente.
And didn’t a zinger come. “So, you think of her as your woman?” V questioned.
Fucker. Maks had to move, and he went on what Sydney would call a walkabout. He meandered his way from behind the bar and came around to stand in front of his inquisitive friend. He didn’t appreciate being grilled on rules he was goddamn well following, but he allowed it, only because he remembered busting V’s balls over Nika not that long ago.
“I’m doi
ng only what’s necessary, because once Morales is dealt with, I know I’ll have my time. That’s when I’ll hole up with her for probably a week and get her out of my system. Same as all the others. After that it’ll be business as usual.” He ran his finger along the bar top and enjoyed the squeak of clean. The mirrors behind the even rows of bottles on the glass shelves behind the bar were crystal clear, too, he noted as he saw himself on the hot seat, the darkened club behind him.
V looked skeptical. “If you can’t do this job without distraction, I strongly suggest you hand it off. You don’t want to live with the regret if something gets by you because you were too busy fucking her in your head to see what was right in front of you.”
“That what happen with you, V?” he ground out.
“Yeah, Maks. That’s exactly what happened to me,” Vincente growled. “You don’t want to feel what I feel whenever I see that scar on Nika’s chest. You don’t.”
Well, fuck. If that wasn’t a bucket of ice water in the face. Bucket and all.
“Luiz Morales is a dick, but if you want my advice, you should also watch out for the brother.”
They all turned to look at Quan, who’d spent the last few minutes building one fuck of a miniature castle with the old-school matchboxes Maks kept stocked for his patrons to light their stogies with. As far as diversions went, his comment was a good one.
“Eberto?” Maks asked, pulling the distraction over the memory playing in his head, the pained roar that had come from Vincente when that bullet had hit his redhead.
Since Quan had been with a Triad organization before landing with Gabriel, the guy knew much about what went on in their world. Any information he supplied was usually dead-on.
Maks watched, his interest piqued, as Quan nodded and carefully balanced a final box. “Our paths crossed years ago, and I doubt he’s bettered himself. There is no cure for guys like him. He was a regular in a place my former boss took over and was soon banned when it became apparent he enjoyed roughing up the little Asian girls. He wasn’t happy with his walking orders and went so far as to find one of the girls he regularly used on her off time. He beat the hell out of her, brutally raped her, and sent her back, saying that’s what happened to those who crossed a Morales. Luiz was contacted when Eberto went into hiding, and my former boss eventually, reluctantly, agreed to leave Luiz in charge of his brother’s punishment. Luiz assured him he knew best where to hit. Bottom line: Eberto Morales is a bully who violently sulks when things don’t go his way. So be warned.”
A familiar comfort settled on Maksim’s shoulders at learning these details he hadn’t been previously aware of. Ah, information. It was almost like an aphrodisiac to him. His fingers were already twitching to hit the keyboard.
Gabriel went over to study the matchbox castle, looking impressed. “Relaying this warning was the other reason we dropped in, Maks. Just in case you thought we were only here to bust your chops. Quan, you ever think about being an architect?”
“Yeah. It’s my dream.”
“Really?” Gabriel said distractedly as he bent to check out what looked to be a covered balcony on the edge of the second floor of the castle.
“No.”
The boss straightened with a wry grin tilting the corner of his mouth just as a cell chimed. It was Vincente’s.
“Hey. You okay, babe? Again? Pain in the ass. Was it one of mine? Oh, okay then. Yeah, I’m with him now.” He put the phone to his chin and looked Maks’s way. “Charlie gnawed on one of your boots.”
Though sweet and playful, the Rottweiler puppy V had given Nika really was becoming a wolf-size pain in the ass. “Tell her I’m going to barbecue him next weekend. Everyone’s invited.”
“You hear him?” V chuckled at Nika’s response. “Don’t worry; he wouldn’t actually hurt Charbroil—I mean, Charlie. So what’s up . . . ?”
Maksim tuned out the domesticity, but his lip twitched when V chuckled again. Good to hear him like that, so relaxed and as close to normal as the guy would ever get. Not that he still didn’t have his days where he seemed to want to kill anyone whose lungs dared to draw his oxygen, but with Nika in his life, one look from her and the guy was a puddle of . . . well, lust. Okay, it was what they were labeling love, but Maks preferred to use the term lust since the two fucked like rabbits. Lucky they shared a wing of the house with Gabriel and Eva, because they were just as bad. Quan must hear some crazy shit considering his room was smack-dab in the middle of the two hot spots. Wonder if they all ever got together? Nah. The boys didn’t even like when the others checked out the eye candy when the girls were around the pool. No way would they voluntarily have another man in the bedroom with them. A woman, maybe? Then again, knowing the girls . . . definitely fucking not.
He cringed at what an SOB his thoughts made him and gave the green-eyed monster riding his ass a right hook that laid him out flat. He wasn’t fucking jealous of what Vincente had found with Nika, or Gabriel with his pregnant Eva. He wasn’t. He was happy for them.
He just hoped G’s kid didn’t eventually turn on him. Or G on the kid, he thought scathingly, his own relationship with his father never far from his thoughts.
He gnashed his teeth at the nonsense his mind sometimes came up with. Seriously, he knew Gabriel well enough to know he would never treat a child of his—or any, for that matter—badly.
Reaching out, he gave his friend’s hard shoulder a shot—in apology for his thoughts. “Hear anything about Stefano yet?” Gabriel’s brother, the asshole, had gone off the grid a few months ago after having put his time in terrorizing Eva, and G had been searching for him ever since. Maks was waiting to get the nod that would put him on it, but wouldn’t interfere until then.
Gabriel shook his head, his brows coming down. “He must have left town,” he said as Vincente returned. “No talk of him anywhere. I’ll let you know when I’ve exhausted my resources and am in need of yours.”
Another phone went off—G’s this time—and he wandered a few steps away to answer it. It was rare they were able to finish a conversation in its entirety without one of them being pulled away by his phone.
“How’s Nika?” he asked Vincente, who had just pocketed his cell.
“She’s perfect. She and Eva are holed up in the office at the house.” He nodded, looking satisfied by that. “She’s perfect.”
“Good to hear. Not in pain anymore?”
Their eyes met, and Vincente shook his head. “No, brother, she’s good. No worries, okay?”
He changed the subject. “Eva texted me this morning to say she was sorry she missed me because I’d left so early. I saved it so I could show Gabriel. She wasn’t answering a text,” he stipulated, hands out in a wait-for-it pose. “She initiated. That’ll bug him.”
“You think?”
Maks’s humor about the sitch grew as he took his phone out and pulled up the text. He turned it so Vincente could see the screen. “See the kissy emoticons? There’s five of them. That’s a long kiss.”
V chuckled and shoved the cell back at him. “As fucked as it is, that will piss G off.” He shrugged. “Until he gets the real thing.”
His phone call over, Gabriel came back looking serious, which put riding his ass about his wife on hold. After a round of fist bumps and see-yas, Maks found himself alone.
But instead of beelining it to his office and researching Eberto, he was distracted by what Vincente had said about Gabriel getting the real thing. Yeah. The real thing. Every day. Every night. The comfort of loving, accepting arms wrapping around him whenever the need arose. To be greeted with smiles, kisses, and a warm body when coming home in the early hours of the morning. To share a bite to eat in the kitchen before . . . going down to his basement and binding his Aussie with one damned intricate knot so that she was completely under his—
He jerked in his shoes as if he were coming awake. Was he out of his fucking head
? He didn’t want that. He didn’t crave domestic bliss. He spat the words in his mind. To have all Sydney’s shit mixed up with his. To have her calling, nagging him about when he’d be home, who he was with, what he was doing. Showing up here at the club, throwing a fit because he’d been holed up alone in his office interviewing a new dancer, and getting jealous, thinking he’d fucked the kitty—which he might very well have done . . .
His lip curled with distaste, and he brought a hand up to flatten the fucking thing out. He wasn’t disgusted at thoughts of fucking one of his dancers. So why wasn’t he growing hard? Why wasn’t he enthusiastically agreeing with a resounding, “Hell no, I don’t need all that bullshit”?
He pictured giving it to Shayla, the new girl, as he bent her over his desk.
Nothing.
Behind the bar while the lighting men fixed a faulty switch on the other side of the room.
Nothing.
He pictured Marta, a tall, statuesque knockout with honey-colored hair and eyes like the ocean. In his mind, she was on her knees behind his desk, his cock in her mouth, smiling up at him as she got him off while one of the girls stood at his office door complaining that she couldn’t find cheap parking.
Maksim looked down to his lap to see not a twitch. Fuck-all happened to his anatomy.
And that last one had been a memory! It had actually taken place . . . quite a while ago now, but it had been fucking great!
He blinked, feeling kind of panicked. This had never happened to him before. Not with his dick. He quickly shoved an image of Sydney into his frontal lobe. He put her on his bed at the house—unheard of—on her hands and knees, him behind her, dwarfing her as he slowly slid in and out of her wet, welcoming body. He pictured her hair shimmering off her shoulder as she looked back at him with heated amethyst eyes, lips parting, her spine arching as she took him deeper . . . Maks sucked in a pained breath and had to adjust himself as blood flowed too swiftly to his groin, hardening him immediately. His teeth slammed together, jaws grinding.
An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) Page 16