by SE Chardou
“Well, she is a beautiful woman, Dimi.” Max stared into the distance before his blue-green eyes met his mentor’s again. “I thought she would have that hardened look of a woman who has lived a rough life but you must see her in the flesh. She’s . . . even more striking than any photo I have ever glimpsed of her. I shall maintain my emotional distance from her but lucky for me, sex isn’t a weapon she wields.”
“She wouldn’t,” his mentor replied. “There are some women who are tainted like her who do use sex as a weapon but that is because they are psychologically damaged or perhaps sociopaths. Magnolia’s mentally intact. Somehow, she’s like a fucking phoenix, rising from the fire and soot of her past. I admire her very much. It’s a shame she will have to be disposed of after this operation is over.”
Max looked away though he tried not to show any emotion. That was always the one part of the plan he’d been uncomfortable with but he couldn’t possibly question the orders of Dimitri. The woman had been through enough and he felt her life should have been spared for the ultimate betrayal she was about to commit against her own family. Surely that should’ve bought her freedom?
“It’s true. She’s very strong and I have no doubt that she will be able to complete this operation. In fact, she readily participated to be a part of it and there was absolutely no persuasion on my part. I merely stated the facts to her and she finally agreed.” He poured more vodka into his tumbler and grabbed the glass from the magazine table.
“Good.” Dimitri stood and walked towards the floor to ceiling glass window that allowed him a gorgeous view of the Tri-Cities area. “Does she know why she’s doing this? I hope she doesn’t have a clue she’s working for me.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
“The Abandonato Mafia Family’s the glue to organized crime in this area. Once that bastard is gone, we can infiltrate this area like a cancer. Raymond Jackson will be toothless without his best friend, and I can renegotiate our terms. There’s no reason why I should be paying that bastard the exorbitant fees to have his whores sashay their asses around my establishment. Their pussies aren’t fur-lined or gold-plated—they are still bitches, regardless whether they come from this greedy fucking country or not,” Dimitri explained calmly though the vein in his forehead throbbed with tension and unexpressed rage.
“Well, it’s not going to be quick.” Max almost felt like he said too much and dialed back his attitude and tone. “I believe we will be able to move in an expeditious manner but it won’t be any kind of operation that will last a week. This might be something that could possibly take six months or more. I hope that’s not too long to wait.”
Dimitri laughed out loud as he turned to face him, his blue eyes bright. “My son, if we only have another six months of Abandonato, that’s not so bad. It could be much worse. At least I know I only have to deal with him for a limited amount of time.”
Max felt a wave of relief. “I’m glad you’re all right with the plan. However, I want you to know that we will work as quickly as possible.”
“Of course you will, my son. I would expect anything else from you.” Dimitri’s face dropped, almost expressing a feeling of sadness or perhaps regret Max knew the older man wasn’t able to truly convey. “I find it hard to believe you will be able to walk away from this life. Surely I can’t convince you to stay?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s not even the murder . . . of course that’s . . . unpleasant but I don’t want to be one of those people who feel nothing. Emotions are hard for me to express but if I do this any longer than I know eventually, I’ll be numb.”
“Emotions are an overstated human condition,” Dimitri murmured in Russian. “Why do you want to feel?”
“Why don’t you?”
His predecessor poured more vodka. “Caring for people has caused more problems in my life then I care to admit. Between my wives and the deaths of my sons—Yuri and Mikhail—is feeling anything worth all the pain it causes? Zusha is all I have left to claim, and believe me, she is a sorry excuse for family. I would trade her in a heartbeat for a real life with my family but our business is too risky. They would become prime targets if everyone knew they existed.”
Max glanced at Dimitri with cool, aquamarine eyes. “Mila and Karina understand, Dimi. As for Zusha, she’s your daughter—”
“By a woman I didn’t love. Her mother was a whore and I was seventeen. There is a reason why I tell everyone she is my sister. If something happened to her, I wouldn’t mourn her at all . . . Mila and Karina might as well be dead too. I can’t freely claim them or visit them for fear their lives would be put at a substantial risk.”
Max swallowed hard before finishing the rest of the vodka in his glass and stood shortly afterward. “I’m gonna get back to the ward under my charge. I don’t trust her alone for too long. Besides, she needs to know what’s going on.”
“You’ve done well, Max.” Dimitri’s icy blue eyes never left his. “I hope by going through this mission, you change your mind. This life is all you know. I would be devastated if I couldn’t convince you to stay.”
“We’ll see.” He walked toward the double doors of the penthouse suite when Dimitri’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Fine . . . you want the girl, do you not? This Magnolia has slithered her way under your skin and you would like to possess her?”
“That’s not it at all—”
“Silence, my boy. I know you, Maxwell. I am the closest thing you have ever had to a father . . . very much like you are the closest being I will ever have for a son. If the mission can be completed efficiently and you have proven to me you will be able to control this woman then we won’t snuff her out. She will be . . . your plaything for however long you want her and then it’s up to you what happens to her, understand?”
Max’s breath hitched in his throat. Dimitri had never shown any kindness or mercy to a woman—why now? Was it truly that important he stay in his employment? There were better soldiers than him but somehow both men knew other as well as they knew themselves.
Or so Dimitri liked to believe but alas, Max knew better.
No one could be trusted in this business.
Max barely thought of himself as someone who he could depend on because he never knew what each day might bring.
It was an issue when a beautiful, young woman breezed into his life and her only purpose was to be used and discarded. They could count on her greed to make her feel like she was a worthy enough adversary to keep around but in real life, she was nobody and no one. Not only easily replaceable but much more disposable than she could ever dream.
Why the hell did he care about her at all? He shouldn’t have thought twice about her life and where she would end up after all of this was over but the more he thought about Magnolia, the more he realized he did feel something for her.
There wasn’t anything insta-lust—or love—about his emotions where she was concerned. He’d begun to care about her the way a dog lover would grow instantly protective of a wounded bitch he found clawing for her life in an illegal dogfight. It was a much more master-prodigy kind of love. He wanted to protect Magnolia if only from herself.
“Do you understand?” Dimitri repeated, this time in Russian.
“Yes, I understand,” Max replied without turning his head. “That is very thoughtful of you to offer something and someone so precious to me.”
His mentor laughed. “Nonsense, my boy. I realize you have very . . . interesting sexual predilections. They need to be fulfilled, yes? How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman? The girl you find yourself fond of is used to depravity and should make a good plaything. I am only thinking about it from a pragmatic view. Men need to quench their sexual appetites. I truly believe she will be very fulfilling for you—sexually, that is.”
Max nodded yet again before he opened one of the double doors and stepped through, closing it quietly behind himself.
He did need a woman . . . more than he cared to admit
but would he choose Magnolia for that role?
Only time would tell.
Chapter Five
Magnolia
I’d never been the type to sit around and wait for a man. The fact I couldn’t leave until Max returned bothered me to no end. Hotels weren’t exactly my dream destination and were only good for two things: sleeping and fucking.
Since I had more than my fair share of time to kill, I showered, dressed in a casual pair of boyfriend jeans and a form-fitting white tank top. I brushed my hair repeatedly; clearing all the tangles from my silky, damp strands while trying not to think about my life or my past.
It wasn’t easy when everything about this place—Northern Nevada—reminded me of what I ran from too. True, Brad had let me go, severed my connection from the White Knights but I was just as familiar with Black Oak as I was with Vegas. When jobs in the past brought me north, I usually stayed there on my way back to Southern Nevada.
I set the brush down on the magazine table, stood and walked toward the kitchen. Memories seemed to haunt me when I wanted to be bothered with them the least and this was not a good time. I grabbed an eight-ounce crystal whiskey tumbler and poured more than a couple shots of Macallan 25 before I set the aged scotch down. Like drinking water, the smooth whiskey slid down my throat in a long swallow. The slow warmth spread down until it reached my stomach and created the perfect barrier between loneliness, sorrow and depression.
I repeated the process again until the feeling of being intoxicated yet completely in control settled over me. The outside world no longer mattered and regardless what Max would come back to tell me, I would be able to handle it. Although no where near the barriers of what some might consider functional alcoholism, I conceded to enjoy the times when I didn’t have to be fully in control or hyper-aware of my surroundings.
What I’d done was foolish. I didn’t know Max or the people he worked for. Brad might have sold me into sex slavery and I wouldn’t be the wiser. I knew—theoretically and logically—I was too old and too experienced. No one wanted someone like me, with my desolate green eyes and know-it-all smirk as a submissive. They wanted someone they could break and who would cowl at their threatened slaps and bruises to their skin. That person wasn’t me. Not when I had more than a fair share of ink. Obviously, I wasn’t afraid of bruised skin or I wouldn’t have permanently marked up my own.
I strolled over to the sofa, quickly dug through my handbag until I’d located my black and slate iPod Touch along with the best earbuds money could buy. Funny how the same device I used when I was thirteen brought me just as much pleasure now. Except technology had advanced considerably, the devices had gotten thinner and could hold a lot more music.
Lana Del Rey sang to me in that haunted voice of hers and I settled onto the leather loveseat, my mind drifting off. Scotch had a way of making me feel completely lost in another world while keeping me aware of the real one surrounding me and so did Lana’s voice. Whiskey soaked and bathed in the vapors of cigarette smoke, she sang about being young and beautiful though knowing it was all an illusion life played on you that didn’t last. She whispered about fame, lost loves, being born only to eventually die, blue jeans and diet Mountain Dew. Hell, she could have pinned a song about her grocery list and I would have listened to it with the same stunned sense of awe and belief as I had now.
Not since Prince, Jimi Hendrix, Axel Rose, Jim Morrison or Billie Holliday could an artist put words to music with so many double meanings and messages hidden in plain sight, just waiting to be discovered, explored, and devoured.
Soon, it all became too much and I switched to Chevelle. How a band who took double meanings to a whole new stratosphere was considered lighter music than Lana to me was beyond most people’s comprehension. What could I say? I adored a heavy guitar riff almost as much a stiff dick but if the two were in competition, most of the time, I would choose the guitar.
I was just that type of woman.
My mind and body, so completely wrapped in the music, the warm yet calloused palm of a large hand on my shoulder startled me to the point where my heart hammered in my body and I fought to catch my breath as I ripped the earbuds out of my ears.
I sat up and glared at Max, not the least bit happy with him scaring the shit out of me. “You couldn’t just tap me on the shoulder?”
He smirked, his blue-green eyes bright yet mischievous. “That would have been too easy. Besides, I have to admit, it was quite fun to see you have a full on freak out.”
It was my turn to laugh as I tossed my black and silver iPod aside and stood to my full height. Granted it wasn’t much underneath him but he wouldn’t be expecting me to pull anything either. “Babe, do you think that was me freaking out?”
“Uh, yeah! You jumped at my touch like your ass was on fire.” He chuckled as he shook his head with a hint of arrogance.
I balled my right fist and sucker punched him in the gut. Max lurched forward, the air knocked out of him for a moment, as I advanced and promptly grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. Hard.
His gorgeous aquamarine eyes rolled into the back of his head while his breath hitched, uncomfortable and in a certain amount of pain most men wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy.
“You scaring me like you did . . . I was only annoyed. This . . . is me freaking the fuck out. You understand the difference now, baby cakes?” I mused into his ear with a faint hint of amusement.
He nodded his head, his face growing scarlet by the minute, as his fingers dug painfully into mine in an attempt for my hand to free him.
Max’s actions only made me squeeze harder and a groan that almost sounded like pleasure passed between his slightly parted lips. “Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” he croaked.
I immediately let go of his balls before wiping my hands together like I had dust on them. “Good to know we have an understanding.”
My eyes scanned his but something in them had changed. Before I’d sucker punched him and grabbed his family jewels, he’d been playful and relaxed. That was no longer the case. Now, his eyes were stormy, two ocean blue orbs of fury surrounding pinpoint pupils. I took a step back but the Macallan affected me more than I’d previously thought.
Before I could step completely out of his reach, he grabbed my right arm and crushed me to his chest. Once there, he steadied me with a strong arm while in his free hand, a MR9 Eagle nine-millimeter materialized. He held the compact, semi-automatic pistol underneath my chin and pressed it hard enough into my flesh it would leave a bruise.
“Is this your idea of fun, sweetheart?” Max’s accent became thicker and I could faintly hear the Russian inflections in his English-spoken words. “We can fuck each other up all night if that’s what you had in mind. On the other hand, I’m too fuckin’ old to play these games with you. So, if I take this gun away, will you promise to sit down and behave like a good little girl?”
I grimaced and bore my teeth in defiance while he did nothing more than unclick the safety. My eyes glared into his and behind his cold veneer, I could see an inkling of the real Max.
He had absolutely no intention of killing me but I didn’t have to know that and he made sure of it. I couldn’t fight him forever, not when there was a loaded pistol pressed hard against the soft flesh between my jaw, just above my throat. It was a fatal wound, one I wouldn’t walk away from. It would blow my brains clear through my head, skull fragments included. And if he were smart, the bullets were armor piercing rounds designed to do the most damage.
I breathed harshly through my mouth. “I’ll be a good little girl if you let me go.”
“You mean to sit on the sofa, right? Because you’re not leaving the hotel. Not right now, not ever if I have my way—at least not without me.”
“I promise to sit on the sofa.” I breathed out loud and tried to maintain my composure but I’d already lost the fight. My knees felt weak and the alcohol, as smooth as it may have been made me slow and slu
ggish. I couldn’t fight back even if I wanted to and that was the honest to goodness truth.
Max slid the safety back on before he lowered his gun and pushed me toward the loveseat. I fell back into the plush leather and tried to calm my breathing while he stared at me with a mixture of desire, anger and something else . . . could it be fear?
Of me?
Nope, I’d definitely imbibed too much if I ever thought tough and strong Max would fear a little nothing like me.
I crossed my arms against my breasts and glanced at him as bent down and put the nine-millimeter on the table out of my reach before he stood over me, his stance frightfully menacing. “Sorry. I’m not good at all about apologizing and what not but when you scared me like that and then made fun of me, I lost my shit. Yeah, I admit, I may be a cold blooded killer but it takes me back . . . to a time when I couldn’t defend myself so yeah, I tend to freak the fuck out and go overboard.”
“No harm, no foul,” he bit out in a deep voice that spoke volumes. “I may never be able to produce any functioning sperm again but what the hell—it’s not like I ever wanted a fuckin’ kid anyway. You just saved me the cost of a vasectomy.”
“All jokes aside, are you gonna tell me anything about why we’re here? Who we’re working for? Why we’re going through all this trouble? I’m hoping to God it will be worth it but knowing my luck, it’ll probably turn out to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions.” I massaged the aching skin between my chin and throat; I instinctively knew I had a bruise forming already.
Max threw up his hands as he made a full circle before he joined me and sat a little too close for comfort on the loveseat. “I’d think that would be obvious to a smart chick like you. Mags, you didn’t just fall off the turnip truck and you sure as hell aren’t a shrinking violet. Who do you think we’re working for if we’re staying in this hotel?”
A sickening bile rose in my throat but I swallowed it back down. “The Russian Mafia.”