An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3)

by Haviland, Nancy

  “Let me talk to Anton.”

  There was a pause, and then Anton’s calm voice came on. “Maks?”

  Feeling like hell over his suspicions, he asked, “Has she come out of her room?”

  “No. You want me to wake her?”

  “No. Leave her. I thought if she was out, you could ask her something for me. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  He hung up, and a lightbulb went off in his head. She’d be away all night, her club closed and free of eyes. Perfect time for him to brush up on his B&E skills and snoop the fuck out of her place, upstairs and down. At least he’d get something to tide him over until he could talk to her in the morning. His lip curled at the very thought of sitting across from the two-timing witch.

  He focused and continued reading. Eberto Morales’s records went all the way back to juvie, physical assault and battery charges against both sexes, multiple instances of intercourse with minors—which wouldn’t be a glaring red flag considering he’d also been a minor at the time. But the “questionable consent” that was bracketed next to that entry had Maksim’s teeth gnashing together. Again, both sexes were mentioned in the margin, letting everyone know the guy wasn’t particular about who he nailed. He turned the laptop to Micha, who came in close and read while Maks filled him in on what Quan had told him about the Mexican.

  “Well, isn’t he a piece of shit,” Micha murmured. “If you want my opinion, whether he’s heavily involved or not, he should be dealt with.”

  “I’ll talk to Vasily.”

  Micha straightened and gave him an appraising look. “Why are you here? I thought you were planning on watching the Aussie’s back tonight. I was about to head over to keep you com—” Maks shook his head once, and Micha paused, then nodded without pushing for more. “I’ll be out on the floor if you need me,” he said. “Vex and a few of his boys are here. Caleb was asking about you.”

  Nika’s brother. “I’ll be out in a few to say hello.”

  Micha nodded and left him alone.

  Vincente had been right. Distraction was damaging. But it wasn’t as if Maks hadn’t already known that. He glanced to the couple in the painting as he shrugged out of his coat, tossing it aside as he left his office. Looked as if he’d be taking that loss after all where the Australian was concerned. He’d do his job, act accordingly, and be done with her.

  He entered the club, nodding to a few of his regulars. Then he shook hands and exchanged social pleasantries with a couple of others. Being Saturday, the place was wall-to-wall with bodies. He shifted away from the wandering hand belonging to the lover of a well-known Wall Street exec, winking at her to soften the rejection. And then he allowed an inner-thigh caress from another overly made-up woman who belonged to a television producer Maks could never stand. The guy was an overweight, pompous ass with nothing to back up his enormous attitude. It gave Maks a kick of satisfaction to let the woman get back at the prick for the shitty way he treated her when they came to Rapture. Too many times she was left alone at the table while the exec went off to one of the secluded rooms in the back for a private session with one of the dancers. Why some women put up with that sort of treatment he’d never understand. Money, he supposed.

  His phone went off to signal a text as he headed for the corner booth. Reading the message sent by the guy he had stationed outside of Apetito, the smile that curved his lips felt grim. Morales had just shown at the restaurant. And his timing couldn’t have been better, because Juan would either have just been dropped off or would be at any moment. How long before Luiz responded to his message?

  When he reached the large booth that had six of the ODMC’s finest surrounding it, a round of fist bumps and handshakes were exchanged. He pulled up a chair between Vex and Caleb and gave a faint nod at two of his dancers hovering off to the side, giving them permission to come over and engage the generous tippers the bikers normally were.

  Business as usual, he thought as he settled in to wait on Morales. Business as usual.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Morales?”

  Luiz turned away from his wife’s too-bright gaze—he’d confiscated a vial of coke that he’d found in her jewelry box before they left home, but clearly she had more than one stash. The satisfied smile he’d left her with that morning had become chemical by early afternoon. Like Eberto, she’d started dabbling a few years ago. To give her some energy after the baby, she’d said when he’d confronted her. Once those occasional hits had become regular, he’d insisted she stop. She had. Briefly. Now it was a cycle. Occasional use. Regular use. Quit. And repeat.

  Who suffered because of her addiction besides him? Their five-year-old son.

  “Yes, Paulo?” he finally inquired of one of his waitstaff, who stood next to the booth Luiz and his wife had just settled into.

  “There is something in the prep area that needs your immediate attention.”

  Paulo’s pale face and urgent stare had Luiz excusing himself immediately. Not that his wife took any notice. He moved at a steady pace around the filled tables, nodding to the odd familiar face, and dropped his social persona the moment he passed through the swinging doors.

  “What is it?” he asked Paulo.

  “Juan.”

  One of the two he’d been told were missing from the meeting Eberto had had this afternoon. A snaky feeling slithered down his spine as they traveled through the busy kitchen and into the prep area, which was a separate room beyond where all the culinary action happened. He saw Eberto first, face puce with rage. Then two more of their men, and then Juan.

  “What’s happened?” he asked as he toed his brother’s discarded cigar, glaring at him while he ground the still-burning tip under his heel. Disrespect, oh, how he hated it.

  “This!” Eberto shouted. “This happened! Look at him!” He was pointing at Juan’s hands where they rested on his thighs, which on closer inspection weren’t hands at all. Those, in fact, were on the table in front of him, wrapped quite handsomely in a blue box with white—stained a light pink now—tissue paper. On his thighs were stumps wrapped in gauze.

  He bent and came into Juan’s line of vision. “Who did this?” he asked, noting the pasty, sweating pallor of the man’s normally bronzed skin.

  “Fucking Kirov did this!” Eberto shouted, his voice ringing clear.

  “That’s enough!” Luiz barked at his brother. It was past time these tantrums of his ceased. “You shouting loud enough for my customers to hear you will aid no one. Now find some control or leave the room.”

  Eberto’s pockmarked face shook with the effort it cost him to do as he was told.

  Luiz went back to Juan. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “I woke up . . . Kirov’s boy was there . . . took me to a place . . . Sal was there . . . They killed him . . . Said to leave Martin alone . . . my chest.”

  “Those fuckers!” Eberto hissed. “Who the fuck do they think they are to do this? They killed Sal and now have the balls to warn us off that bitch who—”

  Luiz held up a hand. He didn’t need a recap. “I’ve told you before, Eberto,” he said calmly as he reached out to undo the buttons of Juan’s cheap button-down. “You can’t take these things personally. It’s business. Why they went so far as to prove their strength when I’ve given them no reason, I don’t know. But I might have to take this as a lesson. Learn from them and do something similar the next time I feel the need. They have our attention—do they not?”

  “That bitch is mine. That fucking troublemaking bitch who can’t keep her nose out of shit that doesn’t concern her is mine! I should have taken care of her long ago. Fucking troublemaker. She’s gonna be sorry . . .”

  Before he opened Juan’s shirt and looked at his chest—if this was even what he’d meant—for all Luiz knew, he could be speaking of a treasure chest somewhere, he turned his attention to his still-chattering brother.

  Sighing,
he waited for a break before cutting in. “How long ago should she have been taken care of? We only found out about her double cross last month. And what do you mean she’s yours? Were you thinking I was going to share her with you had the Tarasovs not gotten involved? You should know better than that, Eberto.”

  “So we just swallow this?” his brother spat without acknowledging anything he’d said. “On top of swallowing Kirov practically fucking her in front of us all the other night? How much are you going to take from them?” he demanded. “I say we get that bitch and her fucking kid alone, fuck them up, and send them back to the Russians in body bags.”

  Luiz stepped around Juan, placing a hand on the guy’s trembling shoulder. “Call the doctor,” he said quietly to Paulo, who’d been hovering next to a stack of stainless-steel bowls. He moved directly in front of Eberto and caught his wild stare. “What kid?”

  Eberto stood there and sniffed, and Luiz grabbed his hand when he went to shove it in his pocket.

  “Not now. Before that bump, I think it’s time you told me why you’re so passionate about this situation with Ms. Martin. Is there something going on between the two of you that you failed to mention to me?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Because unless she has personally screwed you over in the worst possible way, you should not be talking such nonsense about sending anyone to the Russians in body bags. Not unless you’re willing to end up in one yourself.” As if this situation was worth the trouble a move such as that would bring. “This is the Tarasov organization we’re talking about,” he continued, “with the Moretti family thrown in as an added layer of protection. And remember, it’s the younger brother running things now, not Stefano, so it’s a whole different game. Did you not see Gabriel’s guard dog the other night at Rapture? Vincente Romani is exactly as he looks. Malefic. He’s dangerous. They all are, and you’d be wise to remember that.” He found himself chuckling. “That was quite an impressive showing, though, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eberto cut in, looking confused as he jerkily moved away a few paces, putting his back to the room so he could withdraw his vile to fill each of his nostrils despite being told not to. Forever ready for an ambush, Luiz thought around his growing anger as he waved a hand to dismiss their conversation.

  “What child did you refer to a moment ago?”

  “Martin has a son.”

  He stared at his brother. “A son. How do you know this?”

  “I checked her out.”

  “Quite thoroughly, it seems. Have you had her under surveillance?”

  “Yeah. For a while.”

  “Personal surveillance, Eberto?” he inquired with a sinking feeling. “Eberto?” he pressed when he didn’t receive an answer.

  “Sometimes.”

  Dammit. “And who have you had watching her those other times?”

  His brother blinked. Caught. “Okay. So what? I watch her. So?”

  “Why?”

  “Because she fucked us—”

  “It was business,” he stressed firmly, without waiting to hear the usual nonsense as a cover for what had clearly become another fixation. He went back to Juan and reached forward to draw the panels of his shirt apart.

  The sympathy he was feeling for the man, and everything attached to it, disappeared. He could have sworn he smelled sulfur in that moment, and his vision shook with true fear.

  Every one of Luiz’s living family members, each name, had been carved into Juan’s flesh, right down to Luiz’s five-year-old boy.

  Footsteps sounded behind him, and he spun to see two more of his men enter the room, interest in their expressions. Realizing his reaction was being observed, Luiz gathered himself as best he could and brought his focus back to Juan’s face. Eberto, having noted his alarm, had come around and was now standing next to him, staring at that list of names. All Luiz held dear.

  “Why did they send this message to me?” Luiz asked Juan, hoping the man wouldn’t pass out before he offered some answers. As it was, he was weaving on the chair and now sweating profusely. Clearly whatever meds the Russians had administered were wearing off.

  “The b-bomb.”

  Luiz frowned around his thudding heartbeat. The bomb. What bomb? “What?” He must have misheard.

  “Do you really have to ask why they’ve done this?” Eberto spat. “Because of that bitch. She’s the one responsible for this. If we take her out of the equation, everything else will go back to the way it was.”

  In his head, Luiz raised a gun and shot his brother point-blank through the heart for the utter stupidity he’d just spouted. As he begged his mother’s forgiveness for his thoughts, he counted to ten.

  When calm enough, he bent again to Juan. “What bomb?”

  “Luiz, I mean it—who cares?”

  Straightening with a snap when his brother interrupted again, he rounded on him. “What have you done?” he demanded. “Your continued interference reeks of guilt. What. Bomb?”

  When Eberto simply glared at him with that curled upper lip he so hated to see, he made his fantasy a reality and lifted his SIG Sauer, pointing it right at his brother’s throat. “Have you gone over my head, Eberto? Have you forgotten what I told you the last time you did that? Remember when I had to deal with the Asians on your behalf? I told you I would kill you if you ever put me in that position again. But I may not get the chance if I can’t salvage this. And I can’t salvage this if I don’t know what you’ve done!” he shouted. Luiz did not normally raise his voice, and the fear that entered Eberto’s expression proved it. “Now,” he said, quiet once again. “It seems you’ve brought two powerhouse organizations down on me, and I’d like to know how and why you did that, my brother.”

  He lowered his weapon and waved his men out, hoping the privacy would get him the whole story. Once they got Juan mobile and gone, Eberto took out a fresh cigar that he did nothing but play with for a minute. Strangely, he then shook his head and went for the door, but Luiz, naturally, stepped into his path. There was a dejected, beaten look in Eberto’s eyes that he’d never seen before.

  “I need the file so you’ll understand. It’s in the car,” Eberto said.

  “What file?”

  “The one the PI that I hired a couple of years ago gave me.”

  Realizing this was much more involved than he’d originally thought, Luiz moved aside. As Eberto went out to get the information he felt he needed to explain this disaster, Luiz wondered if he shouldn’t start making arrangements to have his loved ones brought to the airport and put on the first flight to Mexico.

  It wasn’t until five minutes had passed and then ten, those ten turning into fifteen, that Luiz knew he’d been snowed. By his own flesh and blood. Again.

  His rage battling with trepidation, he took his phone out and started making calls, putting off the most important until he’d put his affairs in order.

  Talk of business reigned, and, during a lull, Maksim asked Caleb about his sister—as he always made sure to do in order to let the biker know he wasn’t shying away from his sins against her. Caleb, the dagger tattoos on his neck warping as he cracked away some tension, was gruff with his response. The fresh scar across his forehead that reached from his hairline to his right eyebrow wasn’t the only one he’d been left with after his time with Kevin Nollan. There were invisible ones, too. Guilt emanated from him, and that was understandable since Nika’s husband had originally targeted her because of Caleb’s refusal to accept him as a brother in the motorcycle club. Poor sucker, Maks thought as the biker grew quiet and slumped down with only his beer for company.

  Maks took that as his cue and checked his watch as he said his good-byes. It was 3:45 a.m. How the fuck is it already 3:45 a.m.? he wondered as he entered his office.

  Shrugging on his coat, he headed out, not looking forward to the drive to Old Westbury. He had some clothes in
the bedroom off his office but not complete suits. Plus there were some research sites he wanted to visit—hack—from his home IP address, which had been rerouted to within an inch of its life. It could not be traced.

  And he would never admit this to a soul, but he was in need of the familiar. His basement. His stuff. His monitors and keyboards and equipment. All those little things that brought him comfort.

  Remembering Vasily’s warning at the last minute, he went back into the club and dragged Micha away from a quiet card game being played at one of the tables tucked away to the side of the bar.

  “Safe house?” Micha asked as they settled into the Hummer.

  “No. Her house.”

  Maks drove down the alley and pulled out into the sparse traffic, heading for Club Pant.

  “We’re going to Pant?”

  “Yes. I need some information that she’s not willing to give. So I’m taking it.”

  “Oh. So we’re going to invade her privacy by breaking into her place that’s currently closed because of a car bomb someone planted in her vehicle in an attempt to kill her?”

  Maks frowned, feeling a thin layer of shame settle over him. Had Sydney felt shame when declaring herself to her boyfriend after having come in Maks’s hand? “What’s with the recap?” he snapped as they rounded the corner onto Sydney’s street.

  “Just clarifying.”

  For nothing, it turned out, because the police presence around the club was four officers too many for Maks to comfortably risk his ass for information he was just going to have to demand Sydney give him herself.

  Hopefully by morning he wouldn’t feel the need to tear into her for her deception. As it was, if he had her in front of him right now, he’d give her a lesson in loyalty she’d never forget.

  Driving past her darkened club, he turned the stereo on and aimed for the freeway that would take him home.

  CHAPTER 13

  NYPD Detective Lorenzo Russo entered the emergency department of Coney Island Hospital, tired and ready to call it a night, his jaw hurting, his teeth hurting—both from grinding. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Had agreed to do it, in fact, only because it fell under the shadow of “the job.” But this favor for a buddy in a neighboring precinct veered over into something a little too personal for Lore to be completely comfortable with it.