An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3)

by Haviland, Nancy

  The girl never got her clothes and shoes back. But they’d had sex with her. And he’d had to listen to it, to the violence of it. The malevolence. He’d heard the terror and enjoyment, respectively. And then he’d had to listen to her cry. For hours and hours she’d cry, that girl.

  A soft touch on his cheek registered. “Hey.”

  He cleared his throat and wished these flashes of his past would stop coming to him. “You should put something on your feet,” he said, his voice sleep roughened.

  She wriggled her toes as she drew her fingertips lightly across his jaw. “Why?”

  “For your comfort.” Christ, she was too tiny. He should have been so much more careful with her. Next time he would be.

  “I am comfortable.”

  He nodded absently, making a mental note to hit the thermostat and crank up the temp. He looked at her feet again. How could one be so at ease that they walked around barefoot? He rarely did. Not even here at home. Directly out of the shower he sometimes slipped his feet into his adidas flip-flops, for fuck’s sake.

  “You don’t like being barefoot?” Sydney asked, her tone hushed as she sat on the edge of the bed.

  Looking away from her dainty toes—the silver polish made her feet look cold—he pulled himself up a little straighter. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you three?” he snapped. He hated his thoughts. Hated being in his own head. Hated remembering. Hated the nightmares he was once more having since shooting Nika. Hated having to talk about shit when he just wanted it all to fuck off. It was no wonder he’d barely slept in the past weeks. “Only three-year-olds repeatedly ask that one-word question.”

  Her eyes flared with affront, darkening to the beautiful purple they became when she was upset or aroused. “Really.” Her voice had lost its warmth and softness, proving anger was the cause for the color change.

  She went to get up, but he tightened his fingers around where he figured her wrist would be under all that soft material. “Sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I . . .” What could he say? “I’m an asshole.” Besides the truth. “It pisses me off to have this shit in my head, and I lashed out. Forgive me.”

  She inched back down, her ass cheek snugging up to the side of his knee. An indignant sigh puffed out of her. “You also mentioned having bad dreams the other day. Do they come every night?” she asked warily.

  “Haven’t had them in years. Until I shot Nika. Now they’re back.”

  Sympathy cloaked her features, and her hand came out. Just before it covered his where it rested on his lap, she pulled back, denying him the simple pleasure—the comfort. Annoying. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She watched the action and said, “If you think it might help, you can tell me about it . . . ?”

  “This one was . . .” His brow tightened as he tried to get it back. “A girl was crying, and I looked up and saw Nika. She was begging me to take her to Vincente. The closer she got, the more scared she looked. She had a key in her hand. The same one I keep in my pocket. Just before she unlocked me, she was shot in the chest. I looked down, and I was holding the gun. It took me a few to look back because I didn’t want to acknowledge what I’d done . . . When I did, she was you. I tried to help, but I couldn’t reach you because I was in the cell.” He paused to breathe. “I woke up when your chest went still. Dreams are so fucked up.”

  Both Sydney’s hands came out to clasp his. “Oh, Maks—”

  “Sucky dream. Who’s Nika, and why were you in a cell? I always dream of the beach. We might go to Jamaica for March Break this year, right, Mom? Never had anyone die in my dreams before. Sure don’t like that it was my mom.”

  Sydney was grimacing and then blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, intertwining their fingers. And just like that, she destroyed the negative emotions roiling through him when she raised his hand and dropped a kiss to his knuckles before leaning over to poke her son in the ribs. Andy jerked, but his eyes remained closed, lip stretched up where it was caught on the pillow, dark-blond hair sticking up all over the place. “You shouldn’t eavesdrop, Andrew,” she scolded.

  “Wasn’t. I was trying to sleep. It’s you two who have so much to say. How early is it?”

  Feeling a grin claim his face, Maks pulled the pillow from behind his back and thumped the fluffy mass across the kid’s shoulders. “Next time grunt to let us know you’re awake. There’s going to come a day when you’re going to hear something you wished you hadn’t.” He raked his gaze down Sydney’s form again, because he just couldn’t help himself, and tried not to let his body react to the sight of the tawny skin of her thighs that was visible between where her sweater ended and the leg warmers began. Mouthwatering.

  Andrew’s laugh distracted him, and he lifted the pillow to allow the kid some air—not that he was covering his face or anything. Tossing it to the foot of the bed, Maks slid by Sydney and got to his feet. “I’m going to shower. Meet me down the hall in twenty, and we’ll go up for breakfast.”

  He left without grabbing that tattooed wrist and dragging his Aussie to his room with him.

  Sitting in the darkness afforded by the cloudy skies and covered car park, slouched so that he couldn’t be seen, Eberto Morales waited. His brother thought he could still call the shots, tell him what to do. Fuck him. And that sonofabitch Russian thought he’d be intimidated by some old-school threats. Fuck him, too. He knew guys like Kirov. Knew they were gutless deep down. They wouldn’t go after a kid. Because there was something inside them that wouldn’t allow it.

  Eberto had been born without that something. Which was one of the many reasons he’d always felt inferior to Luiz. His brother cared about people, his bitch of a wife, his son. Him.

  Eberto didn’t.

  He went into his pocket and took out the piece of paper he’d torn from the pad his daughter kept by the phone at home so that she wouldn’t forget to write his messages. She’d done that only once. Never again. On the paper was the flight information for a charter to Mexico that he’d written out. Putting his arm out, he let it go and watched it flutter and billow until it landed beside his foot.

  A decoy for the Russian.

  Two women walked by, their voices muffled, and then a man. And a group of older women.

  Come on, he thought. Shift change had been fifteen minutes ago. She should—

  A female’s laugh sounded, and he slouched farther down, putting his hands in his pockets so nothing as light as skin showed. The car he was in beeped as the beautiful blonde he’d been told about appeared, walking around the hood, hospital scrubs on under her short jacket, cell pressed to her ear.

  “. . . drove today because I had an appointment before work. I know, hands-free.” She pulled open the door and slid into the driver’s seat. “Which means I’ll have to let you go. I’ll see you after your shift? Goodie. Bye.” Slamming the door, she threw her phone and purse onto the passenger seat, but before she could insert the key in the ignition, he surged forward to nail her arm. She dropped the keys and let out a little scream that choked off when she felt his blade press into the thin skin covering her jugular.

  “’Bout time you got here, Doc. I was getting lonely.”

  Her breath was coming fast, her eyes wide and so fucking blue he could see their color through the shadows in the rearview mirror where they met his. She sounded as if she were being fucked, and that made him hard. But most things a woman did made him hard, so she wasn’t anything special.

  “My purse is right there. Take whatever you want.”

  He chuckled. “You shouldn’t say that to a man like me.” He reached his hand around the seat and slid it into the opening of her jacket to cup her breast, kneading the softness. “Because I’ll take way more than you’re willing to give.”

  “Please don’t,” she begged. “Please don’t do this.”

  There was a demand, an order
, in her tone, despite the tremble he could feel in her as he pressed the knife harder, causing her to sink deeper into the back of her seat. He yanked her jacket out of the way and gave the other one a hard squeeze. Equal treatment. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” he growled. “Or I’ll drag you back here with me. You don’t want to be back here with me, chica.” He tried to get a better grip but couldn’t because her bra had that lining that prevented it. Fuck. He needed a bump. Should have snorted while he was waiting for her. Then again, if he was fresh, he’d have her under him by now. Pissed about that, he jerked her shirt aside, hearing it tear, and pulled her bra out of the way so he could feel her soft skin.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t. Sorry. Please stop. Please.”

  He shook his head and tried to focus. “Now, as much as I’d like to stay and have some fun with you, my time is limited. But I’ll try to make it back soon, so don’t let your guard down.” He laughed quietly. That would guarantee she shit herself for a while every time she left her cushy job. Lived her life looking over her shoulder, just as they all do, he thought, absently fondling her bare breast. “I want you to give Kirov a message for me. Will you do that, Dr. Mancuso?”

  Her labored breaths faltered at the sound of her name. “Yes.”

  “All you have to do is tell him Eberto got to you. When I get back,” he made sure to say, hoping she’d remember and relay that part because he needed their guard down, “I’ll find you again, Doc, and I’m going to wreck you. Then I’ll move on to the next person he loves, and the next, until I reach Sydney Martin. If he wants to save his family, tell him I’ll take her and we can call it even. Make sure he knows she’s my main target and I’ll get to her however I can. Do you got all that?”

  “Yes. I g-got it.”

  “What’s my name?”

  “E-Eberto.”

  “Good.” Knowing the security guard would be making his rounds in the next few minutes, he fully cupped the nice-size mound and wished he was in a better position to really go at her. He sat forward and moved his hand down to cup her pussy, just to let her know where his head was at. His lips thinned when her thighs squeezed his hand out. But that was okay. For now. “Thanks for this,” he added, going back up to flick her nipple hard before finally taking his hand back. “Put your head down and don’t lift it until you reach a hundred.” He went into his pocket and snapped open another blade to press under her ear on her right side so she wouldn’t try anything stupid. “Do it now.”

  Down her head went, her forehead touching the console.

  “Start counting.”

  “One, two, three . . .”

  He could tell she was crying as he got out of the car, and he didn’t give a shit. What good were tears? They never helped anybody. Fucking women were so weak. His kid cried all the time.

  As he slammed the door and began a steady clip down the ramp that would lead to the street, he hoped the flight information was found soon and would buy him the clear path needed to make it so that meddling bitch would come to him. Because he’d finally accepted the fact that he wasn’t getting by the Russian to get to her.

  A car door opened behind him long before one hundred was reached, and the sound of wretching followed him around the corner.

  It was just before noon when Sydney found herself standing on the edge of the sprawling lawn behind Maksim’s house watching Andrew zoom away on an ATV, a helmet secure on his head, a heavy jacket and gloves protecting his upper body from the fall bite in the air—the smile on his face was so wide it looked like it hurt. Jak, Gabriel’s scarred bodyguard, was riding his own four-wheeler in the front, a complicated-looking crossbow strapped to his back. Nika and Vincente were third and fourth in the line, respectively, both decked out in jeans and bomber jackets, Vincente with a case across the back of his ride that was large enough to be carrying more than one rifle. They were moving at a slower pace because Charlie was running next to them.

  “Where will they go?” Sydney asked Gabriel, who was beside her.

  “We have over thirty acres, so your guess is as good as mine. But don’t worry—the boys and Nika will be more than careful with your son. Jak is a pro with that bow, and V only brought the rifles in case a bear dares make an appearance.” He winked to let her know he was kidding. Or at least she hoped he was kidding.

  “You let Andy go with?”

  They turned to see Maksim sauntering toward them, hands buried in the front pocket of a gray hoodie. He wore navy sweatpants and Nikes on his feet. Gone were the black slacks, dress shirt, and diamond studs. Sydney felt her pulse start to race. She’d never seen him—aside from that glimpse the other night in his darkened club, but she’d blocked that out—in anything but suits and dress casual, never even jeans, and she was stunned. His body really was sublime, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, so well proportioned for his size it was ridiculous. Never had she wanted to unwrap and worship a man more than she did just then. It was unnatural, the strength of her desire. If he kept coming at her and put her up against the tree behind them, she’d probably do nothing more than wave his friend away, begging for some privacy.

  A brow went up when he reached them, and she quickly snapped her jaw shut. Embarrassing. “Oh, uh, pardon?” She honestly couldn’t remember what he’d said.

  “Andy’s allowed to hunt?” he questioned.

  “Er, sure. He would never have forgiven me if I’d said no.” She cleared her throat. “Gabriel was just reassuring me that your friends will take good care of him.”

  “Of course they will. What are they after?” he asked Gabriel. “Deer? Rabbit?”

  “I don’t know, but whatever it is, they better not bring it anywhere near my wife. She’s feeling emotional today.” The indulgent humor in his tone made it clear that was a common occurrence.

  “Pregnancy does that to a woman,” she muttered. Men.

  “That it does. It also makes her clingy, which, now that the house is quiet, I think I’ll go take advantage of. Later.”

  “Maybe you should take her out for a drive,” Maksim said, causing Gabriel to pause in the process of turning away. “I hear the scenery is really something around the Catskills this time of year. Better yet, do a group thing. Hook up with a sibling or something.”

  The look on Gabriel’s face made it clear they were talking about much more than what it sounded as if they were talking about. “You fucking with me?” he finally asked.

  “Nope,” Maksim assured him. “Just got a call. From Ian Preston. Remember him? The PI who gave up some pretty detailed info on you last summer? Ironic that I used him, don’t you think?” He seemed proud. “Anyway, just keep in mind he says things are pretty peaceful up there. You might want to let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Seems—”

  Sydney patted Maksim’s chest to get his attention. “Instead of all the code, why don’t I go inside and wait for you?”

  He covered her hand with his. “No need.” He gave Gabriel a look. “The sibling is taking advantage of a secluded cottage up there that belongs to a shrink he used to see. She happens to be clearing her calendar for the holidays, telling a few select clients she’s planning on spending them the rustic way.”

  “Send me her deets.”

  “Will do. Later, though.”

  “Later is good.” Gabriel gave them a wave and headed up the lawn toward the covered pool they’d had to pass to get out here.

  Maksim turned to her. “Sorry about that. Not my information to share.”

  She shook her head and tried not to stare at his pecs. “Of course. Think nothing of it.”

  “Wanna go work out?”

  She tried not to visibly wilt. Guess that explained the sweats. “Sure.” She’d been hoping to burn calories in a different way now that they were alone, but . . .

  He took her hand, and they followed the same route G
abriel had used and made it through the living room and foyer without seeing anyone. Samnang, the adorable Cambodian housekeeper she’d met at breakfast, could be heard clanging pots in the kitchen. Whatever he was making for lunch smelled delicious.

  “I know I’m not supposed to ask, but is there any news on Eberto?”

  “No. And this hiding bullshit is making me tense. Fucking cowards give me the scratch.”

  He brought her downstairs and turned right instead of left. She frowned and looked up at him as they traveled the wrong hallway, passing the rooms she and Andrew had been given and continuing on to the one at the end of the corridor.

  Something like adrenaline spiked along her nerve endings as she pointed back with her thumb. “Isn’t the gym that way?” Maybe she was turned around?

  He looked down and winked. “Our babysitters have inadvertently given us at least a couple of hours. I plan on being the one who gets you sweaty.”

  He opened the door and ushered her into a decadent, wholly masculine bedroom. Her limbs weakened with anticipation as she took in the coffee-colored walls, crown-molded ceilings, and dark furnishings. The bed was enormous and covered with a fluffy down-filled duvet the color of café au lait. There were two doors across the way, one presumably to an en suite, the other—who knew? Her quick survey came to a screeching halt when her gaze landed on the artwork taking up the long wall to the left. Sydney’s heart slammed into her ribs as she took in a monstrous beast making love to a wanton-looking woman. She was blissed out as he hovered protectively, impaling her with his length in some paintings, a breath away from using his mouth on her in others. The images were arousing beyond belief, and, unthinkingly, Sydney moved toward them. By the time she reached the sixth and final one, having taken in the fervent need, utter reverence, lust, a rather sweet adoration, and more lust, there was a heated pressure between her legs that was making her want to squirm. “A question?” she said, her voice husky even to her own ears.

  “Yes. That’s why I didn’t want Andy wandering in here.”