And just like that, Maks felt as if his skin were crawling from his body as he spoke to someone about those black days for the first time ever. Not once had he verbalized his past in such detail. Not even with Vasily or his boys, whom he trusted with his very life. Just not with his memories. Again, why was he trusting Sydney?
“Anyway,” he said roughly, holding up a hand when she dropped her legs and reached out, unshed tears shimmering on her lashes, on the verge of falling. She couldn’t touch him now, and she’d better not fucking cry. He’d probably yell at her. “It was a shit experience, and Vasily believes it contributes to my behavior. Your turn.”
“Maksim . . .”
There was a world of sympathy in his name, and it made his fucking throat ache, but he swallowed the shit down and donned his mask again. For all the good it did. He jerked to his feet and got away from her.
“I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry, so don’t,” he warned, “because it doesn’t do anyone any good. I only told you to explain my comment about Vasily thinking I suffered from the disorder. And because we were going to exchange horror stories, and I knew I’d win. But you know what? Now that we’re here, I don’t want to hear yours right now.”
He heard a rustle and knew she’d gotten to her feet. Her voice at his back when she spoke proved it. “Okay. Does Vasily know what you went through?” she asked in a little more than a whisper.
“Not in the way you do. I’ve never told anyone that before.” He looked at his reflection in the large window across the way and couldn’t see her because she was so fucking small and his body was blocking her from sight. His frown deepened, and his anger grew. He turned and stepped into her, bringing his hand up to clasp her throat in a loose grip. Why did I put myself on display like this?
“That shit stays in your head, understand?” His weakness, his utter humiliation at the hands of mere amateurs . . . public? Fuck no. Just, no. “Because if I ever hear it from someone else, I’ll know you talked, and I’ll make you very sorry.”
Furious now, his buried emotions rising, he meant every word. He felt exposed. Naked. Wide-open and vulnerable. And he didn’t like it.
Sharing fucking sucked.
Sydney was trying her hardest not to cry. She blinked the burn from behind her lids, hoping the moisture she was looking through wouldn’t spill over. She gave up trying to swallow around Maksim’s hand pressed into her throat.
“I would never betray you that way, Maksim,” she promised. Her hands tentatively came to rest on his waist, and she was surprised when he allowed that. There was a wild look about him that she’d never seen before. “You have my word. I’ll never repeat anything you tell me.”
Some of the steel left his massive body. She’d never been more aware of his size than she was just then. He could break her in half. Yet she wasn’t afraid. Aware but not afraid. Not even of the rage simmering in the back of those beautiful silver eyes of his. What he’d been through . . . The burn came back, and she had to shove the newfound knowledge—understanding—of him from her mind again. She intuitively knew he wouldn’t appreciate her tears, not even when they were for him.
His expression darkened more, if that were possible, and she actually heard him swallow. “Everyone talks when given the right incentive. All I ask is that you do the best you can to keep my past to yourself.” His voice was so flat and emotionless it made her nape tingle. He released her. “Go to bed, Sydney.”
Loath to leave him like this, she reached for his hand, but he jerked back as though she were a disease. She brushed off the hurt that poked her in the chest and clasped her hands in front of her, watching as he gave her his back and walked over to pick up the TV remote. Clicking much slower than she had earlier, he turned the volume on and repeated more firmly, “Go to your room, Sydney.”
Before he said anything more, knowing some people got cruel when backed into a corner—Maksim’s shots would be brutal—she picked her phone up off the floor where it had fallen during their mind-blowing tryst and turned to leave.
But not soon enough to miss his coldly added, “I’m done with you for now.”
And there it was. Wincing, she left him alone and went down the hall to close herself into the beige-and-chocolate bedroom she’d been given. Leaning against the door, she imagined she wasn’t the first woman to hear those words from him. He’d probably said them too many times to count, to too many women to remember. No doubt after having had sex with them. Sex that could possibly be his outlet, his way of dealing with what had happened to him. Did he use the meaningless hookups as a way to make a connection with someone without having to actually connect? His trust issues must be monstrous.
She went over and sank down onto the edge of the bed. Alone now, without him to witness her empathy . . .
Within seconds, two droplets landed on the tattoo on her wrist. Her chest squeezed with both compassion and anger, making it difficult for her to breathe. Thinking of her big, powerful Russian, not much older than Andrew, locked in a cell, abandoned, abused, raped. Her hand pressed to her chest, and she bent forward as the air left her lungs in a rush of emotion. And Sydney cried. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed for the damaged man she’d left standing alone in the living room.
Why had he never told anyone about what happened to him? Vasily obviously knew a portion but not all, according to what Maksim had said. She wasn’t sure if talking about an experience so ruinous actually helped, but wouldn’t it be worth a try?
Sniffling and wiping at her face, she grabbed a tissue off the nightstand and fell sideways, landing heavily on the fluffy pillows. She wiped up and blew her nose and felt her body shutting down on her.
Using her foot, she slid her phone up from the base of the bed where she’d dropped it. She hit the button to check the time. Ten o’clock. Normally she’d only now be starting her night, yet here she was, never more exhausted in her life. She dialed Andrew.
“Hey, Mom.” She could hear voices and laughing in the background, and she was glad he was in that atmosphere.
Her throat burned, tightening up. He didn’t deserve this. She’d put him in such danger with her stupidity. “Hey.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. Don’t be upset, okay?” She could hear the background noise fading and knew he was going off for some privacy. “We’re all good. Nothing even hurts. Are you okay still?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“See? We’re good. And Daniel’s dad said the cops will find out who did it and nail them to the wall.”
She was glad she hadn’t shared with him that she already knew who was responsible, in case he’d let something slip. She dragged herself up and into a sit. “I know. I just wish that you hadn’t had to go through that. God, Andrew . . .”
“I’m okay. We both are. Where are you? You’re not at home, are you?”
Hearing his worry, she quickly lied, “No. I’m at a hotel. A fancy one with room service like the one we stayed at in Italy last year. Remember?” They’d taken their first vacation in the spring, and it had been the best two weeks she could ever remember.
“Yeah. That was awesome. Remember the cannoli? Mmm. Now I want some.”
She laughed. “I’ll try to remember to pick some up tomorrow.”
“Cool. What time are you coming to get me? Will the door be fixed? We’re staying overnight here and going to church in the morning.”
“Are you? That’s sounds good. Um, the workers texted me earlier, and the door is fixed already so we’ll be good to go back tomorrow.” She wanted to warn him about Maksim. Tell him something about her Russian so that when they met tomorrow he’d at least be prepared. But she just couldn’t find the words right then. So, as she’d done with Maksim—and not by choice this last time—she put it off. “Text me when you’re on your way tomorrow. Okay?”
“Yeah. I kinda feel bad that you’re alone.”
Her love for her darling boy surged. “I’m not. Um, a friend of mine is giving me a hand trying to figure this mess out.”
“Oh. Good. Is it someone from the—?” He paused and then called, “Be right there! Mom, I gotta get back. We’re at the end of Avengers. Seen it a hundred times, but it’s still the best part. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yes, go. But, Andrew?” she said before he could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you today. You’re the very best part of my life, and I love you more than you’ll ever know.”
“I know that. I’m glad you weren’t hurt today, too. Love you, Mom.”
“Bye, sweetie.”
She hung up and slid the phone onto the nightstand before snuggling into the pillows again and pulling the blanket over her. Closing her burning eyes, she wished Emily was still there. She so badly needed to talk to someone, to ask for some guidance, for advice. Because on her own, she felt as if she was screwing up everything.
How could she have lost control like that with Maksim? Hoping she had enough strength not to let it happen again, she made a small sound as she slipped away.
CHAPTER 12
Standing on the other side of Sydney’s bedroom door, Maksim felt that unfamiliar warmth that had been growing inside flash-freeze and shatter. It splintered, the shards cutting deep. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters, he tried to tell himself as pain stole his breath.
How could he have been so stupid as to open himself to her? How had he forgotten what he knew to be true of people? They were selfish. They lied. And they hurt.
The urge to rip the door out of his way and storm into the bedroom to demand who the fuck Andrew was rode him hard. So hard his vision spiderwebbed, and he was soon panting from the effort it took to stay in the hallway.
I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you today. You’re the very best part of my life, and I love you more than you’ll ever know.
He staggered back as those quiet words reverberated through his head again. Fucking untrustworthy, selfish, self-serving, backstabbing people!
How the fuck had he missed her involvement with another man? How had they all missed this? He’d had four men hanging in her club since this began, and not one of them had seen her steal a minute with this guy? His boys were there until five in the fucking morning!
Maybe the fuck was married, and he and Sydney had to keep a low profile.
Entirely possible. Clearly she lacked morals. One minute allowing him to maul her into an orgasm, the next professing her love to some sucker probably hiding in his backyard so his wife wouldn’t overhear him talking to his lover.
Christ!
Spinning away, he plowed his way to the master bedroom and went straight through to the bathroom to have the hottest shower on record. He felt . . . betrayed. He’d just shared the deepest, darkest part of himself with her, telling her of his past . . . and within minutes she’d disregarded it as if it were nothing, had forgotten him, pushed him from her mind, and engaged the man she loved.
But she’d responded to him with that beautiful abandon that had seemed so genuine. Your women can’t tell when you’re only half there either, a timid voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Was this karma?
Had Sydney been imagining he was Andrew during their time together? When she came for him, as she touched him, while he had his fingers inside her, had she been imagining he was another man? A man she loved with all her heart. He’d heard it in her voice. The purity of her feelings. She hadn’t hid a goddamn thing when declaring herself just now. She’d been open and honest with that guy in a way she’d never been with him.
Fuck. Maks slammed the lever down to cut the water off and hung his head. Deception was such a nasty bitch. It hurt. Stung. Created such embarrassment once you found out how far off your thoughts had been from the other person’s. He’d choose to suffer the physical pain caused by a blade buried in his thigh over this shit any day. At least you could take something to dull the ache until the leg healed. With this, you just had to experience it.
Getting out of the shower, he dried off and was thankful the closet was stocked with items in a variety of sizes. After donning a slate-gray suit, white shirt, and purple tie—that he didn’t particularly care for—he went back into the living room without glancing at her door on his way by. He called Vasily and pretty much demanded a replacement. Repeatedly lied, saying everything was cool and he just wanted to oversee Juan’s departure himself. Then fucked off the minute his relief arrived.
As he drove out from the parking garage, he packed it all away until he felt next to nothing. His nape prickled. He ignored it. She’d be fine under the care of the two men he’d just left her with.
Alone in an apartment that had been thoroughly secured and soundproofed.
She couldn’t get out any more than someone could get in.
She’ll be fine, he thought again around the cold sweat that popped up on his brow.
As she was this morning? that timid voice piped up again.
He slammed his fist into the steering wheel a half-dozen times, but he kept driving. She would probably remain in her room for the night anyway. Yeah. So she could talk to that fucker, Andrew, until dawn.
What pissed him off the most? Had he done his job, had he listened to Vasily and kept this strictly professional—kept his goddamn word!—he wouldn’t give this much of a shit right now that she belonged to someone else. Yeah. Karma could suck it.
He blew into Rapture, making the girls who’d been loitering in the back corridor duck into their enormous dressing room to get out of his way as he stormed to his office. He’d put in weeks and weeks of effort, had wasted his fucking time, had actually started to like Sydney. What. A. Fucking. Chump.
He dropped his ass into his chair without bothering to take off his coat and spun to face the back wall. Taking a few deep breaths, he simply stared straight ahead until the painting across the way registered. It was a Luis Royo. This entire series, which he owned every last one of, “spoke to him.” This particular one had a demonic beast bent over a curvy female’s back in a pose of total and complete possession. Yes, it showed the beast’s monstrous cock buried deep inside her, but that wasn’t what drew Maksim to it. It was the bliss on the female’s face, and the beast’s aggressive expression and body language that remained even as he loved his woman. One could almost hear the threatening rumble of his voice: I will destroy anyone who dares. I will obliterate even the memory of you if you even think to harm that which is mine. Beautiful. But not as beautiful as that bliss of hers. That expression of total surrender and complete confidence that even though he was a monster, this one was hers, and he would never harm her, not even with those powerful paws with their talons that dug into her flesh as he held her so gently.
The door opened, but he didn’t turn.
“Everything okay, my man?”
Micha. By his tone, he knew things weren’t okay. Maks was tempted to ignore him but couldn’t. He did ignore the question. “Is Juan still with us?”
“No. I sent him off about fifteen minutes ago, as per your instructions.”
“Good. We should be hearing from Morales soon then. If he’s smart.” This was good. Business. He’d stick to business as he should have been doing from the start.
“Judging by the stunt he pulled this morning, I’m not so sure about that. I thought he’d make better choices,” Micha said.
“That seems to be the consensus. From what I’ve read about him, this hothead routine seems out of character.” Maks frowned as something made its way through the shit in his head and surfaced a little late. He spun his chair. “Do you think someone went over his head? Quan mentioned the brother being more a liability than anything. Guy has a history. Do you think rather than Luiz be
ing pissed about Sydney, Eberto is up in arms about something else?”
He pushed with his foot and brought himself over to his monitors to call up one of his more invasive research sites. In gathering information on the Moraleses as a whole, he hadn’t bothered with Eberto as a singular threat. He typed in the name now and sifted through until he matched Eberto’s face from the pics listed . . . then took in a rap sheet from hell. Fuck. He could very possibly have been seeing the wrong brother as the main threat. Luiz was a dick for the drug trade, but Eberto was a fucking degenerate.
Who has no beef with Sydney, he reminded himself.
That I know of, he tacked on. Fuck. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut about himself and let her tell him of her past. Had he not put himself on the chopping block by sharing, he’d know if there was a connection between the two of them. He grabbed his phone and hit up her number, his face feeling like stone as he waited for her to pick up. She didn’t. Heart hammering, he dialed one of the guys that should be squatting in the living room of the apartment.
“Yeah.”
“Everything good?” he asked, listening for background noise.
“Uh, yeah. Nothing’s happened in the thirty minutes since you left.”
An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) Page 20