by SE Chardou
“Not just any mafia family though . . . the Koslakov Mafia to be exact.”
I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped my slightly parted lips. “Of course. He wants to take out some of his competition. The Abandonatos control this part of Nevada with Raymond Jackson. Your boss—whoever it is you answer to—doesn’t want to negotiate, does he?”
“I’m afraid Dimitri is done with negotiations. He’s Russian and the world he comes from is very different than it is here. I should know . . . I spent ten years with him while he built up his empire in Eastern Europe while his home base was in St. Petersburg,” Max explained in a controlled voice.
Finally, with trepidation, I faced those glacier blue-green eyes. “Are you . . . Russian too? I mean, is there any relation between you and this . . . Koslakov?”
“Not in a blood relation sense, no.” He paused and looked away from me as he continued, “None of my family calls Russia their mother country if that’s what you’re thinking. My mother is half-Eastern European and grew up under the iron curtain but she fled as soon as she was able to do so. As for the rest of my European ancestry, it’s of little importance. The name I use is not my own and for your safety, you will never find out my real name.”
“Maxwell isn’t your real name?”
“No, it isn’t.” He stood suddenly and walked over to the bar area where he grabbed a crystal whiskey glass, the bottle of Macallan 25, walked back over to the loveseat and sat next to me again.
I removed my iPod from underneath my ass and set and it on the magazine table while he stretched out, his legs a good length apart from one another, allowing his thigh closest to me to rub against mine. I could feel the heat from his body through his jeans and my own. This guy constantly ran hot or so it seemed. Or maybe I just needed to get laid and was looking for any excuse to make it happen.
Max poured a healthy dose of scotch for himself while filling my glass up to the halfway point. I grabbed my whiskey tumbler from the table and sipped from it.
“Shit,” I murmured. “We got some real issues between us, Max. I gotta be able to trust you and you’re not givin’ me much to go on here. I’m not asking for a detailed background report or even your medical history but I have to know something about you.”
He swallowed his scotch and poured another round before he clutched the glass like it was long lost lover. “Why? It’s not important where I’m from or who my parents are—were, in my case. They’re dead to me. Why do you care at all?”
“You know everything about me.” I looked at him and could feel my eyes grow distant, detaching myself from the present situation. “Don’t pretend like there’s no file on me because I know one exists. That’s why you were in Brad’s office. You wanted everything he had on me so if you had to make me disappear, there would be no trace. You needed my aliases, my family history—everything. And like the fuckin’ idiot he is, he gave it to you. Let me guess: blackmail?”
“Nope. A simple exchange, actually.” He swigged from the scotch, his aquamarine eyes glancing into mine. “Drugs for you. The WKs are branching out . . . the meth trade is good but so is heroin. It’s making a comeback. I delivered a shipment and he handed everything he had on you to me . . . and also gifted you to me in lieu of . . . cash currency.”
My eyes widened in complete and utter surprise. “I was payment for drugs? So, what? All that talk about my freedom was bullshit? What would you have done if I’d said ‘no’ to your little proposal?”
“As much as you may think I am a monster, Magnolia, alas, I’m not. If you were any other bitch, I would have driven you to one of our stables where we keep the girls that are trafficked over here. They wouldn’t have put you to work of course . . . not like that. You would have been entertainment for the men who work there and probably had a job doing the books. You are a Reynolds and an Abandonato, after all.”
“I suppose that would be a lateral move but . . . thank God it didn’t happen.” I sat back and allowed my head to rest against the buttery-soft leather sofa as the scotch did its intended job. “I’m nothing but bait? A pretty face to convince my mother’s cousin I mean him no harm. Does he know who you are?”
Max shook his head. “I have always had a background job. Nothing up front. Angelo has never met me and doesn’t have a clue I am part of the Koslakov Mafia. It will stay that way for as long as this charade has to take place.”
“How long will this last?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’re not sure yet. In the meantime, we have bought a house in the gated community of Serenity Village. It’s in Birch Tree. Neutral territory . . . so to speak. There are quite a few members from the Lucifer’s Saints who live there. We do business with them and they are perfectly safe. We can blend in and you will be able to make some friends.”
I knew where this was going. This wouldn’t be a quick “mission” at all. If a house had been paid for, this would take months, perhaps as long as a year for us to establish contact and work our way into the Abandonato family. It wouldn’t be easy either because the man didn’t trust outsiders. Although we shared blood—albeit very little—I was still a stranger.
“Okay . . . well, I’ve already said yes to this hackneyed plan so I need some reassurances from you.” I swallowed the rest of my scotch and set the glass on the table. “Let’s play a game. Usually it’s called ‘Twenty Questions’ but I highly doubt I’ll get two or three answered by you. I need to be able to trust you if we’re going to pretend to be engaged . . . so you have to tell me information about you very few people would know.”
Max sat up but his posture, defensive and wary, revealed more information to me than he would have liked to. I smiled secretly but it disappeared the moment he turned back toward me. “Three questions. That’s all you get so choose them wisely.”
“What’s your real name?” I fired back.
He sighed out loud. “I won’t tell you my last name because the information could get you tortured or murdered if you knew. It helps no one. My first name is Maksymilian. It’s Polish and very hard for most people to pronounce. The most important rule of a long con is to choose a name similar to your own. I adopted Maxwell because it’s common enough I don’t stand out. Maks became Max. It’s always been my nickname.”
I nodded, satisfied enough with his answer. “Where did you grow up?”
Max snickered out loud. “All over but mostly here in the States. My mom and I moved around a lot so I spent time in Vegas, Seattle, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York City, Miami and Atlanta.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Have you?” he questioned in cool voice.
I smiled though it was tight and insincere. “No, I haven’t. It’s kind of hard to be in love when you’ve never had a real relationship . . . or society’s definition of what a relationship is supposed to consist of. I’ve never been on a date or had a man walk me home. I’ve never held hands or looked longingly into a guy’s eyes and tried to find something—anything—to connect us and ‘complete each other’ somehow. I don’t even know if I believe in love.”
“There you have it because that’s the answer I would have given.” Max’s gaze mesmerized and frightened me at the same time. “The life we live isn’t conducive for relationships. Besides . . . I like to be control at all times during sex and it’s just easier to be with a whore. I don’t hurt them but they have always understood my sexual predilections and don’t judge me for them.”
I rolled my eyes at this revelation. “Are you into bondage and discipline, sadism and domination?”
“No, that kind of shit doesn’t interest me at all.”
I pulled a face. “Golden showers and scat?”
“God . . . no. The thought disgusts me. No, I don’t like to piss or shit on my partner, and I don’t want them to do it to me either.”
“What then?” I threw up my arms in exasperation. “What is so strange about your bedroom activities you can’t just come out and say them?”
> He leaned close to me. Our faces were merely inches apart; I studied the depths of those aquamarine eyes. “That’s more than three questions, Magnolia. I’m tired. I’m going to bed. We can talk about this at another time. Good night.”
And just like that, Max stood and walked into one of the bedrooms before he closed the door behind himself. The lock turned in the door and I felt like the world’s biggest idiot.
Maybe I couldn’t read men as well as I thought. How could I have been so completely wrong about him? However, a better question was why did I feel like he wasn’t so bad after all and I wouldn’t mind sharing his bed?
I knew my thoughts were absolutely certifiable but then again, what else was new?
Chapter Six
Maxwell
Max had no choice but to get away from Magnolia as fast as he could. Her pale green eyes burned into him as he spoke to her and the more they started on the subject of sex¸ the more he wanted to strip her out of her clothes and fuck her right there on that buttery-soft, black leather sofa.
He’d have her anywhere in the hotel suite. As long as it meant being buried balls deep in that sweet pussy of hers.
Max was no fool; any man could see Magnolia was a wild cat, primed and ready to go. Those fuckin’ inbred idiots might have attempted to break her but only a real man would ever be able to accomplish a feat like that.
He could do it. However it wouldn’t be quick or easy, much like the assignment they had to carefully orchestrate and plan with precision.
As soon as he’d shut the door to the bedroom, he locked it and headed straight for the en suite bathroom. For the first time in his life, he’d never been so relieved to have two bedrooms in the suite he called his home away from home.
After he stripped out of his clothes, he turned on the dual showerheads and stepped inside, welcoming the freezing water as it cascaded over his toned body from head to toe. His cock—hard as granite, his Prince Albert piercing fucking throbbing—when he entered now grew soft as his balls responded to the cold dose of reality.
He knew innately the game he played with Magnolia was not only stupid but reckless. He never should have told her anything about him. After she grabbed his balls and gave them a hard squeeze that would have most grown men on their knees, he’d faked his pain like a champ.
He’d had far worse done to him by Dimitri. It wasn’t because the middle-aged man didn’t love him like a son but anyone in the business they’d voluntarily chosen to become their way of life had to have a high pain threshold. He’d been burned, cut, shot, suffered from concussions and tortured more than one individual should ever be able to take but the scars left behind only made him tougher and stronger.
Not that Magnolia would ever see most of the damage. His skin healed remarkably well and all that wouldn’t heal quickly enough had been taken care of via skin grafts. He was only thirty-years-old but the life he lived was not for the weak—psychologically, mentally and physically speaking. He knew all the games because he’d played them himself and instead of torturer, he’d been the tortured.
There was nothing he would inflict on Magnolia that hadn’t been inflicted upon him and because this was not in theory but a real lesson he would have to teach her, he spared his own feelings for the time being. He could have greedily taken her and shown her what he wanted her to learn but when she came to him, when they finally arrived to that point in their relationship, it would be out of her own free will.
Max allowed the water to grow hot and quickly soaped himself down, washed his hair and rinsed before turning off the water. He grabbed a white terry-cloth robe, draped it around his naked body and an extra towel he used to dry his hair until it was merely damp.
As he walked into the bedroom, the sight of Mags sitting on his bed in a red cami and black shorts threw him for a loop. What the fuck was she doing in here? How did she get inside his bedroom?
She held up a lock picker, her own hair swept back into a ponytail. “I know we kinda left off on the wrong foot and I wanted you to know I’m . . . sorry.”
“Is that a hard word for you to say?” he questioned as he walked to his closet and opened the double doors. Once inside, he shed his robe and slid into a pair of black cotton pajama bottoms. He wouldn’t sleep in them but he’d keep them on until she left.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” she replied as he walked out of the closet and threw the robe on the bed next to her. “I don’t . . . I’m not good with people, all right? In this line of work, you don’t have to be unless you’re actin’ . . . stalking your prey. If I’m not doin’ that then I just feel like a fraud. I don’t hold conversations with people outside of my work. I’m better when I’m alone . . . in my head.”
So am I, Max thought but he’d never say it out loud.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Mags bit her bottom lip lightly as her green eyes, pale and bright, looked around his humble abode. “We’re supposed to be engaged, right? That’s the story we’re gonna tell people?”
“Yes, it is.”
“We don’t act like an engaged couple. We don’t touch—our body language is hostile toward one another. We act like strangers,” she said in a voice stating the obvious.
Max ran a hand through his damp hair. “Exactly what are you trying to say, Magnolia—”
“Mags, call me Mags. I hate Magnolia. My parents used it and that was fine but . . . Brad and Nel—they always called me Magnolia. Said I was as wild as the state flower of Mississippi.” She smiled though it was one filled with bitter regret and forgotten pain. “Anyway, don’t call me that. Don’t ever think of me like that. It’s my given name but just call me Mags, okay?”
“Fine . . .” Max trailed off while continuing to stare at her as she sat up and glanced at him with remote green eyes.
“Let me ask you a question . . . how did you know anything at all happened between Brad and me? I mean . . . besides what he told you? How did you figure it out?”
“Body language,” he responded. “There was a certain something about him that frightened you. Whether you realize it or not, your tough exterior fades when you are anywhere near him. You seem meek, as if you’re walking on eggshells.”
Mags smiled but there was little mirth in it. “Oh, really? Is that how you saw me? Well, it’s the exact image I wanted to convey. I haven’t been scared of Brad or Nel since I was fourteen. I knew what they could do to me and after I accepted it, well, the rest was easy. Pain is a much easier feeling to deal with than fear. Fear is a useless, awkward emotion that helps no one. It causes panic and when people panic, they make rash decisions that could cause them more harm than good in the long run. Fear would make me feel weak and impotent and God knows I’m not that . . . I haven’t been that person in a very long time.”
Max smiled back and decided he liked Mags more than he cared to admit but he still went in for the kill shot. “So you have absolutely no fear of the two men who caused you to have three abortions?”
“I asked for them,” she said with no emotion in her tone. “I didn’t want their kids . . . I still don’t.”
“And the baby you had?”
Mags’ pale green eyes lit up for a moment before they dimmed again and she bit her lip. “Wasn’t their kid.”
“Yet some inbred White Knight piece of shit is raising that kid you did want?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I trust Jake and his old lady. He’s a tough bastard but he’s fair. It’s not him who can’t have kids but her. She had a rough upbringing. It gave her happiness to have the baby and I wanted to do it.”
He slowly walked toward her. “So, Jake is the father of the baby?”
A smile played on her lips again. “I never indicated he was.”
Max’s heart beat faster in his chest but he still managed to keep his calm reserve. “Who is the father?”
“Just a married man I was once deeply infatuated with and cannot have. I’m not gonna tell you because he doesn’t know. I knew . . . Jake w
asn’t the father. My son’s father was separated from his wife at the time and we would get together when I came through town. It was five years ago, leave it alone.”
He pushed his robe out of the way as he sat next to her, admiring the silky waves of her dark hair, the way her skin seemed naturally sun-kissed with just a hint of gold, her full pinks lips, high cheekbones, and her imperfectly pert nose, which had been broken at one time but fixed enough to fit her face.
“How did you break your nose?”
Mags glanced at him with a sly look in her green eyes. “I didn’t. Stella did . . . she’s Nel’s wife. Some doctor they have on the payroll fixed it. He did a pretty bang up job but I didn’t want plastic surgery. I think it gives me character. Why? Do you think it makes me ugly? My nose . . . with a slight bump on the bridge if you look carefully enough?”
Max stared at her for a long time. “Nothing could make you look ugly, Mags. You should know that by now. You’re stellar—strong, intelligent and fierce. You’re harder than a lot of the men I work with and know. Why didn’t you fight back?”
“You’re assuming I didn’t. She also had a broken nose and a couple of broken ribs by the time I got done with her. She opted for the plastic surgeon though.” Mags sighed and stretched. “It’s late. Go to bed. Tomorrow, we work on becoming more buddy-buddy with each other, yeah?”
He nodded his head. “We’ll also move out of here into the house I told you about. There’s transportation for you there so you can get around. Then we can start to strategize when we need to meet your uncle. It has to happen . . . soon. Dimitri is not a man known for his patience.”
She pushed herself off the bed and stood, her tiny sleep shorts riding up the half moons of her ass before she pulled them down. “I never thought he was but you also need to let him know that this situation isn’t gonna happen overnight. From what I know about Angelo, he’s an extremely suspicious man. You think he’s not gonna think I have an agenda if I just pull up with you and gush how I wanna get to know him all these many years later? The plan won’t work that way.”