An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3)

by Haviland, Nancy

  “I’ll do that.” Maks nodded toward the foyer. “What’s with the obvious presence at the door?”

  Vasily’s expression turned sour. “We had an exchange interrupted the other night. A few of our boys were meeting with Vex to take a look at some new product that recently came into his possession—RPGs, long-range stuff I might have a buyer for. Detective Smythe was spotted closing in, and they had to bail.”

  Anger boiled anew in Maksim’s gut. “Vex mentioned it last night. Who the fuck tipped them off?” he demanded, already knowing about the mole Vasily was trying to smoke out of the organization. If he’d allow Maks to help, he’d have the fucker on his knees before him within the week. But his Pakhan was holding him off for some reason.

  “I’m getting close,” Vasily said, shaking his head and grimacing. He carefully placed his cup on the bar and walked away, leaving the room.

  “Fuck.” Maksim felt his stomach roll. Judging by that reaction, the one who’d been trying for months and months to fuck them all, was someone close to them. He looked around the room and refused to believe it was anyone here today. Couldn’t be.

  But it could. It always could.

  “Come on,” he muttered gruffly, grabbing Alek by the scruff. “Let’s go get to know each other better.” He dragged him out through the French doors and into the cool November air. They settled on a couple of bare loungers on the edge of the covered pool, and, within seconds, as predicted, Alek brought up the ex.

  “I need you to find her.”

  “Figured.” Her name wasn’t necessary.

  “Yeah?”

  He gave his boy a sidelong look. “Alekzander,” he said patiently. “You’re a fucking zombie, brother. I think it’s an understatement when you say you ‘need’ me to find her. I would have used the word imperative. And that’s me talking.”

  Alek nodded and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He dug the heels of his hands in and gave his eyes a good rub. “She must hate me.”

  “Well, you did end things like an asshole. But”—he shrugged—“if her feelings are anything close to yours, she’ll get over it.”

  “I didn’t fuck that other woman, Maks.”

  Because Sacha would never have believed he’d had a change of heart about them, Alek had set it up to look as though he was cheating on her. Sacha had dropped by TarMor one day and “accidentally” walked in on Alek “banging” one of Maksim’s dancers.

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I know you’re too loyal to have done that to your woman. Making Sacha think it was one thing, following through . . . Why would you?” He’d never understood that before. He’d always wondered why Alek hadn’t gone ahead and fucked that dancer once the show was over. Unfortunately, he was beginning to understand now.

  Alek gave him a weird look. “Really? You get why I didn’t—why I don’t—screw around?”

  “Excuse me for being a little slow on the uptake. I’m there now, so let’s move on, shall we?” How could he not be insulted by that tone?

  “Yeah, move on. Not my thing.’ He shoved his dark-blond hair off his forehead, but it landed in place like a magnet was drawing it back. “I wish I could give you some place to start. I tried keeping an eye on her at first, watching her . . . but it was a fucking nightmare. No way could I have stayed away. So I asked my cousin to take over, but he lost track of her somehow.”

  That shouldn’t have been a surprise. After the way Sergei had lost his family, Maksim couldn’t imagine why the guy didn’t just eat a bullet. Remembering that brutal time, they’d all understood how the incident had spooked Alek into ending things with Sacha. The guy hadn’t wanted to risk the same happening to her.

  “I figured Sergei losing track of her was a sign, and I should just let it go,” Alek continued. He got up and stretched out his back, craning his neck like he had a cramp. Maks rose, too. “But I can’t. Not even for her own good.” He shook his head. “Honest truth? You’ve been right all along. I am spoiled and I do want what I want. I never knew how fucking weak I was until that woman came into my life.”

  A niggling of unease slithered down Maksim’s spine at that; his apparent weakness for a certain blonde waved at him from a dark corner of his mind. “I’ll need any informa—”

  Alek waved his cell. “I’ll send what little I have right now.”

  Maks chuckled as his phone beeped, and he withdrew it to see the usual: DOB, Sacha’s full name and place of birth, last known address, and so on. He’d find her.

  Alek looked out over the covered pool to the frost-tipped grass. “I’m . . . concerned.”

  “I’ll find her. So don’t be.”

  “Not about that. Well, about that, but more.”

  Frowning, Maks asked, “What exactly?”

  “What if . . . What if she’s with someone else?” He shook his head, making his longer-than-usual hair fall into his eyes as his hands curled in on themselves. His expression turned savage. “She belongs to me. Has from that first day Gabriel and I saw her in that diner, and will until the day I die. If someone has moved in on her, I will not hesitate to kill him, and that’ll upset her. I don’t want her upset, Maks.”

  Maksim had to laugh. “Seriously, man, you’re my favorite.” He threw his arm around his boy and turned to lead him back toward the house. “I love the way your mind works. And don’t worry—I remember the way Sacha was with you. There’s no way she’s moved on. No fucking way.”

  There was nothing like a shared outlook, and Maksim so understood where Alek’s head was at. He shouldn’t, but that didn’t change the fact that he did.

  If he were ever to come out of, say, a restaurant, and see Sydney walking down the sidewalk wrapped around Andrew, the way the girls had been wrapped around Gabriel and Vincente a few minutes ago, the streets would run red. Guaranteed. And he was nowhere near in love with her. He just felt territorial as shit where she was concerned.

  Sitting at the dining room table in the luxurious apartment, Sydney wished Alek had been left in charge of her safety. Ultimately, she wished Maksim were here so she could talk to him, see if he was all right after their—eventful?—evening, but he’d been long gone when she’d woken.

  The two men she’d come out of the bedroom to find, one watching a Russian program on TV, the other making what had turned out to be a delicious frittata, were pleasant enough. Just far from verbose. They hadn’t even returned her simple courtesy of offering their names.

  She stretched out her stiff back and flipped her phone over again to look at the time. Almost one. Andrew would be back from church soon.

  Which meant she had to call Maksim. Knowing he had to have been at Rapture last night, she’d put off phoning so as not to wake him. Time was up. She hit his number and took a calming breath as she put the device to her ear.

  “Yeah.”

  She balked at the sharp bark. “Maksim?”

  There was a slight pause. “Sydney? What is it?”

  Despite the clipped demand, that deep voice and smooth accent caressed her ear. She cleared her throat nervously. “Um, I need to see you. Are you coming here?”

  “Yes. What do you need?”

  Her brain automatically came out with “you,” which was so stupid she didn’t even acknowledge it. But it unnerved her so that she stammered like an idiot. “I wanted to, er, well, I was hoping to explain—actually, not explain so much as tell you, uh, about . . .” She pressed her knuckle against her lips. Maybe she should just show him instead of tripping over herself to try to explain. “Can your men bring me home, and will you meet me there?” she blurted.

  “In your loft? You’re allowing me into your loft?”

  Before last night, the insolent tone would have put her back up, but no longer. She was glad he’d become the arrogant jerk he sometimes was. After an ordeal as damaging as the one he’d suffered, it spoke volumes for
the strength of his character that he was who he was today. Criminal activity aside, of course.

  “Yes. In my loft,” she agreed.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He hung up before she could say another word.

  CHAPTER 15

  With not one iota of guilt to bother him—since he’d been given express permission—Maksim punched in the required code to Sydney’s alarm system and shut down the warning before the company could be contacted about a breach. He’d gotten the numbers from the boys he’d brought in to install the new door downstairs; Sydney had had to volunteer them so they could arm the place after finishing yesterday.

  Closing the heavy steel door behind him, he glanced around the cozy entrance before stepping over to get his first look into . . . a wonderland of comfort and luxury. Fuck. Welcoming was what came to mind at his first peek into who Sydney Martin really was, who she hid so fiercely from the world.

  She was soft.

  Soft and earthy and girlie in the way that she clearly enjoyed pretty things that reflected the gender she was. The place was feminine, but not overly, and gorgeous. Like her.

  He peered around at the neutral tones that made up the decor of the open-concept space. It was like a luxurious jungle with its multitude of greens and browns, and an overabundance of plant life that proved what she’d said about liking the outdoors. Two plush sofas in an L shape held a dozen throw pillows. Heavy chocolate-brown tables sitting low to the floor were the accent pieces. Exposed brick walls had been painted a flat gold that worked well with the flowing cream-and-tan silk drapes that had been hung to guarantee privacy but were sheer enough to allow the light of day through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a massive plasma on the outside wall, gaming systems below it, and shelf after shelf on both sides were filled with movies, games, and what looked to be boxed sets of old TV shows.

  Australia was a homebody.

  He looked to one of the sofas that had an Xbox One controller on its arm and smiled, picturing his little Aussie sitting there all by herself, cursing at the screen while she played her game of choice. No doubt her online partners in COD or Forza would have plenty of fodder for the spank-bank if they ever saw their competitor. He’d have to find out her gamertag and troll for her. Definitely preferable to sitting in the main room at home playing against a bored Alek or an overly competitive Jak. Quan was always a good time. Vincente and Gabriel usually passed if asked.

  Maks’s teeth came together as he narrowed his eyes, looking around for anything that didn’t belong. How stupid of him to think she sat there alone and played. The system could be the boyfriend’s for all he knew.

  A series of beeps followed by the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs and low voices had Maks wheeling to face the door. Motherfuck. She was home. Okay. He’d known before coming in that she would be showing any minute. No need for him to feel anything as ridiculous as nerves.

  Dude, what the fuck . . . ? his pride questioned.

  His skin began to prickle. What the fuck was she laughing at? He could hear her voice, strained but warm. She was stressed but being friendly. With who? His fucking men? Not even a full day in, and she was best friends with the fuckers?

  Suddenly uncaring what she might think of finding him already inside—he’d convinced Micha to drop him off on his way to Rapture, so she wouldn’t have been tipped off by his SUV—Maks leaned a shoulder against the wall in the entrance and got ready to tell his boys to fuck off so he could set his flirty little Aussie straight on the proper way to act around his people.

  Another beep from the system sounded to let him know she’d disarmed this one using the fob he’d noticed on her key ring, and then the heavy steel door was swinging wide.

  “But, Mom, the sleepover is for all five of us. If I don’t go, they’re gonna think I’m a pussy.”

  Maksim blinked.

  Mom?

  There was a crash, a shatter, then the sound of glug, glug, glug. The bottle of red wine Sydney had been carrying had hit the hardwood, and the dark liquid was spreading like blood around a Tarasov soldier’s shoes—another was taking up the rear of the group. Both men were withdrawing their hands from the insides of their jackets. Maks absently waved for them to take a break as his and Sydney’s gazes locked, and the two heavies turned and went back down the way they’d come.

  There wasn’t a word strong enough to describe his shock.

  She has a fucking kid!

  She couldn’t be much older than thirty. And she had a kid nearly as tall as her? Mom? he thought again as images raced through his mind of his Aussie in her late teens, pregnant, confused, scared.

  Her clumsy telling of her past at the beach that day came back to him. As did every halted and choppy sentence she’d offered when evasively answering his questions. She’d been taking out her son’s part in her life, keeping him a secret. So many times now she’d corrected herself or stumbled over her wording, because she’d been hiding her child.

  Anger blew through him. He hadn’t taken on protecting only her life in this job. He’d taken on saving her son’s life, too, and she’d failed to warn him of that. For nearly a week now, he’d been responsible for this boy’s fucking well-being, and she’d kept that from him. That was fucking huge! Had her boy been with her yesterday? Could he have died from the blast of the car bomb right along with her had a fucking steel door not saved them?

  There was a bruise on the kid’s forehead that was a possible yes to his silent questions.

  Attempting to focus on the now, he noted that Sydney’s arm was out, holding the boy back as he attempted to enter the loft. Protecting her cub as a mother bear should. Incredible sight. This development, not that he’d had any qualms before, but this made what he’d done to Juan and his buddy feel even more justified.

  “Just a second, Andrew,” Sydney said quietly.

  And the punches just keep coming, he thought as another shock nailed him like an uppercut. His fingertips tingled with adrenaline. Andrew. It had been her son she’d been speaking to last night after having been with him? She’d been telling her child that he was the best part of her life and how much she loved him, not another man. He remembered the purity and truth in her words and crazily experienced something that felt a lot like jealousy. He hadn’t had that since he was eight years old and holding his mother’s hand as she lay in a hospital bed taking her last breath. One she’d used to tell her son how much he was loved.

  “Russia?”

  The anxious note in Sydney’s voice brought him out of his head again, and he raised his eyes from where she was banning the boy from entering. “You’ve just done what most are incapable of.” He spoke slowly, and in Russian, trying to wrap his head around this. He. Was. Dumbfounded. A child he’d had no clue existed. Her reasons for so much, not the least of which was refusing to allow him to fuck her, suddenly made perfect sense. She wasn’t a single woman with nothing better to do in her spare time than screw it away with an asshole like him. She had one hell of a responsibility. She was raising a son. Alone.

  She wasn’t a snob who sat on her high horse and looked down her nose at the rest of them. She was . . . discriminating. Classy. She had principles and pride. She respected herself as a woman and mother, and he’d belittled those beautiful character traits by turning her into a gorgeous body with a couple of holes. That shamed him. Humbled him. And did what nothing else could have.

  Made him step back.

  Yes, thinking she’d had a man had infuriated him. But he was pretty sure, because he was who he was, he’d have still slept with her if it came down to it. But now? He couldn’t play with her. Not now. Not later. She was the type of woman he stayed the fuck away from. The type he respected too much to taint with his bullshit.

  He looked behind him, at her home. Then back to the child she was protecting with her small body. The best part of her life, she’d called him.
<
br />   Holy hell, he thought through the shit flipping so quickly through his head. Talk about an eye-opener. “This is what you were trying to tell me yesterday,” he said.

  She nodded, and he could see her hands were shaking.

  “Mom?”

  That word echoed in Maks’s head.

  “It’s okay, Andrew. He’s my . . . friend. Thing One and Thing Two’s boss.” When Maks’s brow popped, she explained, “Your men wouldn’t introduce themselves, so I couldn’t tell Andrew who they were.” She shrugged. “I named them. They didn’t seem to mind after I told them I stole the monikers from a cartoon,” she said with a slight smile that left as quickly as it came. “I didn’t expect to find you in here. I thought you might do things the traditional way for once and wait to be greeted on the other side of the door. Shouldn’t you be wearing black?”

  Amusement crept in when he didn’t think it could, and, keeping in character, Maks shoved the feelings whipping around inside him off the ledge and glanced down at his clothes before raising both his brows at her. How dare she diss his favorite Salvatore Ferragamo two-button, notch-lapel navy-blue suit with a double vent? When she simply stared back, he untangled his head and firmed his voice to remind her who was in charge here. The dynamic had changed in his mind, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Tradition didn’t seem necessary in this instance,” he informed her.

  Her cheeks went pink, and he knew his tone had registered, but she didn’t seem cowed by it. The reaction simply showed him that she instinctually recognized authority when she heard it. And she liked it. Fuck.

  “No, I suppose you’re right.”

  Her instant surrender was unwanted, and suspicious, but he let it pass because he saw her son shift on his feet behind her, trying to see him. She kept blocking his view. “Why don’t we move on, and you can tell me about the new face.” He tipped his chin to the boy.

  Her expression was suddenly wary as she gingerly, reluctantly, stepped aside and drew the kid forward, giving him a reassuring smile before looking back to Maksim. “Andrew, this is the friend I told you about last night, the one helping me. His name is Maksim. Maksim, this is my son, Andrew.”