An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men #3) - Nancy Haviland

A L S O B Y N A N C Y H AV I L A N D

Wanted Men Novels A Love of Vengeance The Salvation of Vengeance

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Text copyright © 2015 Nancy Haviland All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781503944466 ISBN-10: 1503944468 Cover design by Kerrie Robertson

To my readers, with deep appreciation for the enthusiasm and support you’ve shown for my beloved characters. Thank you so much!

CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 EPILOGUE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE Balashikha, Russia Eighteen Years Earlier

Walking through the gates of Akademiya, or the Executioner’s Domicile, as the students privately called it, Maksim Kirov squinted his eyes against the glare of the late-May sunshine and took in the five vehicles parked, with their noses facing the only way out of the lot. None of the cars belonged to Boris Kirov. Maks felt something try to rise in his throat, emotion he was sure, but he swallowed it with a little help from his autonomic nervous system. He hadn’t expected him, so Maks wouldn’t allow himself to feel bad that his father hadn’t come. Fucking refused, actually. He’d finally accepted the man didn’t deserve the sentiment. Therefore, he wouldn’t give it. Slinging the heavy bag, which held two years of his life, over his shoulder, he started for the road. “Let us drive you.” He paused, turning back to see Micha Zaretsky looking at him with palegreen eyes as solemn as usual. Even at their age, Micha’s voice was low, their mother tongue, Russian, coming out a pleasant tenor. But then Maksim’s was the same, and he’d turned fourteen only three weeks ago. Shaking his head, he looked down to make sure his boots were tied well. But of course they were. Had they not been, he most likely would have been bleeding from somewhere around his muzzle area by now. The few guards that had stuck their heads into the hallway to offer their moody “Good luck, boys” would have made sure of it. “Thanks,” Maksim said, “but I think the walk will do me good. Clear my

head of . . . all of this.” He waved a hand to encompass the tall concrete wall and training center that had once been a jail. But how could he clear his head of all he’d learned in this place? Where did you put information like the quickest and easiest way to kill a man? In the deepest, darkest parts of your mind, he supposed. To take out only when needed. Then again, when would you need to know the most effective forms of torture, ones that would guarantee your target gave up whatever information was asked for in the shortest period of time possible? Why had his father brought him to this underground training facility? he wondered again with that one sliver of remaining interest. Had Boris Kirov, twobit criminal that he was, thought Maksim had an interest in a military career? Had he thought his son would somehow thrive in a place where the boys were forced to practice many of their lessons on each other? From torture to sparring, and everything in between. They all had the scars to show for it. Some of them even had headstones. Or maybe, as Maks knew deep down, his father had simply wanted him out of the way so he could start his life over again. “Will you go home?” Micha asked, his tone careful because he knew Maksim’s story. He shrugged. “Maybe.” “Your father was aware today was graduation, yes?” “He was aware.” Micha’s lips thinned, his gaze growing cold. Colder. “If my mother hadn’t had to miss work to make this trip, I would walk with you.” Micha’s mother was picking him up after grad all normal-like because her son was one of the few who’d actually volunteered to be there. Others had been placed by parents who thought to control their sons’ futures by deciding the military—or a form of it— was what was best. “I know you would, brother.” He stepped forward, and they clasped hands before embracing. “I’ll try to stay in touch,” he said, but they both knew he wouldn’t. They parted ways, and Maksim began his journey, feeling adrift as thoughts of fathers and sons continued through his mind. Micha’s father had abandoned him through death. Something a guy could understand. Maksim’s had simply turned his back on him, his firstborn. Why? He still wasn’t sure. But the day Maks’s mother had been buried—when he was only eight—things had changed. Not that Boris had ever been the type to call him out for a game of catch, but he’d at least been civil. Until his wife died.

Maks remembered his mother. She’d been softhearted and beautiful, statuesque. Like a supermodel but nice. He wasn’t surprised things had changed when cervical cancer had taken her from them so swiftly. His father had fucked off for weeks afterward, leaving Maksim with the neighbor. When he’d come back reeking of booze and women, he’d been a different man. Completely closed off. Had Maksim been a rebellious asshole, he’d have understood better. Sort of. But he hadn’t been. His mother had raised him to be loving and respectful and good. And the Academy hadn’t taken that away from him either. Just because he’d kept those qualities hidden in the presence of his instructors didn’t mean they weren’t still in him. Really. They were there somewhere. He just had to find them again. For her. To remain loyal to the one person who’d loved him, he would find them again, no matter how long it took. Five cars passed him by, one after another, the sound of the engines fading as they disappeared from sight. The sound of a sixth vehicle met his ears, and he turned to see an unmarked delivery truck slowing behind him. He could see two men in the cab, and the looks on their faces had him stiffening. The monsters that now kept him company in his head stirred. His hand went to the small of his back. He was reassured when he felt the shank he’d made for protection—and named Angelina, after his mother—ready for action. “Need something?” he called, and only then did they close the fifteen feet remaining between them. The truck drew up next to him, engine idling, fumes slowly surrounding them. “Yeah. Sorry, man,” the middle-aged passenger said, offering a weakchinned smile. Obviously he’d judged Maksim to be older than he was because of his size. Being five foot nine at fourteen made that a common occurrence. “Didn’t want to spook you into reacting. Just got released from the Academy, huh?” Maks ignored the question. One never offered information. Ever. “You lost?” He took their measure in seconds. The driver still didn’t speak; he was too busy playing with what looked to be some sort of wooden flute. “We are,” the passenger replied. “You know offhand how much further to Noginsk? We’re turned around, and it seems like we’ve been driving in circles for hours.” They were on the outskirts of Balashikha, between Moscow and Noginsk — The driver brought the flute to his mouth, turned toward Maksim, and pushed out a sharp breath. Maks felt a prick in his neck and reached up to feel a

small, sharp object embedded in his skin. A dart. He quickly yanked it out even as his vision warped and the world tilted on its side. Didn’t stop him from reaching out to grab the passenger by the throat and squeeze. Or he tried to squeeze. “Sorry, buddy.” The guy’s unapologetic face clouded, disappearing fast. “Boris always was an asshole.”

CHAPTER 1 New York City Present Day

Annoyingly, the quasi-adrenaline tingles in her extremities continued as Sydney Martin put the finishing touches on her makeup. No matter that she’d been doing this for nearly a year, the fifth of every month was a day she dreaded. Because it was on the fifth that she made her buys from a pair of dealers who worked for one of the largest drug lords in New York City. Tonight would be her last. Oh, how she prayed it would be her last. The verbal contract she’d made with Luiz Morales had been for one year. Which meant they would reconvene in the next week or so, and she’d tell him she’d decided not to continue their association. Hopefully he’d allow her to live. Her hand shook, and she had to pause with the mascara wand held away from her eye. “How could you have been so stupid?” she whispered to her reflection. She knew better than to make rash decisions when upset. And normally she didn’t. When faced with tough choices or hairy situations, her thought process was normally spot-on. She steadily clicked through logic, step-by-step, and came out on the other side with a rational, smart solution. As she had thirteen years ago when she’d been seventeen and had found out she was pregnant. Sitting in the massive upstairs bathroom in her family’s mansion, she’d known within minutes of seeing those two pink lines what she would do. She’d been thrown a massive wrench when she’d shared her news and let her parents in on her decision—to keep and raise her baby—and in the end had had to alter her plans. After her father had ordered her to be ready the

following morning to visit their private clinic to have an abortion, she’d gone up to her bedroom; packed a bag; grabbed her ID, passport, and bank card; and she’d left through the servants’ entrance. Rather than attend an appointment at daybreak to have an abortion she did not want, she’d bought a plane ticket with her credit card number given over her cell phone—before deliberately leaving the expensive piece of technology on the first bench she’d come to in the airport. Flying to Canada in an effort to throw her parents off her trail, she’d then made her way to New York City and had never seen them again. At first, because she’d been too afraid to contact them in case they attempted to drag her home without her son. Later, as the years passed, she’d simply found she couldn’t forgive them for not supporting her decision, even though, in a warped way, they’d thought they were doing what was best for their daughter. But then, their overcontrolling, smothering ways had usually fallen under the label of it’sfor-your-own-good, when that hadn’t always been the case. Not liking to think about them, especially now that she was a parent herself and knew there wasn’t a reason in existence that would make her command her son to destroy a part of himself, Sydney picked up her brush to pull it through her hair. Things had worked out for her and Andrew, despite their rocky start. They’d survived, thanks to some hard work and a cheating wife, and should be thriving. “We are thriving,” she muttered as she untangled a knot at her nape. “It’ll work out. It will. This is the last buy, and then things will go back to normal.” Please let things go back to normal, she prayed, closing her eyes to the anxiety drawing her face tight. God, she hated the fifth of the month. “You leaving soon, Mom?” She spun around, the hairbrush falling from her fingers to clatter on the floor. The light of her life stood in the bathroom doorway, a ginger ale in one hand, an Xbox controller in the other. Fear gripped her throat as she imagined being led away in handcuffs, or, worse, in a casket, from her beautiful boy. Taking after his father, Andrew was big for twelve, almost as tall as she was. But where he was big-boned, she was petite. His hair was blond, like hers, and he’d recently begun using product to keep it up off his forehead. Right now he was looking at her curiously through eyes identical in color to her own. Andrew had grown up in neighborhoods nothing near the gated community where she’d been raised, and she would swear he was better off for it. Some days —the fifth of the month—he seemed better equipped to deal with life than she did. She bent to pick up her brush and pasted a fake smile on her face. “I will be, yes. Did you need something, Nipper?” she asked, using the nickname she’d

gifted him with way back when he’d let her know, in no uncertain terms, that it was time to stop breast-feeding. “Nah. We’re good. The guys just got here with pizza. Do you want a slice?” Sydney wondered how Heyden—the now lone female in the trio—felt about being referred to as one of “the guys.” Their close-knit group used to be a quad, until Andrew’s original bestie from birth had suddenly left their lives last year. Refusing to go there right now, Sydney shook her head at the offer of pizza and followed him out into the loft. She chatted easily with Andrew’s friends, reiterating the rules for them as she got some plates and napkins to put on the coffee table. All was ignored when Call of Duty flashed on the TV screen. “Pause it,” she said and waited for three pairs of eyes to look up at her. “No leaving the loft, and when they go home,” she said directly to her son, “you text me once you’re back up here and locked in. Understood?” They all nodded before returning to the game, and Sydney knew if she popped back upstairs later, this was how she’d find them. After heading to her bedroom, she slid her feet into a pair of boots with no heel and squirted herself with her favorite perfume. She gave the kids a final wave and headed down to her office, which was on the level between the loft and the nightclub she was sole proprietor of that took up the entirety of the main floor. She’d just closed and locked the door leading upstairs when her phone buzzed in the pocket of her leather pants. She read the text, warded off a renewed feeling of dread, and kept moving. She ended up in the alley behind the building, where two of her more sinister-looking—and most trustworthy— bouncers waited for her. Protection in the form of hard bodies and little-to-no conscience. “Hey, boys,” she greeted them, offering what she hoped was an it’s-allgood smile. “We ready?” Never chatty, they nodded and got into a big black Ford F-150 while she climbed into her BMW. Once on the road, she led. They took the Lincoln Tunnel and ended up in Union City, and it wasn’t long before they were parked behind the same abandoned building they always returned to since that first deal. Entering through a side door, the wait lasted only minutes before Sydney muttered, “They’re here. Look alive.” Attempting to force calm into her system, she tilted her head and observed the two men sidestepping the remnants of what must have been one hell of a rave. A recent one, if the not-yet-dusty baggies that had once held ecstasy or a drug equally mind-altering were any indication. Scores of aged salon chairs and

pull-down hair dryers had been shoved aside and now resembled wallflowers waiting to be asked to participate. Please let this be the last time I have to go through this. The muscles along her spine tightened. I’ll never make another impetuous decision again as long as I live. I promise. The dealers stopped a few feet away. She recognized the one on the left because she’d done more than half her deals with him. He had a slight accent. That, paired with his skin tone, had Sydney plunking him on the Mexican border. She wasn’t prejudiced by any means, being a foreigner herself. She would admit that whoever had given him his latest trim either needed glasses or had been using some of his product, because his brush cut was definitely shorter on the right side of his head than on the left. Or maybe it was deliberate. Who knew? Turning her attention to the other man, her already-sick stomach rolled. This one she’d never seen before, and she wished it had stayed that way. He gave her that tired once-over most women detested. She would have dismissed him had Crooked Hair not been standing just behind him, making the pecking order obvious. He was the higher-up of the two, which meant she would have to deal directly with him. Why was he here? She wondered as she catalogued his looks so she’d be able to identify him if the need arose. The movie Machete floated through her mind, possibly because the guy looked like a flat-out killer, and that pockmarked skin spoke of wicked acne as a teenager. His dark hair was long in the front, and it fell into his hooded eyes. He stared through it rather than swipe it aside, which lent a horror-movie flavor to the meeting. “New face?” she questioned evenly to let them both know she didn’t appreciate it, though whether she was in the position to make her displeasure known, she wasn’t sure. Did the buyer hold the upper hand in these things or the seller? Too bad that wasn’t something she could Google. “Eberto’s gonna take over from here,” Crooked Hair informed her, eyes on his dirty boots. “I’m moving on.” “Very well,” she said instead of the “why” she was dying to ask. Could they know she wasn’t doing her part? But how? How could they possibly be aware that she bought their shit and did nothing with it but burn it to ashes? They don’t know anything. Relax. To his credit, at least attempting professionalism after the initial eye-rape, Eberto slowly stepped forward and offered his hand. A hand she was loath to shake but did anyway because it was expected of her. He released her immediately but continued to stare at her in a way that spooked the shit out of her. Not at her body anymore, but straight into her eyes. “You have the cash, chica?” he asked.

Striving to appear unaffected, she moved to the side and reached behind an exposed steel girder to bring out a plain black over-the-shoulder carrier bag. Her movements were slow and measured, careful. She held it tightly in her grip, not stupid enough to hand over $50,000 until the drugs were in her possession. Machete lifted the back of his shirt, and she heard rather than saw her bouncers tense as he went into the waist of his jeans. But all he did was pull out a package the size of a hardcover novel. She took it from him when he offered it to her. “What’s this?” “A goodwill gesture from my brother,” Eberto said, making her nerves stretch. His brother? She was now dealing directly with the freaking drug lord’s immediate family? “Why is he extending it?” She fished some more, desperate to know what was going on here. “He wanted to let you know he appreciates the business and hopes to continue working with you. Maybe he thought to soften you up before you meet to discuss a new deal.” The smirk that pulled his full lips up showed no humor, and Sydney knew right then that something had changed. This wasn’t a goodwill gesture but a message of some sort. But because this wasn’t her world, she was clueless as to what it meant. Oh, Emily, what have I done? she wailed silently. Emily had been her best friend, and she was the reason Sydney was standing here praying she made it through this. They’d met in the hospital and had been sent to the same halfway house after giving birth to their babies. Emily had had a girl. After struggling for nearly a year to make ends meet, they’d eventually gotten jobs in the club Sydney now owned. They had helped each other by trading off; when one worked, the other babysat. Their children had grown up together, the four of them eventually sharing an apartment. Until last year, when everything had changed. After Sydney had bought Pant from the previous owner in the deal of a lifetime, Emily had become one of her full-time managers. Much to Sydney’s dismay, her friend had also started using drugs. She had excused herself to use the restroom before leaving work that last night, and Sydney, exhausted and ready for bed, had gotten tired of tapping her foot and had gone in to hurry her along. Emily had been slumped against the far wall, half-dressed, eyes staring straight ahead, an open baggie in her limp hand, spittle running off her chin. OD, the EMTs had said. Looks like she got some tainted product. Grief-stricken, Sydney hadn’t even begun funeral arrangements when another blow had landed. A gruff social worker had shown up to take Emily’s

eleven-year-old daughter, Eleanor, away the morning following her mother’s death. Sydney would have done anything to have been able to keep the young girl with them, but the worker had told her they’d found Emily’s father and he wanted his daughter. Because Sydney wasn’t a blood relative, she wasn’t entitled to any more details and no further contact would be allowed. Reminders of the past make the transition too difficult for the child, the woman had said. Sydney hadn’t agreed with that, but in the end had had no choice but to let Andrew’s sister of sorts go. Her pain had reached yet another level hours later when she’d walked in and seen Andrew’s shoulders shaking as he’d lain in bed crying over the sudden loss of their family. She’d snuggled up behind him and comforted him as best she could, but her anger had grown by the minute. It wasn’t until the funeral two days later—as she’d stood there holding her son, staring at her best friend’s casket, sobbing because no one had brought Eleanor—that Sydney’s fury had boiled over. She’d returned to the loft with Andrew and spent the rest of the day stewing and planning. By the time the club opened that night, her mind had been made up. She wanted the reason for their grief out of her club and would do whatever she could to make that a reality. She’d gone downstairs and headed straight for the darkest corner, where she knew a trapper—the bastard who drew the buyers in—hung out. No matter how often they were driven away by the NYPD, one always showed again. She told him what she wanted and gave him her number. It had taken five nights of the same routine, speaking to a different face every time, before she’d finally gotten a call from Luiz Morales. They’d met, discussed the details, and agreed on a deal. She would make a buy once a month and be the sole distributor in her club, and he would keep out any competition. One year had been agreed upon, and they would revisit their arrangement when the time came to discuss any increase in product or alteration of the deal. Within a week, Sydney had found herself handing over $50,000 in return for packets of dust, rocks, and ice—cocaine, crack, and crystal methamphetamine. The next month it had been E, H, and acid—ecstasy, heroin, and LSD. Her thinking at the time? Anything to keep the tainted drugs from my club. Her thinking now? I wish I’d defined “anything,” because the last twelve months have been the most stressful of my life. Once her head had cleared and she’d realized what she’d gotten herself into, regret over her utter stupidity had been immense. She should have continued the tired drill of calling the police and having them scare the pushers away. Even though it had seemed redundant. They would come in, get rid of the

five dealers in that one call, and in the next hour ten more would show because they were like roaches. But, had she stuck with her routine, at least she wouldn’t be here, and her livelihood—and so much more importantly, her and her son’s lives—wouldn’t be on the line. Andrew’s image came to mind and on its heels, Emily’s and then Eleanor’s. And Sydney finally felt that calm she’d been looking for settle over her. She would be smart about this. She needed to think about the best way to deal with what she’d brought about and then do whatever it took to fix this massive mistake before it was too late. Focusing, she once again did what was expected of her. She opened the package she held with a small blade to check the contents. She punctured the clear blue plastic outer wrapping and withdrew one of the small baggies, which was decorated with cute little anime girls. Jerks. Had these little pictures drawn Emily in? Or had she been too anxious to get at what was in the package to even notice the pictures? Sydney opened the baggie of heart-shaped pink pills, withdrew one, and quite easily ground it between her fingers—she had to make it seem as though she cared enough for her customers to check the poison, even though she had no intention of parting with it. She’d done her research and knew that homemade product should be uncoated and powdery, and if it didn’t crumble easily, it might just be an over-the-counter pain pill they were using to sucker her with. Again, not that it made any difference to her. “Thank Luiz for me, would you?” She remained totally professional despite the scared girl she felt like deep down. “Where is the rest of my order?” Eberto nodded, and Crooked Hair went over to drag a black duffel out from behind one of the torn salon chairs. It must have been hidden before they arrived. He opened it and showed her the usual neatly packed items. Drugs. So many drugs. God, she felt dirty. And so scared she was numb. She nodded and handed off her own bag before stepping back again. Eberto copied her actions by riffling through what she’d given him. He closed the zipper and put the bag over his shoulder. “I got a daughter around the same age as your boy. We should get them together.” He patted the money and tipped his chin before turning and walking away. Sydney wasn’t sure how she stayed her position, but she managed it until the two disappeared. Then she was staggering back, allowing the fear climbing up her throat to come out in a harsh breath. He knew about Andrew! How? Why? Why would they have looked—? For the same reason she’d looked into them. It paid to know who you were dealing with. How much you could get away with—if anything. Luiz Morales

was one of those more interested in the bottom line than anything, which was why she’d chosen to go to him rather than another dealer. She’d thought he wouldn’t poke his nose into the hows and whys as long as he got his money and she continued to buy his product. So why had Machete mentioned Andrew? Why now? Would they threaten her son if she refused to continue buying? Would she be doing this until she eventually got caught by the authorities? She nearly shuddered right off her feet at what he’d suggested. Andrew wasn’t even thirteen yet! And he’d said his daughter was about the same! “You ready, boss?” She schooled her features and turned to face her patiently waiting protection, nodding when they looked at her closely. Ready? No. I am not ready for any of this. Had she any idea the worry and fear, the bone-chilling nightmares her altruistic plan would bring her, she never would have set out on this journey. She’d have attempted to deal with her best friend’s death in another way. A safer way. A way that couldn’t possibly get her or her son killed. Or worse. Because, yes, when dealing with the underbelly of New York, she knew there were things worse than death.

Coming to the end of yet another repetitious article on fluctuating oil prices, Luiz Morales dropped the Times on the spotless surface of the coffee table and turned to watch his younger brother enter the room. He observed him for a moment. Eberto paused to withdraw a vial from his pocket, unscrewed the top, and snorted the white powder from a tiny spoon attached to the lid. How had this happened? How had he allowed this habit to form? He wasn’t blaming his brother. No. Luiz blamed himself. He’d been charged by his mother on her deathbed to care for her youngest son, and Luiz had promised he would. As hard as it sometimes was—some days near impossible because Eberto had no impulse control, especially when he was high—Luiz didn’t mind the job. Hoped if the tables were turned, he would be afforded the same offer of shelter and protection. He wasn’t sure on that, though, because as the years went on, his brother’s main flaw continued to be a problem. Eberto lacked the ability to respect, which made him rather fearless. A dangerous thing in the world they

lived in. As had been happening more and more, a dark trickle of blood seeped from Eberto’s right nostril but was instantly caught with a waiting tissue before it could hit the marble tile. Luiz turned away and strolled to the window. His view from the sixtieth floor of the CitySpire building was a much-sought-after one, as it included Central Park. The ice in his glass clinked as he swirled the liquid around. “You do know what it means when your nose bleeds directly after a bump, don’t you?” he asked idly. “Yeah. Doc said something about a deviated septum. From allergies, not the coke.” Of course. Denial was so tiresome. He got to the point of the visit. “Have you arranged for someone to go to Pant? If they arrive after midnight, that should allow Ms. Martin enough time to unpack the product and be ready to sell.” “You think this one won’t come out as empty-handed as the others?” He could hope. But in all honesty even that was gone now. He hadn’t wanted to accept this, but it seemed he had no choice. That call was going to have to be made. Luiz tongued his one chipped incisor. He did not want to involve himself with the Russians. Especially the Tarasov organization. But business was business. “I want you to find me Vasily Tarasov’s private number,” he said reluctantly. If he had to talk to anyone, it certainly wouldn’t be some underling. “The Russian? What the fuck for?” Luiz looked back at the harsh demand to see his brother’s hands were curled into fists; his chin was stuck out in a show of aggression. Always such a hothead. Dare he share what this meant? He weighed the pros and cons and decided Eberto didn’t have enough invested for this to really bother him, so he explained. “Ms. Martin’s club is in an area of Manhattan that is surrounded by Russian interests. I had someone look into who one would speak to if they had our type of problem to discuss. The Tarasov name came up.” Unfortunate, because that organization was a powerhouse not many would voluntarily tangle with. Luiz included. “If Ms. Martin has their backing, it would explain why she had the skin to renege on the deal she made with us. She must feel . . . untouchable.” He pictured the beautiful blonde and felt himself stir at the type of touching he’d like to engage in with her. This situation just might afford him that opportunity.

“Why do you care about what she does with her product anyway, bruh? You got your money from it. Who gives a shit what happens after that?” Luiz ground his teeth together as he fully turned from the sparkling lights that could be seen through the leafless trees in the park. Bruh. What did that even mean? “At this point, what has been done with the product isn’t really the concern. Aside from the principle of the matter, it’s what will happen when she decides to stop playing her game.” “I don’t get it.” Maybe if you could think clearly, you would. There was a reason dealers should never be users. Luiz started from the beginning, in the same tone he’d use with his five-year-old son. “Large buys that don’t follow with an influx of new customers, or a request for more product to keep up, equal nondistribution. But we already know Ms. Martin isn’t distributing, correct?” “Yeah. Every guy I sent in came out with the same story: Go somewhere else; Pant is tapped out.” “Yet we know, because deliveries have been made, that this isn’t the case.” Eberto nodded. “So . . . ?” Luiz received a blank look and a couple of blinks that almost couldn’t be seen through that curtain of hair hanging in his brother’s face. Taking a second to make sure his impatience wouldn’t be heard in his voice, Luiz walked to the small table next to the fireplace and lifted the glass-top lid of the rosewood humidor. He chose two Stradivarius cigars over Cohibas and handed one to Eberto before taking his time lighting his own. After blowing up a curl of blue smoke, he said, “Ms. Martin has been buying from us for close to a year, which means my suppliers are used to filling that order. If, for some reason, they don’t have to do that any longer, who loses?” “They do.” “We both do,” Luiz corrected. “Because the addicts she’s supposedly hooked or supplied to over the past year who will be looking beyond her for their fix don’t actually exist.” “Oh. Right. Got it.” And the length of time that took Eberto to understand was the perfect example of why Luiz had never snorted a line. “Now, aside from the loss of revenue and customers—even though they never existed—there is the loss of face. Ms. Martin has played us. Do you see that? She’s made us look foolish with this farce of a deal. We could have been making connections and who knows how much more money with trappers in and around Pant. But we’ve stayed out as per an agreement she initiated.” He puffed on his cigar and raised his glass to take a swallow of tequila. The Don Julio REAL was the only thing

he ever allowed to dull the noise in his head. “I’m curious as to her reasons for doing what she’s done. Could be she’s working on behalf of someone else? If so, I’d like to find out who that might be.” The Tarasovs? He hoped not. Luiz had always been a good judge of character. He found it easy to read people. If one looked closely enough, it wasn’t difficult to see indifference or fear or belligerence or respect in someone’s eyes. His mother had been proud of his empathy, a talent he would use during his upcoming meeting. And if he suspected Vasily’s organization was interfering in his business, he was going to have to think long and hard about how to react. To retaliate or walk away. Puffing on his cigar, he thought back to something he’d learned early on and kept firmly in mind during his business dealings: a proud man ended up in a body bag much more often than a gracious man did.

“Great,” Sydney muttered as she reached for the button on the dash to turn down her music. “Just what I need tonight.” Glaring into her rearview mirror, she wasn’t surprised to see the black Hummer perform an illegal U-turn as she continued down the street. She couldn’t deal with him right now. She was enough of a wreck without adding the aggravation usually brought on by the driver of the big sexy vehicle suddenly hugging up to the ass of her car. But knowing his MO, she quickly resigned herself to suffering his particular brand of company. She pulled into the alley behind her club, parked her car, and got out. She could have sworn a neon arrow had been pointing to her trunkful of illegal narcotics since leaving Union City, so she was relieved to finally be hidden from cruising cops. She stood, feeling her nerve endings tingle with a loathed anticipation and then downright buzz with excitement as she watched more than six and a half feet of pure male temptation climb from the driver’s side of the SUV and saunter her way. With everything going on in her life, she should not even be aware this man existed. Yet she was. So aware it was straight-up embarrassing. Maksim Kirov. Her bane. Her bête noire. A man she couldn’t stand and at the same time—as any hot-blooded woman would—wanted to be all over. But she never would, because he was a freaking Russian mobster. Oh, and he was a man-whore from hell and proud of it. He came to a smooth stop before her, his oversize tattooed body hidden by

a soft-looking wool coat and another of those expensive suits he favored. His hair was dark, and cut in a Julius Caesar style that reminded her of Russell Crowe in Gladiator but sexier. Yes, sexier. She looked up into that unforgettable face and tried not to be impressed. Chiseled, strong, and stunning. His silver gaze—silver, for God’s sake!—was staggering in its intensity. “Hello, lover,” he greeted her as he always did in his deep rumble, his slight Russian accent rolling that r straight down her spine. It ended at her tailbone and seemed to jingle like a bell. “You ready to do this?” That reverberation spread into Sydney’s every erogenous zone and refused to quiet. How many times had he gotten to her like this? Too many since he’d shown up at her club a few weeks ago. He’d sauntered in with an associate of his on a night that had been puttering along just like any other. After requesting to see her security footage, he’d made his interest in her clear, while nudging awake her previously sleeping libido. He’d returned too often since, becoming bothersome, but what could she do? Shoo him off? Ignore him? Tell him no? She’d tried. All of it. And, sure, she had to admit he was attractive. Dark and alluring. Irresistible. Every rumor she’d heard through the grapevine about him had been dead-on. The man was spectacular. But he was also a player of the highest order, she reminded herself—hating that she had to—and that she did not need. It was bad enough she’d brought a drug lord into her and Andrew’s lives with a decision based on emotion. She refused to add a career criminal to the equation based on something even worse —a physical attraction that would no doubt die as quickly as it had sprung to life. Besides, good looks and weak knees were one thing, but she needed some personality. Unless he was talking sex, this one had nothing to say—to her, anyway. Which was why she wished he’d give up. Wished he’d find someone else to bother with his come-ons and lemme-fuck-yous. Because one thing was for certain: this Russian mobster would not be fucking her.

CHAPTER 2

Maksim Kirov waited to see if the same script he and his Aussie had been following lately would be adhered to. In the interim, he let out a very quiet sound of pleasure and took his fill. Sydney Martin. Owner of Club Pant, another Manhattan nightclub a few blocks north of his own place. Five feet seven inches of icy attitude wrapped in a package so goddamn hot he’d yet to find it in himself to take the loss and walk away. Long silver-blonde hair reached her lower back. Tight body. Exotic features. Perfect. Her lips parted and he came to attention to hear . . . “No more ready than I was the last time you came sniffing around,” she said coolly. A slow grin pulled at his lips at the familiar response. Had he mentioned the attitude? That accent of hers was foreplay. Couldn’t wait to hear it calling out his name during one hell of an orgasm. And it would. He was determined. More determined than he’d been about anything in a long time. He wanted this woman under him. So that’s what he’d get. Because he was spoiled that way. “This will be very, very good.” He motioned between them with a lazy finger. She put her hands behind her back, leaned on the door handle of her car, and said nothing. The position drew attention to her petite frame—petite to him, but then, everyone was petite to him. He was coming to know her well enough that he could say she hadn’t posed for the sole purpose of flaunting herself, but how could she not be aware of how tempting she’d just made herself look? A deliberate tease? He couldn’t say for sure. And how puzzling was that? Tempting or not, he kept his eyes up, and that allowed him a view of her head tilting, her bow-shaped mouth pursing when he asked, “When are you going to give in and let me have my way with you?”

“Well, originally I thought never,” she returned without missing a beat. “But now that you’re forcing me to get to know you better, I’ve revised that to never ever.” He wanted to ask her why but didn’t. Because he knew he’d get the same irritating answer she’d given him the dozen other times he’d asked. None of your business. Her favorite expression. His least favorite. Bracing his legs, he crossed his arms and settled into a comfortable stance. Her gaze took a swift trip down his body. She wanted him. He knew it. “Tell me something about yourself,” he invited, as though they’d just met. He needed her to volunteer some information. Wished she’d slip up. Going in blind like this just wasn’t working for him. The first night he’d met her he’d been doing a favor for one of his best friends, Vincente Romani. Afterward, he’d gone home, settled into command central, and pulled up his favorite search engine. Feeling way too much anticipation, he’d typed in “Sydney Martin Australia” . . . and had sat there looking at a blank screen. Well, not blank because there were many women who went by the name, but no information had been found on the one he wanted. So he’d tried “S. Martin Australia” and looked for her image. And then “Syd Martin Australia.” “Sidney Martin Australia.” “Sidnee Mertan Australia.” “Sidnee Marton Australia.” And on and on it went. He’d typed in every possible combination of letters that sounded even remotely like Sydney fucking Martin who’d come from goddamned Australia. And had gotten nothing but one large fuck-you-you’re-not-getting-shit. Being somewhat of a computer geek—cough, hacker, cough—he had knowledge of sites and different avenues only certain underground government organizations used, so he should have easily found all there was to know about his Aussie. He hadn’t. But instead of turning him off, hitting that dead end had added a mysterious flavor to the chase. Who was she? Where had she come from? What had she left behind? And why? “I’m female,” she brought him back to the moment by saying in a bored voice. “Originally from Australia. I have blonde hair. I own a nightclub that I love running, bought from my former boss for mere pennies so he could stick it to his cheating wife.” She paused as he stored that little tidbit. “Shall I go on?” she questioned, flashing him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Snooty, independent little thing. Stubborn, standoffish, and frustrating, he added to the list just because. Was that hunger in her eyes? Or just a trick of the light? And did she seem more uptight than usual? “Did you have to do anything . . . unusual . . . before he signed it over to you?”

“Yes.” Something sizzling and oh-so-dark slithered through him at the thought of her offering herself to the guy in order to get a good deal. “What?” “When I arrived to sign the papers, he made me sit and have breakfast with him in his suite at the Ritz-Carlton because he was lonely. So there I sat, sneezing around my eggs because he had a cat and I’m allergic. He was actually a very nice man.” Placated, Maksim heard a steady little thumping sound coming from behind her. As if she was tapping against the car. Was she nervous around him? “Where is he now?” he asked to keep the interaction going. He always got answers if he spoke about generic club stuff, but anything else was usually met with a simple “no.” Once he’d gotten a “hell, no.” So this was good. “He passed away a few weeks ago. Another of your kind knew him quite well. Maybe you did, too. Cezar Fane?” She dropped the name, and Maks found himself struggling not to let his surprise show. He remembered seeing Gheorghe Fane in her office the night they’d met—which just so happened to be days before he and every associate he knew attended a massive funeral. “You and I met the same night Cezar’s son came to see me. Remember?” she said as though she were in his mind. “Gheorghe thought I’d want to know his father had passed.” “Lucian Fane’s uncle sold you this club?” Why the fuck hadn’t that information been on record . . . ? He almost slapped himself. The info hadn’t been made public because they were talking about one of the most powerful organized crime families in the world. Numbered companies and aliases would be the only thing the city possessed on who had previously—and currently?— owned Club Pant, or anything in the Fane family’s portfolio. Sydney shrugged as if that weren’t something. “I’ve heard of him but don’t know Lucian personally. I knew Cezar, and now, having only met him the once, Gheorghe.” “Did you comfort Gheorghe in his time of need?” She tipped her head back and looked up at the brightly lit windows on the top floor of her building. The position exposed the smooth column of her throat, distracting him from the sigh she let out. “I offered him my condolences. You know.” She brought her chin down and gave him a look usually reserved for moldy takeout. “Talking to you is like talking to a seventeen-year-old boy. You’re so immature.” “Am I? Nothing but condolences?” he pressed. She might think he was being crass, and he could understand why. But it wasn’t her history alone he

wanted—he was more interested in her history with an associate of his. In his world, one didn’t step on toes. One didn’t move in on an ex. One didn’t take another man’s woman. Because rather than a fist to the face for your gall, one was more likely to get a bullet in the groin. “Not that it’s any of your business, Russia. But no. I didn’t offer Gheorghe Fane my body in an effort to make him feel better over his father’s death.” Okay. She was fair game. And why did he enjoy it so much when she called him Russia? He moved on, coming back to something that had struck him. “That’s good. Now, what did you mean, ‘another of my kind’?” She shuffled, kicking her toe at something that had fossilized in the asphalt. “I know who you are.” “Really, Australia?” He dropped his arms and drifted closer, knowing she didn’t have a fucking clue who he really was. “And who am I?” Her attention flashed to his mouth and then away. “You and your friends are . . .” Her lips turned down, and she shrugged a shoulder. “I’m actually not sure what you call yourselves. Gangsters, mobsters, mafioso . . . ?” “Try businessmen,” he whispered with an edge to his voice that she couldn’t miss. She blinked those amazing eyes of hers up at him, looking as though she’d just thought of something. He watched with way too much interest as a slew of emotions flew across her flawless face, none of them staying long enough for him to address. But he hadn’t missed the three most prominent: fear, regret, and then a wide-eyed fuck-that. Now she was—infuriatingly—moving on, seemingly unfazed by the tone he’d used. A tone that normally had men twice her size taking a step back. “Okay,” she agreed. “You’re businessmen that people have a healthy respect for. You get what you want when you want it, no matter who you have to go through to get it. Right?” He couldn’t speak for his friends, but he supposed she had his public reputation nailed down. His hand came up, and he hooked his pinkie in a thick strand of her hair, watching it shimmer under the security lights as he drew his finger down its length. “If I am who you say, I suppose I should just take you. No matter how much you protest.” He had the pleasure of watching her pink tongue come out to swipe nervously across her full lips, her eyes darting around the empty alley they stood in. His pleasure died when he saw the return of the fear that had made a brief appearance in her expression a second ago. She brought her arms from around her back and lazily cut one through the air, reclaiming that lock of spun silk. “Where would the fun be in that?”

Her bravado was admirable. But unnecessary. See? She didn’t know him at all. “Relax, beauty,” he said soothingly. “I don’t want it if it isn’t freely given.” Her mouth twisted. “And I’m sure it is more often than it’s not.” Her brow puckering let him know she hadn’t meant to share that observation, and he had to hide a grin. “You’d know what that’s like.” “The difference is, I don’t want it.” “Why is that?” Curiosity was annoying. “Just because.” So was she. “Do you often stalk your women like this?” she asked casually. “Hmm. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He bent, coming in as close as he dared. Damn she was tiny. “You’re coming to see yourself as my woman.” “You wish.” She half laughed in a soft burst. It was really more of a scoff, but whatever. Her white teeth glittered through a smile that nailed him right behind his zipper. And, yes, he did wish. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you stalk regularly? And does this approach normally work for you?” He refused to tell her the truth: that he’d never had to work so hard before. “I’m not stalking you; I’ve befriended you. There’s a difference. If I was stalking you, you’d never know it.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring wink. “Yet another thing we can discuss over drinks, you and I.” He withdrew his phone from the inside pocket of his coat and opened his contacts. “I understand it’s getting late and you’ll be opening soon, so why not give me your private number and I’ll call you tomorrow. We can set something up. Full name and spelling?” He sounded like a fucking cop. He looked up when nothing was forthcoming and sighed at the obstinate tilt of her chin. The sparkle dancing in her eyes reassured him that she was more entertained than frightened. Ah well, it had been worth a try. He pocketed his phone. “What do you have against giving me an hour for a sit-down?” She ignored his question, as she did a lot. “I really underestimated your tenacity. I thought you’d be bored of this long before now. Why haven’t you moved on? Found someone more willing to play this game with you?” “Because you’re a challenge, and I’m not going to leave your ass alone until I’ve had it.” “You’re ridiculous,” she sputtered. They’d exchanged that same banter time and again. She would ask why he was still showing up at her club, tempting her to sleep with him. He would tell

her he was used to getting his way and wasn’t going to quit until she gave in. A different set of words each time, same idea. He knew women, and he knew she was attracted to him. So why wouldn’t she act on that attraction? Give in to it? He didn’t fucking know. But he was determined to . . . His focus sharpened when he noticed she was biting on the corner of her lip, now off in her own head. “What’s going on with you tonight? You’re not usually so distracted.” She gave him a sharp look before her gaze skipped away, landing nowhere in particular. His instincts pinged, and he watched closely as he posed his next question. “You in some kind of trouble?” The slight flare of her eyes, the flicker of something that looked a lot like panic in their depths, her chest rising in a sharp little burst that he’d have missed if he wasn’t looking for it, all told him he’d struck gold. She was in trouble. With who? Over what? “Talk to me,” he said seriously, thoughts of fucking taking a backseat to how pale her skin now looked. Her indignant snort was missing its usual disparaging flavor. “We are talking.” “Cut the shit, Sydney. Are you afraid of something? Is someone bothering you?” “You’re asking me that?” “I may be chirping around your ass, but I’m not a threat to you. Is someone else?” She didn’t hesitate in her answer, but it was too pat for him to accept. “No. I’m perfect. Thanks for the chat, Russia.” She pushed away from her vehicle and moved around him to start for the back door of her club. “Mine isn’t the only club opening soon. You should already be at yours, rather than standing around out here trying to score like some horny teenager.” He let her get in a couple of steps before drawling, “If we were teenagers, your head wouldn’t be full of whatever is giving you so much trouble, and we’d have fucked by now.” She whirled around, blonde hair flying. “Shhh,” she said furiously, looking around, as though expecting a kindergarten class to come wandering out from behind the Dumpster. “Do you not have a filter?” “No,” he answered honestly, dropping his raging curiosity over her mood. For now. “Give in to me. I’m asking for one hour to talk to you without the putdowns and evasions.” Her response? Nothing but a cool stare and tightly closed mouth. His voice went low and raspy, and with his next words he came clean—

was as honest with her as he could get. The fact that he spoke in a language she most likely didn’t understand didn’t faze him. “I will dominate you if it’s the last thing I do, lover. I can see in your eyes how badly you want to give up that control you hold like a shield. And I’m the man you’re going to give it up to. I have a strong suspicion that you’re naturally submissive and just don’t know it yet—or maybe you do. But mark my words, I will have you tied to the four corners of my bed, and I am going to work you over until you’re straining the bindings and tears of frustration are running down your perfect cheeks. Wait for it.” She crossed her arms over her middle and tapped the toe of her boot, drawing his attention down. She always wore heels, he thought idly—why not tonight? “In case you’re not aware, I don’t speak Russian,” she said, confirming his suspicion. “Which I’m rather grateful for because I doubt I’d want to know what that spiel was about.” He chuckled, reverting back to English. He felt that much more relaxed after getting that off his chest, even if she didn’t know what he’d said. “I bet if you came down off that high horse to play with us lowly creatures, you’d like what that was about. In fact, I’m convinced more and more you’d be right into it.” “I’m not on a high horse.” Her denial sounded oddly vulnerable, and he wished her face wasn’t shadowed now so he could read her better. “You’re so high up there, princess, I often check to see if your perfect little nose is bleeding.” Her gasp had something tightening in his lower gut. “How dare you say that? You don’t know anything about—” His phone buzzed, and he cut her off by raising one finger as he withdrew it. She dropped her arms, and her tiny hands fisted at her sides as he answered. “Yeah.” “A delivery is waiting at the warehouse in Brighton Beach.” Vasily’s voice sounded quiet; his Pakhan—the leader of their organization—seemed more subdued than usual. “My nephew isn’t up for overseeing it. I need you to head over right now.” Maks knew they weren’t talking about Alek. It would be Vasily’s other nephew who was falling short. Sergei had lost his wife and son last year to a rival family. No one was surprised the guy wasn’t functioning properly. “Of course. I’m on my way.” He pocketed the phone after hearing “Thanks, son” and then dead air. “I have to go.” He risked his balls and stepped to his little Aussie so he could press his lips to her temple. He pulled back before she had the chance to connect any

flying limbs. The dark forest scent that was hers alone stunned him for a second, and he swallowed the groan that tried to escape. “I’ll be in touch,” he said gruffly. And, man, would he touch. Everywhere. But not now. About the only thing that could make him turn and leave her standing outside her club, alone in a dark alley, was a request from Vasily Tarasov. Not only Maksim’s boss, Vasily was the man who’d saved Maks’s life eighteen years ago, in more ways than one. When he’d woken from the sedative administered by that old-school dart, Maksim had found himself looking out beyond rusted iron bars that were embedded in cracked and uneven cement floors. No windows. No signs of life. Just a dank, rotten smell and muted sounds. Coming from both sides, he’d heard bodies shifting, and one quiet whimper that had sounded female. The more he’d listened, even without a visual, he’d soon realized he was in a row of open-faced cells. Boris always was an asshole. He’d been put there by his father and had remained in that cold basement in an old building next to the tracks in Reutov, a small town east of Russia’s capital, for nearly three months. Which was when Vasily had learned of the kidnapping operation and had come in to dismantle it. My loyalty is yours until the end of my life. Maks had offered that pledge the day the Russian leader had released him. And he’d meant it, had stood by it, and would until the day he died. Vasily had taken him in and given him a purpose, something to strive for—even if that something was simply to attempt to make proud the man who put up with him. His lip curving, Maks crawled from the past and glanced over as he got behind the wheel of his Hummer. “Get inside, Australia,” he called before shutting himself into the SUV. As he turned the key and backed out, he was pleased to see her follow his simple instruction and slip around the heavy steel door. Very nice. “You better rock my fucking world when the time comes, lover,” he murmured as he drove away.

He could help me. Sydney rubbed the tips of her fingers over her tingling temple as the thought came to her again. She leaned against the door and stared unseeingly at

the flight of steps leading up to the loft. She wasn’t seriously considering asking a Russian mobster for help. Was she? She shook her head. “I don’t even know what I’m dealing with yet,” she murmured aloud. But once she did, if Luiz Morales threatened her son, would she possibly risk worse and go to a man like Maksim Kirov for help? A click sounded, and she glanced to the top of the stairs to see Andrew exit the loft with Daniel and Heyden trailing behind him. Her son smiled when he saw her. “Hey, Mom. What are you doing?” Yes, she decided right then. If things got to where she couldn’t handle them —wasn’t she already there?—if Luiz Morales came after them, she would take that chance and request the aid of a man who would probably want payment for protection in the form of sex. She blinked. Really, Sydney? she asked herself as a heated awareness shimmered down her body, rather than the horror that should have presented itself at the thought. Disgusted with herself, she focused and answered her son, who’d descended and was almost on top of her. “I was just coming up to change my boots,” she lied, moving aside so the trio could pass. Good-byes were said, and she and Andrew waited until the pair got into Daniel’s dad’s car at the end of the alley before waving them off and walking back upstairs together. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?” Reaching into the four-shelf cabinet in the large entrance, she grabbed a pair of Manolos and sat on the leather bench so she could quickly swap footwear. She hung up her jacket, as well, since she wouldn’t be going outside again until daybreak, and then paused at the top of the second set of stairs that branched off on the other side of the landing. These would bring her down to her office. “I’m going to bed now,” Andrew surprised her by saying. “We’re meeting up early tomorrow so we can go over our history presentation.” She frowned, noticing she was now a little taller than him, which made her feel more like the adult again. “You were together for the last couple of hours. Why didn’t you go over it tonight?” “’Cause we were playing online with a couple of guys from France. They were hilarious.” As if that explained it all. She shook her head. “You’re lucky your grades are what they are—otherwise the games would be gone.” He grinned. “I know.”

She smiled back and walked him to his room, making him suffer through a tight hug and smacking kiss to his forehead before she left him to get ready for bed. She’d learned the hard way that he didn’t appreciate her hovering any longer. If he needed her, all he had to do was text. Or come down one flight, which would bring him into her office through a secure entrance. Using it now, Sydney re-engaged the system and swept her gaze around her barren work space that held nothing but a basic desk with a chair, two filing cabinets, and a beige leather sofa along the far wall. Between the cabinets were a dozen hidden monitors showcasing all areas of the club. There were no plants scattered around, no photos of Andrew. The only thing that had any decorative value—and it wasn’t much—was the print that hung over her safe, given to her by one of her suppliers. On it, beneath an elaborate crown, were the words Keep Calm and Sip Patrón. Moving to the sofa, she pressed a button anchored on its back, which made two panels pop out of the wall and slide open to reveal her screens. Every nook and cranny of her club was immediately before her, and she studied them all. The building had originally been a large movie theater, so it was long and narrow. Every inch of the walls were covered with misshapen mirrors to reflect warped and distorted images that somehow looked exotic rather than strange. Thirty-foot ceilings were also mirrored to throw the blue-and-green-hued light around in seductive flashes. The floor had a gradual decline and was filled with horseshoe-shaped booths along the walls, with tall tables scattered throughout. At the base of the slope was the always-packed dance floor. Her newest additions, positioned in baseless increments throughout the massive space, were five huge steel birdcages. By midnight, each of them would hold a male or female exotic dancer; in one of them, both. It was just after ten, so bodies were only now trickling in. But it seemed in the blink of an eye, the club would fill up, and that’s when the fun would begin. Soon her bouncers would be trolling the floor, walking couples to the front doors, the girls struggling to pull their skirts down, the guys zipping up—because everyone was having sex but her. Her boys would also break up fights, ward off drunk fangirls, and keep the overall peace. The bartenders would pour and her servers would deliver, and by the end of the night she’d have successfully pleased a few hundred patrons, most of whom would be back tomorrow or in the following days. Life should have been ideal. Her stomach twisted, her anxiety returning when she remembered the black duffel bag in her car trunk. She had to make a trip out to New Jersey after Andrew left in the morning. After her first buy last year, she’d driven around for days, her trunk full, until she’d found a deserted place not far from a group of

smokestacks belonging to a nearby factory. And that’s where she returned to light her monthly fire. “Please,” she begged quietly as she thought about the boy getting ready for bed upstairs. “Let it be my last fire.”

After dealing with a delivery of arms and ammunition that had come off a Russian cargo ship docked in Newark Bay, Maks refrained from returning to Pant to finish his and Sydney’s conversation and instead drove to Rapture through the cold November rain—as he should have done after leaving home earlier. The woman was screwing with his routine. And he was letting her. He entered his upscale club, which boasted lush furnishings, expensive liquor, smoky mirrors, and lots of perfumed silky skin; his right hand was waiting for him when he walked into his office. “I seem to recall Vasily warning us not to go off on our own.” Maks hung his coat on the tree stand and went around his solid ebony desk to claim his throne. “I wasn’t on a job,” he told his babysitter. Micha Zaretsky had matured into a tight, dangerous, and solemn exsoldier. He’d held no official rank once he’d reached his goal of being in the Russian military. Instead he’d been the ghost the higher-ups had called in to do their dirty work when the need arose, putting to use the things he and Maksim had learned at the underground training facility where they’d met as boys. Micha had added medical training to his list of selling points. Maks found it to be an odd twist that someone who took lives had also gone to the trouble of learning how to save them. After separating that final day in front of the Academy, Maks had gone on to survive being kidnapped and subsequently rescued by Vasily. Micha, aside from ghosting for the government, was too closed-lipped to share what his adventures had entailed. Maks had enough respect for the guy not to dig too deeply. Almost ten years ago he’d come out of a back-alley card game, wiping down a newly improved Angelina, and had found his old friend leaning on the hood of his Explorer. You said you’d keep in touch was all Micha had said with a trace of a smirk on his face. They’d been together ever since. “I know,” Micha offered with a note in his voice that revealed his enjoyment of Maks’s predicament a little too much. The jack-off. “And the fact

that you’re back leads me to believe you’ve been refused again.” “Does it?” Micha chuckled, the sound rough from lack of use. “If you ever get the green light with this one, my guess is you’ll be MIA for days.” “Good guess. She’s weakening, so expect it sooner rather than later.” An image on one of his many monitors caught his eye, and Maks got up to watch the club’s new dancer’s set. She was good. Moved like a dream. Sexy but not dirty, which was what his regular customers appreciated when they came in to drop big bucks. Even the straight chin-length wig she insisted on wearing—which he usually forbid—worked on her. The platinum blonde made her seem mysterious rather than as if she was hiding. She’d fit in here just fine, he thought, his interest waning. “You know it’s unhealthy to drop one obsession for another, don’t you?” He turned his head to glare at Micha. Fucking guy was too astute for his own good. “At least I have one. What are your interests, brother? Besides shortrange missiles and sniper rifles.” “Those are respectable interests,” his friend defended himself under his breath. “I’m an expert in my field. In fact, my vast knowledge has made me rich.” Expert in his field? Okay. He’d give him that. Sounded a little less braggy than if Micha had touted himself as being the most sought-after hitman in New York these days, Maks supposed. “Are you what rich looks like?” he joked, sensing an exposed nerve. “You live in a goddamn motel room, man. Not even a hotel, but a motel. You’re lucky you have a nice ride, or the boys and I would think you were destitute.” “I don’t need to live in a place like yours to prove to people who don’t matter that I’ve done well.” Maks raised a brow. “Is that how you see me?” he asked, nothing but curious. He found it interesting how people’s perceptions could be so far from reality. “You think I’m out to prove something?” Micha pushed to his feet and crossed to the door. “Not to strangers, no.” “To who then?” “Yourself?” Astute motherfucker. “And what would I have to prove to myself, Micha?” “That you’re worthy.” “Of what?” Micha didn’t answer that, maybe because the question had been barked out in a sound similar to one a dog would make when a stranger entered its yard. He opened the door to allow the thick beat of something sultry and erotic to filter in

from the club. “Listen, the Australian is a pretty distraction, but don’t you think you should deal with the redhead first? Get past it?” After moving behind his desk, Maks dropped down into his chair. There was an underlying concern in his friend’s voice that annoyed him even as he appreciated it. The guy was concerned. He needn’t be. “I have gotten past it. For the most part.” “Is that so?” “Micha, fuck off. If you could help, I’d ask.” “She still on your mind?” “Nika?” Micha’s pale-green eyes went skyward. He nodded once. Of course she was. Nika Paynne. Vincente’s lover. Maks had shot her in the chest not that long ago. She’d been used as a human shield, and when the target—Nika’s violently abusive husband—had shifted at the last minute, Maksim’s bullet had entered the redhead’s body two inches from her heart. He’d been trying to rescue her and damn near took her life. And the goddamn nightmares would not quit. “Can’t get her out of there. Every night I have to watch Vincente lose her all over again.” His temples pulsed. He’d almost taken something from V that the guy could not afford to lose. His brows came down as he remembered his latest dream. “Last night was different.” Micha closed the door, silencing the room again, and leaned on it. “How so?” “When I got down from the shipping crate to see if she was dead, it wasn’t Nika in Vincente’s arms.” “Who was it?” “My Aussie.” His Aussie. Sydney would be pissed if she heard him call her that. Didn’t stop him from doing it. Micha nodded slowly and casually buttoned up his black suit jacket. “You fear losing her. Maybe this one means more than the many who’ve come before her.” He offered a lazy salute and left Maks alone to silently laugh off the absurd idea. If he was being honest, the challenge Sydney presented was nothing but a welcome distraction. He and Micha threw the word obsession around, but he wasn’t there with her. Doubted he ever would be. With anyone. Concentrating on Sydney and a past she was obviously trying to hide stopped him from dwelling on what he’d almost done to his friends. His family. His true family, not the one he’d been born into. That one had died long ago, right alongside his mother.

Her death had devastated their small unit, leaving both him and his father floundering. Afterward, where he strived to please, doing anything to connect with his remaining parent, Boris Kirov had done the opposite. He’d gone on that bender and then pulled away, drawing farther and farther into himself. Soon Maksim had been convinced he didn’t exist to the man anymore. For four years he struggled to be noticed, desperate to reach the one who could no longer be reached, always wondering what it was he’d done wrong. That had ended the day Boris told him to pack a bag and wait in the car. Twelve years old by then, he’d done as he was told and had been sitting in the passenger seat when a white Lada had pulled in behind their Citroën. He’d watched an obviously pregnant woman get out, take two large suitcases from the backseat, and, without seeing him, lug them up the front walk of the house. Stomach churning, Maksim had watched the door open before she got there. His father had come out, expression stern as he said something that made her bow her head. He took one of the cases and went back to hold the door open for her. After closing her into the house, he’d gotten in the car with Maksim and driven him away. Who was that? Maks remembered asking an hour into the skin-crawling silence of the ride that had taken them so far from home. My wife. The answer had been like a punch in the stomach. The pain of it had stolen his breath. His father had met and married a woman—and hadn’t told him? How could that be? That woman was having a child that would be Maksim’s half brother or sister, and they hadn’t wanted to share that with him? Why? He hadn’t said another word for the rest of the drive, which had lasted three more hours. Three hours of silence that had eaten away at the love he’d felt for the man sitting so cold and emotionless next to him. One thought had repeatedly pounded through his head. So badly he’d wanted to ask, Papa, what did I do to you to make you hate me? But he didn’t. And he didn’t ask one question about the place he was dropped in front of, nor did he say good-bye after his father signed the clipboard held by a mean-looking sonofabitch wearing a dark-gray military-type uniform. We’ll toughen him up, the man had said. You do that, his father had replied. He’s going to need it. All Maksim had done was stare at Boris Kirov’s silver eyes the entire time, willing him to look at him, acknowledge him. See him. But he hadn’t. He’d done nothing more than turn his back, get into his car, and drive away, leaving his son to survive a two-year stint at the Academy. Walking back through those gates on graduation day and seeing no one waiting for him hadn’t been a surprise. It had barely hurt. Same when he’d

learned of his father’s involvement in his abduction. It hadn’t been pain he’d felt; it had been rage. A blinding, helpless rage against a fucking coward who’d forsaken his child, making him suffer over and over again for reasons that would never be known. Vasily’s men had killed Boris before Maksim had gotten a chance to find answers. A knock on his office door had Maks barking out an order to enter. One of his dancers stuck her head in, a beautiful redhead with green eyes who never failed to remind him of Nika. “Hey, boss. Micha sent me back to see if you need anything.” Her open smile let him know she was up for whatever that might be. Fucking Micha. Maks was tempted to give her a morbidly violent message for his boy that she’d be terrified to relay. “No, thanks, doll. I’m all set.” “Okay. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” He nodded, knowing it would never happen. Not with her. Aside from her resemblance to Nika, lately he—alarmingly—couldn’t dredge up the interest. Though, one of his blondes had caught his eye a few weeks back, and he’d let her know it. All over the girls’ large dressing room, he’d proven his interest. She’d left the following morning, smiling brighter than ever. “When is Melanie back?” he asked before the door could close all the way. “I heard talk that the play was picked up for another run, so I guess she’ll be gone four months rather than her originally scheduled two.” “Thanks,” he said absently. He didn’t hear the door close. Two months? He hadn’t fucked a woman in two months? How the fuck had that happened? Sure he’d been chasing Sydney’s tail, and he’d been hanging out at home more often than normal. Watching from the shadows as things in his family once again settled into another version of “normal.” First with Gabriel returning from Seattle, Eva in tow. Now Nika joining Vincente. His family was growing. And he liked it. The female additions brought a new warmth to their home, and everyone was benefiting. The day he’d met Vasily, Maksim had been given something more than his freedom. He’d been given the chance to know trust again. To learn what loyalty was. To feel a part of a unit. For some reason, rather than set him free as he’d done with the others in the cells next to his, Vasily had taken Maks under his wing. Still coming into his own within the organization, the new leader had nevertheless gone through the trouble of bringing Maks back to the States, had put him in school, given him a home and friends. Vasily had given him a life. And Maks still didn’t know why. But he was grateful. Humbled and so grateful, and he valued the family he had now above all else. Would forever protect and

be loyal to the ones who had accepted and embraced him simply because they were good people—despite what the majority thought. Problem was, he sometimes felt insecure about his place with them. He was intelligent enough to know the reason for that was his past—he’d struggled as a child to find acceptance from his own father to no avail. But even knowing the whys, it still fucked with his head. He couldn’t stop wondering lately: Had Nika died from her injuries, would everyone still be calling it an accident? Would they be as forgiving? Would Vincente hate him, and would Gabriel and Alek, and then Vasily, have followed suit? “Fuuuck,” he groaned, throwing his arms above his head to stretch out the sudden tension tightening up his back and neck. “I need to get laid.” He got up and had just rounded his desk when his office door opened and Vasily walked in, his usual byki—bodyguards—flanking each shoulder. Dmitri and another remained in the hallway, offering Maks a respectful nod of greeting before closing the door. Vasily had his cell pressed to his ear and was coughing up a storm. But it was one of those fake I’m-stalling coughs that had Maks on high alert. With raindrops glistening in his black hair, his Pakhan gave him a dark you’re-not-going-to-like-this look and pointed to one of the toys on his long table of tech. Without delay, Maks went over and switched the requested item on so that when Vasily plugged his phone into it, they were both able to hear the caller over a small speaker that sat next to one of four keyboards. “Excuse me, Luiz,” Vasily said after one final loud throat clearing. He grabbed a pen and wrote down Morales on the legal pad in front of him. “My drink took the wrong path. Please continue.” Maks frowned. Luiz Morales? The Mexican drug dealer? What business could he have with us? Running in the circles they did, they were bound to deal with the same faces enough to consider certain individuals acquaintances. Rarely friends. Because most wouldn’t hesitate to step over another’s bleeding body in order to save themselves. Luiz Morales, until he proved otherwise, was one of those. Maks listened closely. “Not at all, Vasily,” Luiz said smoothly, his accent faint but still there. “As I was saying, since she’s in your neighborhood, I thought I’d follow the proper channels so there would be no confusion. I’d like to meet with you to discuss her if you have some time tonight. It shouldn’t take long.” Her? Curiosity had Maks mouthing, “Who?” Had he been a dog, his hackles would have risen with a fucking vengeance when he saw where Vasily pointed the tip of his pen. Since he wasn’t, his body contented itself with the very human reaction of splashing a load of adrenaline

into his system when the ballpoint landed on the computer monitor that had the website for Club Pant splashed across the screen. Sydney? Luiz Morales, a known drug lord, had called Vasily and wanted to meet so they could talk about Sydney? The fear that had flashed in her amethyst eyes earlier went through his mind, and Maks had to straighten and take a step back in case he couldn’t control the odious threats now pounding through his head, struggling for airtime. Rather than warn this fuck to back off, he shut his mouth and listened as Vasily spoke. “What’s your issue with Ms. Martin?” “That isn’t something I’m willing to get into over the phone,” Luiz replied. “You understand.” “Yes, of course,” Vasily allowed, sounding gracious. Which was why he was Pakhan. Guy was accommodating and amicable even in the hairiest of situations. Kept his cool and got exactly what he wanted in the end. Every time. “Would you mind coming to Rapture?” “Certainly. I’ll just finish up here and then head over. I should be there within the hour.” Vasily ended the call and seemed to brace himself before turning around. Their eyes met, and Maks waited, not sure how much of what he was feeling he wanted to give away. “We all know about your visits to her club, so I’m assuming you’re feeling a little territorial here.” “What the fuck does he want with her?” The words exploded from him. Vasily’s lip quirked as he brought his hands up to rub at his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He’d just gotten into town from a hush-hush job and looked tired. “We’ll know soon enough.” Yes. They would. Maks pulled over a keyboard and typed in the Mexican’s name, pointing to a monitor so Vasily would know which he was using. They spent some time reading a shit-ton of information that touted Morales as being one of the most successful drug and arms dealers in the world today. Stupid government officials. Didn’t they know yet that the most successful were the ones they had no clue existed? Settling back, Maks withdrew his phone and debated. Should he call Sydney now? Or wait until he had some facts he could use to lure her into talking to him? He slid the cell back into his pocket. He’d wait. And rather than call, he’d head over to her place. She couldn’t hang up on him if he was standing in front of her.

Having had enough of climbing the walls of her office, Sydney was now trolling the club. She stopped to chat with a few of her staff members. Played the role of gracious hostess with a couple of celebrities in town for a big comedy show at Madison Square Garden. Declined the offer of a drink and excused herself when one of them got that look in his eye. Then she stood off to the side in an area that overlooked the dance floor and the raised, spotlit DJ booth beyond. The guest DJ she’d brought in was in his element. Sydney watched and listened as he spun and mixed, bringing his audience up . . . up . . . up; then he dropped the beat, and the crowd as a whole began to bounce, arms raised as each person jumped in unison to the pounding bass. So cool how one man held the strings to hundreds of puppets with a simple sound system, she thought, smiling. She turned to go in search of her next distraction and felt her stomach land with a splat on her Manolos. Luiz Morales came right up to her, invading her personal space as though he had every right to it. He nodded a greeting as she stepped back against the railing behind her. He wasn’t a tall man, but neither was he short. Wasn’t handsome but not ugly. He was average. Dark hair, dark eyes, bronzed skin. He must shop at the same place Maksim did, she thought, eyeing his suit. She looked beyond him and saw his spooky brother whom she’d just left a couple of hours ago. Three other men, clearly armed and dangerous, were spaced evenly behind Eberto in a protective half circle. Fuck. “Ms. Martin.” Luiz smiled. She put her hand in his offered palm and held her smile by sheer force of will while he brought it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Forgive me for not making an appointment, but I had some time and thought we might talk.” Her throat feeling swollen, Sydney played her role and did her best to appear as unaffected by his appearance as she could. “Of course, Luiz. How are you? I wasn’t expecting to meet with you for a couple of weeks yet.” His smile grew until a chipped fang—er, tooth—flashed, making him look sharkish. “As I said, I had some time.” She nodded and withdrew her hand so she could beckon him to follow. She led the way to an empty corner that was roped off. The sprawling booth would be used by other high-profile guests if any showed, but for now she’d take advantage of the privacy it afforded without having her completely cut off from help if she needed it.

“Please, sit,” she offered, taking one of the singles so she wouldn’t have to sit hip-to-hip with any of them. The three goons stayed a respectable distance behind her while Luiz and his brother relaxed on the gray leather. “Can I get either of you a drink?” Luiz shook his head. “Thank you, but we can’t stay long. I have an important meeting to get to.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He leaned to the side and caught her eye, holding it as he said, “I wanted to feel you out. Ask you how our arrangement has been working for you.” “It’s been fine,” she said, sticking with short decisive answers. “I’ve had no problems.” “And will we continue as-is for another year?” Oh, fuck. She forced herself not to jump to her feet and run. Right now? Here? They were going to do this here? She took an inconspicuous breath to combat the dizziness swirling through her head and leaned forward to copy his stance, hoping to appear as at ease as he did. “As much as I appreciate the professionalism your organization has shown, Luiz, I’ve decided not to renew our deal.” She pretended not to see how his expression cooled and went on with what she’d practiced. “Not for any other reason than I’ve simply found having to satisfying my customers’ extended needs much too time-consuming.” And she zipped it. His stare didn’t waver, and she made sure hers didn’t either. “That’s very disappointing, Ms. Martin,” he said after what had to have been a full minute that caused a bead of sweat to trickle between her breasts. “A foolish decision on your part. One I’d hoped you wouldn’t make.” He stood. She did the same, mainly so her face wouldn’t be at crotch level when he stepped into her, which he did. His hand clamped onto her ribs in a surprisingly strong hold that made her gasp, and he drew her against him. Loath to make a scene unless it was completely necessary, she allowed it and prayed he couldn’t feel the deep tremble spreading through her body. He has too much to lose by killing me in front of all these people, she assured herself. “There was no need for you to stand for me, Sydney,” he said into her ear, using her first name for the first time. “In fact, on your knees—or your back—is where you’ll be spending most of your time while in my presence over the next while, so you should get used to it.” Anger surged inside her, joining the terror. She tried to jerk away from him, but he held fast, bringing his other arm around to pull her tight against the length of his body. She looked up and wanted to shrink back from the malevolence staring down at her. She didn’t. Instead she injected every ounce of

loathing she felt for bullies like him into her expression and opened it up for him to see. “Let me go, Luiz,” she demanded. “You have no right to touch me without —” “I have every right, chica,” he interrupted. His next words made the hair on her nape stand straight up. “And you know why. After I iron out a few details, you’ll be mine for the foreseeable future. I want smiles and lenience the next time we’re together. If I don’t get that, you’ll be very regretful come morning.” Fuck him. She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Boss? You need a hand?” She looked behind her to see her most trusted bouncers ready to intercede, their tightly muscled bodies straining, hard faces wearing identical expressions of give-us-the-word. “Do I, Luiz?” she said, turning back, hoping to shame a man she wasn’t sure had much of a conscience. “Do I really need my staff involved in this?” Please say no. She didn’t want either of her boys hurt. She couldn’t see Eberto and the three bodyguards playing fair, not with those bulges in their jackets. Again, were they brave enough to draw a weapon in an arena so public, where hundreds of witnesses were milling with their hundreds of cell phones? “No. Not this time.” She was released. But not before having to suffer a firm caress down her ribs and over her hip. “I’ll be in touch, chica,” Luiz promised before tipping his head at Eberto, who gave her a slick wink before following his brother out. Her bouncers came to her side as she watched the group leave, the dread she’d been living with for weeks now realized. The only saving grace was that Luiz hadn’t mentioned Andrew as Eberto had earlier. But maybe he was saving that for when she really put up a fight. “You okay, Sydney? Why didn’t you call us?” She sank down on the stool and blinked when a dark gaze nestled within a smooth cocoa complexion came down with her. Jerome, the chattier of the pair and one of her only key-holders, squatted in front of her. She forced herself to nod. Would she ever be okay again? “Is there anyone I can call for you?” She ran her hands down her arms to ward off the chill stealing over her. The tattoo on the inside of her wrist caught her eye. It was a baby elephant with eyes the color of hers and Andrew’s. He was sitting on his hind legs as a puppy would, his trunk raised with an offering: his heart. She’d had it done as soon as she’d stopped breast-feeding, when Andrew was almost a year old. She had others, but they weren’t visible unless she was in a bathing suit.

Reminded of what she had to protect, she brought to mind an image of her would-be savior and she nodded at the question. “Yes, Jerome.” She patted his shoulder and rose on shaky legs. “I do have someone to call.” She went to walk away but paused to look between the two of them. “Thank you, guys, for—” “Doing our job,” Jerome finished for her as he straightened to his full intimidating height. “No thanks necessary. We’ll keep an eye and let you know if they come back tonight. Should we expect them?” “I hope not. Actually, after I make my call I’m going upstairs. But I’ll leave my cell on. You guys are okay to close up?” They both nodded around insulted looks, and that made her smile a little. Grateful she had them at her back, she gave each a hug before aiming for the exposed grated staircase that led up to her office. Once closed into the secure room, she found she was able to breathe a little easier. She pulled her cell out and went over to sit on the edge of the sofa as she scrolled through her contacts. Maksim had left his card behind on his every visit in the past weeks, and she’d finally caved and entered the number he’d scrawled on the back into her phone. Now she was glad she had. Too jittery to sit, she got up again and began pacing as she pressed “Send.” The ringing in her ear was similar to what she thought a death knell might sound like, because she truly didn’t know if she was stepping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

CHAPTER 3

Having prepared for their visitor as best they could, Maks stood next to the booth they’d altered and surveyed the club. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad the place was packed with witnesses or not. He looked at his Breitling as his cell went off and wondered what was keeping Morales. His tardiness was bordering on disrespectful, he thought as he checked the screen to see a private number displayed. “Yeah.” The feminine clearing of a throat had him pressing his phone harder against his ear. “Russia?” A ripple of awareness passed over his scalp and traveled down his entire body, leaving the hair on his arms and legs tingling. Seriously? He shook his head to clear it of the disbelief the reaction caused. “Australia?” “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time . . . ?” His radar didn’t beep at the uncharacteristic tension in her voice. The fucker screamed long and loud, as though a tsunami had just been spotted on the horizon and was closing in fast. He moved around Vasily, who gave him a curious look, and traveled through the club and into the back hallway so he could hear better. “You’re not. Though I will admit I’m surprised to hear from you.” Somehow, coming back with a snide comment about missing him already didn’t seem fitting. “I’m sure.” She cleared her throat again. Almost every time they spoke, even though she placed herself on the defensive, she always deflected his come-ons with ease, and most times with a witty humor he couldn’t help but appreciate. Right then she sounded serious. Hesitant and uneasy, even. Vulnerable. And didn’t that draw out his monsters. The fuckers roared to the surface, ready to do battle on her behalf without so

much as an explanation. “What’s happened, Sydney? Are you okay?” “No, actually, I’m not,” she said, astounding him with her honesty. “I’d like to see you, if you can make the time. Not now,” she said quickly, “because I’m taking the rest of the night off, but maybe tomorrow? Would you meet with me?” She hadn’t taken a night off in all the weeks he’d known her. And she sure as fuck had never requested a meet. “Time and place.” What was that clicking in the background? Was she pacing? If so, she’d changed into her requisite heels . . . “Er, how about . . . the beach? Do you mind meeting me at Coney Island?” “Coney Island?” “Yes. I usually go there when I need some space,” she said, sounding defensive. “If you’d rather not make the drive—or have something against the sand and sea—I’d be happy to come to you.” Seems you already have. “I have nothing against the beach,” he assured her, taking the slight snark in her tone as a good thing. She was still in enough of a good place to give him attitude. “Can you tell me what this is about?” She sighed quietly. “I’d rather explain when I see you.” “Okay. Are you in danger? Do you need me to send a couple of my boys over? Because it wouldn’t be a problem.” The silence in his ear stretched. Even the sound of her pacing ceased. “Sydney?” “Yes?” He frowned. “Do you need them?” “No. Thank you, though. Sorry.” She laughed tightly. “That offer was . . . surprising, and very generous. But I think we’ll be okay tonight.” “Fine,” he said, opening the door to the club and waving in a couple of the boys. “Are you finishing up now?” “Yes. So you’ll meet me?” “Hang on.” He pressed the phone to his thigh and instructed the boys to go hang out at Pant. “Keep your eyes and ears open for anything unusual.” He brought the phone back up as they left. “Sorry. I’ll meet you. At your odd choice of place for November. Are you a water baby?” he teased lightly, hoping to hear the strain leave her voice. “Hmm.” The sound told him nothing, but then she added, “I suppose that’s only natural having grown up on the coast. You’ll be up later than I will tonight, so what time would work for you tomorrow?” He stored another tidbit—she’d been raised in a coastal town—and

impatiently wished the sun was rising as they spoke. But it was barely midnight. “I could get used to this accommodating side of you. I don’t think I’ve seen it before.” “And you won’t often, so I hope you enjoy it.” He laughed and leaned his back into the wall. “Ah, there you are. I knew you had to be in there somewhere.” He nodded at two of his girls as they teetered by on their stillies. “I’m not much of a sleeper, so how about we say midafternoon? On the boardwalk at the end of the concessions?” “You know the place well,” she said, sounding surprised. “My best friend is an MD in the emergency department of the hospital over there. I stop in to feel the sand between my toes when I can.” “Really. Somehow I can’t picture it.” “It’s true. And better yet, why don’t I swing by your place to pick you up, and we can drive out together?” “That won’t work. I think it would be best if I meet you there.” “You knew I’d try.” Her wry laugh had him smiling. “Yes, I did.” After a slight hesitation, her voice filtered so softly into his ear he barely heard her. Yet the words—no, the hope in her words—touched him deeper than anything had in a long time. “Thank you, Maksim. I know I haven’t been very nice to you, so I appreciate even more that you’re willing to see me.” Normally he’d have found himself shoving past the warm and fuzzies and bringing things back to where he was most comfortable. He might have mentioned a favorite sex position she could allow for their first time to show her gratitude. But, again, for some reason, he couldn’t go there. She’d stepped off that high horse of hers and reached out to him. That alone was cause for concern. The fact that she sounded so off and he now knew it had something to do with Morales, well, let’s just say he was chomping at the bit to get the story. “Go upstairs and get some sleep, lover.” He pictured the enormous loft Sydney lived in above her club—one he knew by blueprint alone because, of course, he’d yet to be invited up. “You’ll see come morning that nothing is ever as bad as it seems when the dark of night is closing around you.” “Right,” she all but whispered. “See you tomorrow, Russia.” Maks ended the call and let his arm fall to his side. What the fuck? He was pretty sure he’d never been more curious about anything in his life. Was she requesting this meeting . . . ? His head jerked up. Speaking of meetings. Shit. He went back into the club and hid a cringe when he saw Luiz Morales

already settled at the large corner booth—the table of which had been removed so no weapons could be drawn without being seen. Tucking his and Sydney’s conversation away to dissect later, Maks came on the scene with a nod to the Mexican and settled next to Vasily. Micha stood behind them, an arm’s length away, and Alekzander Tarasov had shown while he’d been gone and was now at his uncle’s right. Vincente materialized, then, like the Reaper he was named after, and settled into a ready prop against the mirrored wall a few feet over. Shit. Maks had forgotten V had said he was stopping by because he had a meeting in the area with his NYPD contact. Good timing, though. Having the Reaper around was always beneficial when one wanted to make an impression. Vincente glanced at the Tag wrapped around his thick tattooed wrist, his long black hair skimming the cuff of his leather duster. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but that was bullshit and they all knew it. Focusing, Maks observed Luiz lazily checking out the waitress handing him his drink. “Thank you, chica,” he drawled, tucking a bill up the leg of her fitted black boy-shorts rather than handing it to her. Such disrespect. Asshole. Maks relaxed his curling fists. He might make a healthy living running a club many considered offensive—though why they would he had no idea. He didn’t run whores. Not one bared pussy had ever been flashed. No one had sex on the premises—other than him. And his girls were treated well. Everyone had their reasons for doing what they did in life, and the women who worked for him were no different. Hell, most of them had a child or two they were attempting to raise in situations not ideal, and he respected the fuck out of them for that. Sure, he’d sampled one or twenty over the years, but only when that green light flashed to let him know the interest was there. He’d never treated them as nothing more than pieces of ass, even the ones who saw themselves as such. Needless to say, he wasn’t fond of watching men like Morales degrade his female employees. “So, Luiz,” Vasily began, getting right to the point of the visit. “What can I do for you?” “As I mentioned on the phone, I’d like to discuss the owner of Pant.” “Sydney Martin,” Vasily clarified. Luiz nodded. “I’m looking for permission to engage Ms. Martin regarding a business deal we’re involved in. She has . . . been lax in her agreed-upon duties, and I’d like to address that without your organization getting involved on her behalf.” Vasily swirled his glass. “As you know, the practice of having surrounding

businesses under our thumb isn’t what it used to be. But Sydney and her club are most definitely under our protection. For me to grant you this permission, your reasons would have to be considered valid.” “I understand,” Luiz said, his expression not as amiable as it had been only seconds ago. “Ms. Martin and I have been in business for a year. It was a satisfactory relationship, until not long ago when one of my associates went into her club and requested product.” He paused to flip his phone up when it lit up around the edges. It was resting facedown on the top of his thigh. Maks wanted to reach across the open space between them and smash his fist into the guy’s face for making them wait even seconds for more details. “Your buddy hit a snag?” he couldn’t help but prod, too impatient to be cordial. Luiz replaced the phone and looked up. “More like a roadblock. He was told there was no product to be bought and he’d have to go elsewhere.” “She’d sold out?” Vasily questioned. The Mexican pursed his lips and shook his head. “A new delivery had been made two days prior. There was no possible way she’d unloaded all I sent her within forty-eight hours. Even my people would struggle to pull that off.” A sinking feeling played in Maks’s gut and he was relieved when Vasily gave him a subtle nod to join in. He did. “Why do you think she refused to sell to him? Maybe he was already tanked, and she was attempting to avoid trouble in her club.” “Oh, she didn’t just refuse to sell to him.” Luiz’s tone was still mildly pleasant, but an edge had crept in to show he was more bothered by the situation than he was letting on. And Maks understood why. If Sydney had played him and Luiz had fallen for it . . . Shit. What the hell was she thinking? “She’s refused to sell to every other buyer I’ve sent in over the past weeks. And I’ve sent in the gamut—men, women, black, white, Asian. She’s no racist, since none have come out happy. She just isn’t selling at all.” Another pause. “This is why I don’t normally go into deals such as this. But my brother had a personal interest in Ms. Martin’s request, so I acquiesced as a favor to him.” He indicated the goon staring around the club through stringy black hair. Was the guy aware that by standing so close to Luiz he was impeding any quick exit the drug lord might need to make? Three other men stood a few yards away; one of them was paying more attention to the way one of Maksim’s dancers bent at the waist at that perfect angle than to the meeting that could go horribly wrong at any moment. “And you’re assuming what in this situation, Luiz?” Vasily asked, coming back into the conversation. “You think she’s been buying large amounts of product from you and . . . destroying it? Why not selling it elsewhere?” “Nothing has shown up on the streets in or around her neighborhood. And

even if that’s what she’s doing, that wasn’t the deal we made.” Doing his best to hide the fact that the size of Sydney’s balls impressed him, Maks tried again. “Maybe she’s exporting.” Vasily nodded at the suggestion. It was a possibility. Morales seemed to think so, too. “I hadn’t thought of that,” the dealer said, clearly thinking it now. After a few tense seconds, he shrugged. “But, again, that wasn’t our deal. In which case you must see a punishment for her gall is warranted. Do I have clearance to proceed?” Maks had been rubbing hard at the worn metal key he’d carried around with him since he was fourteen, but the motion stopped with that question. Punish Sydney? His tiny Aussie? That had better be met with a resounding noton-your-fucking-life. “I’m sure you understand why I can’t give you an answer immediately. I’ll need a day or two to look into this.” Vasily got to his feet, signifying the end of the meeting. “I’ll get back to you before the weekend with a solution I’m sure we can all live with.” Luiz stood, as well. “I don’t see the point in you doing a separate investigation, Vasily. I’ve been quite thorough—believe me. When it comes to business, I don’t do things halfway. Regardless what she is doing with my product, this woman reneged on our very magnanimous deal, and I feel I have every right to show her the error of her ways.” Feeling brutally impotent, Maksim looked to his Pakhan and waited for another negative to be handed off. No fucking way would Vasily allow this degenerate drug peddler anywhere near Sydney. Jesus Christ, all he could think was what if Morales hadn’t approached them before going after her? What if they’d simply snatched her? Maksim never would have seen her again. Even in his mind he couldn’t go anywhere near what might have been done to her before they eventually killed her. “Who initiated between the two of you?” he asked, needing as many facts as he could get directly from the source. Luiz looked to him, his expression clearing somewhat, as though sensing an ally. Idiot. “She did. She traveled the proper channels—went through a trapper, was put onto one of my managers. He talked to Eberto, who in turn came to me personally. When I heard how much product would move through her club, I eventually met with her myself. Have you had the pleasure?” Had he had the pleasure? “I have, yes,” Maks said blandly, giving nothing away. “She’s quite something, isn’t she? I doubt I’d make her hurt much for her

sins. Maybe just a few tears. I’ll certainly enjoy giving her the opportunity to mollify me. As you’ve seen, she’s more than equipped.” Around the black look he and Vincente exchanged, Maks talked himself down as fast as he fucking could. It’s business. I have to think of Vasily. He doesn’t need to deal with any fallout created by personal reactions. What if he finally decides I do cause too much unnecessary strife and cuts me loose? This isn’t worth that. It’s business. Sydney Martin is just another woman I plan on fucking before moving on. He paused as something about that had his conscience wagging a finger at him. None of this matters in the big picture. I’m enjoying the chase because having her give in, having her submit to me, will mean I won. Nothing more. She’s not worth losing my head or my family over. Only seconds had passed, and as he imagined taking Morales to the ground and bludgeoning the Mexican with his eager fists, blood running, skin splitting, teeth coming loose as cartilage and bone was rearranged, Maks calmly pocketed his key. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to erupt, he said, “Would you outline the deal you two made so that we’re clear on your understanding of it?” “Of course. It was very simple. I would be the sole supplier to her patrons, while she and her staff would handle distribution. All I had to do was deliver the product and keep other suppliers away.” “Indefinite time period?” “We’d agreed to reconvene after one year to discuss any changes to our agreement.” “When is that meeting to take place?” “It already has. I dropped in to see her before arriving here tonight.” Which was why Sydney had called him, Maks thought, grateful for another puzzle piece. “And how did that go down?” “As expected.” Vague and annoying. “Did she renew?” “She will.” Maks nodded and moved over to join Vincente. He’d heard enough. “You’re blushing, brother,” the Reaper muttered under his breath with no change to his apathetic expression. “Suck it, asshole,” he returned just as quietly. “I’ll get back to you with an answer soon, Luiz,” Vasily said. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention before acting on it.” As Micha and Alek saw the unhappy group out, Maks brought Vincente and Vasily back to his office. The minute the door closed, Vasily was falling to his ass on the leather couch, cursing in Russian. V got every word because he and the fourth that made up their tight group, Gabriel Moretti, who was no doubt

at home curled around his new bride, spoke the language almost as well as the Russians did. “Did that fucking jack-off seriously just request permission to ruin a young woman?” Vasily growled from behind a hard face-scrub. Maks didn’t say shit. He went around and sat in the chair behind his desk, movements subdued as he tried not to draw attention to himself. What if Vasily handed this over to one of their other guys? “You heading over there?” He glared up at Vincente, the fucking big mouth. “No.” V’s dark brows popped up. “No?” “Why?” Vasily asked, leaning to the side so he could see Maks around Vincente’s bulk. He looked as suspicious as the Reaper did. “She took the night off. I’m meeting her at Coney Island tomorrow. That was the call I received before Morales showed.” Vasily got up and came to stand in front of his desk, his eyes hooded. “That would have been minutes after Morales left her. She must have been spooked. Was she requesting help from you? Or from us?” Maks shrugged and shoved a couple of pens off to the side of a newly drawn-up liquor order Micha must have left behind. “I won’t know until I talk to her tomorrow.” “You know this puts a crimp in your other plans for her, don’t you, son?” Slowly he raised his eyes to the man standing before him. He took his time because he didn’t want the resentment he was feeling to show through in his stare. “I don’t see that one has anything to do with the other.” He was about to get shut down. He knew it. “There’s business, and there’s pleasure, and never the two shall meet,” Vasily reiterated when he didn’t have to. “But you know that.” He settled back on his heels and crossed his arms over his wide chest, his casual outfit of black slacks and indigo dress shirt looking smart even without a jacket. “It might be best if we assign this to someone else.” The axe fell, and everything inside Maksim protested it. He shoved to his feet. “Absolutely not.” He leaned his closed fists on the desk and came in, but not too close. He wanted to be taken seriously but didn’t want to appear aggressive. “I will handle this for her. No one else. I will do so by the book and with the same amount of professionalism you’d show. I won’t make it personal. I swear. I won’t fuck her even if she begs me. Don’t take me off this one, Vasily.” The WTF on Vincente’s and his Pakhan’s faces should have been amusing. It wasn’t, because Maks was in the same place. What the fuck was he doing? He pictured his Aussie coming up against Morales, tiny form on the

defensive as she tried to hide the fear in her normally unflappable expression. What had Morales done to her earlier to make her so afraid that she’d called him? Had he threatened her? Touched her? Done worse? “Do not take this one from me,” he ground out again. “I think I should because you’re already too involved to think clearly— otherwise you’d have already come to the same conclusion I have. Do you know what will save her if she has indeed screwed with this dealer’s business?” Feeling tangled, Maks tried to keep up and was embarrassed when Vincente made it there first. “They have to think she belongs to one of you.” Vasily nodded. “Exactly. Is she worth that? Is this relative stranger worth the time and effort required to convince Morales she’s untouchable? We don’t know Sydney Martin well and really don’t owe her anything.” “I do,” Vincente said. He’d picked up the miniature globe on Maks’s desk and was spinning the pewter-colored earth in a lazy circle. “When we went to her club looking for info on Nollan, Sydney didn’t hesitate to share what she knew. Had Maks not already found out about the cousin in New York, Sydney supplying that asshole’s name would have given us one hell of a lead. I’d say she deserves a boon.” “From you,” Vasily pointed out. V looked as surprised by that division as Maks felt. As close as they all were, and despite the two distinct families—Tarasov and Moretti—Vasily normally didn’t split hairs like that. Vincente was officially part of Gabriel’s crew. Not Vasily’s. “Your daughter would probably say ‘from us,’ ” Vincente pointed out. “Considering what Nika is to her.” Vasily’s daughter, Eva, was Nika’s best friend, had known her since childhood. It was no secret Vasily would do almost anything for his grown daughter, who was now married to Gabriel, head of the Moretti family. Vasily smiled. “Yes, she would. Okay then. It seems Ms. Martin earned herself an IOU and is now calling it in. Now we just have to decide who she will belong to, so to speak.” Wondering if he was being punked or some shit, Maksim went around his desk, not sure whether to pace, sit, stand, or wave. Christ. When was the last time he’d had to prove he was the man for the job? “I don’t mean to sound arrogant, but Morales doesn’t have the balls to come at me. If you give this to anyone below me, the fear factor won’t be the same.” V snorted. “You for real? Since when are you worried about sounding

arrogant?” Vasily’s expression said he’d been thinking the same. Maks ignored them both, having been serious. He was who he was, and others in their world feared him. “I agree,” Vasily allowed. “It wouldn’t be as convincing and would take longer than necessary if we didn’t skim from the top. So that leaves you, Alek, or Sergei.” Wading through the warmth filling him at being lumped in with Vasily’s blood, both Alek and Sergei being his nephews, Maks heard himself offering respect by verbally stepping back. “Yes, but it’s your decision to make.” Vincente’s phone buzzed, and he took it out to read the text. He was already heading for the door when he murmured, “Gotta go.” “Vincente?” Vasily said. V stopped with his hand on the knob and turned back. “My NYPD contact just freed himself up,” he volunteered before being asked. “Nothing serious.” “Where is Gabriel tonight?” “At home.” “Why are you on your own?” V’s lip pulled up in the corner, and for a split second he looked bashful in light of the concern. “Alek came with, but I’m not taking him to the meet because my snitch scares easily.” “Where will you end up after your meeting?” “Old Westbury.” Vasily dismissed him with a satisfied nod, and Vincente departed, the edge of his long coat barely making it out before the door closed behind him. After going to the bar in the corner, Maks poured two drinks. “We both know Sergei isn’t up to the job,” Vasily said as he accepted one from his perch on the front of the desk. “I’m not so sure Alek is either, but I’m working on that. So that leaves you.” He raised his glass, and Maks clinked his against it before taking a drink and putting the chair in front of his monitors to use. “For the first time ever, that isn’t as comforting to me as it should be.” Swallowing the vodka, and the insult, Maks demanded, “Why? How can you think I’m not the man for this goddamn job, Vasily?” “Because I know you, Maksim. We’ve used this method before to force an associate to stand down. But you wouldn’t know that because I’ve never involved you in a job so tedious. It’s time-consuming and boring, and I’m not sure you realize what’s involved. You and Sydney would be put together for hours at a time, and those hours would most likely turn into days that might— depending on if Morales is the suspicious type—become weeks.” His brow

tweaked. “That might sound pretty attractive to you right now, until you remember this would be a job and it would be strictly hands-off. The roleplaying would be for the sake of the outside world only. Any deeper involvement would complicate things. We can’t risk her blowing the setup over a lover’s quarrel. We could end up headfirst in a war with the Mexican cartel, which I’d like to avoid.” The flames that had begun heating Maks’s blood were doused. “And I would have a problem with that . . . why?” “Because you want her.” He did. Badly. But . . . “This has clearly become about more than me wanting to fuck a beautiful woman. Morales has threatened her. She never would have come to me otherwise. How am I supposed to turn my back on something that had to have cost her?” He swallowed what was left in his glass and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Do you have any idea what a control freak this woman is? I’ve known her, what, a couple months? In that time I’ve come to see she’s strong and stubborn and completely self-reliant. In character— physically she’s a piece of fluff. So for her to reach out? She knows she’s in some serious trouble.” He felt his mouth curve into a deeper frown than before. “Despite what you think, knowing that really does trump my dick wanting a smile.” In his periphery he could see Vasily studying him, but he didn’t look up from the melting ice in his glass, too skittish of what he might see. If he was refused and the job handed off to Alek, Maks would have zero say in the matter. He’d have to watch from the sidelines as one of his best friends paraded Sydney around town, taking her on dates, possibly kissing her to make them look legit. Holy fuck. That wouldn’t be pretty. But what choice would he have other than to stand back and allow it to happen? None. He heard Vasily rise, and he did the same, bringing his head up when the role of bootlicker became too much for him. His Pakhan stood before him, expression resigned. “You’ll protect her from whatever threat Luiz Morales poses to her.” Maks held his shoulders stiff instead of allowing them to sag in relief. “Your job will be to convince him and his people that she is yours and is under our protection as a loved one. He has to know that to persist in his efforts to punish her for her sins will do nothing but bring our entire organization down on him. You will take her out, flash her around in public—our public,” he stressed. “Heading off for a weekend in Atlantic City would be pointless.” His navy eyes narrowed, his look turning curious. “When was the last time you went on a date, Maksim?” A date? He scrambled for an acceptable response. And was silent for too

long. “Do you ever take your women to the theater?” Vasily inquired. “To the park for a picnic? To see a play? A movie? For an hours-long dinner in a nice restaurant? Skating at Rockefeller Center under the lights of the big Christmas tree?” A rash of goose bumps rose like shark fins on Maksim’s arms. “Not in this fucking lifetime.” Vasily laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, according to my daughter and Nika, that’s the kind of shit they’re missing out on because of their men’s line of work. We’ll just have to assume Sydney’s likes would fall under the same category of what’s acceptable as an evening out, even though there is a slight age difference between her and Eva and Nika.” “How do you know Sydney’s older than Eva and Nika?” Maks latched on to that rather than dwell on what he might be doing over the next few days. Which would be visiting one horrifying let’s-go-here-so-we-can-get-to-knowone-another bullshit site after another. Places he’d always avoided so he wouldn’t have to learn shit about his women. Get to know them and possibly like them? Which would, in turn, give them the ability to hurt him if they lost interest and moved on before he was ready to let them. It had never happened. Because he’d never allowed it to happen. But everyone moved on, even parents. “So, do you know Sydney?” he asked when Vasily made him wait for an answer by checking and responding to a text. “How do you know her age? Do you know anything else about her?” All this time, after all his dead-end research, all he had to do was ask Vasily? Uh, slow the eager beaver, dude, his manhood drawled. After giving him a look, Vasily placed his empty glass on the bar top and took a bottle of water from the ice bucket. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but Pant used to belong to Cezar Fane. When he found out his wife was cheating on him with his byki—after he took care of the disloyal worm—he liquidized most of his assets so the wife would be left with nothing after the divorce. He offered the club to a few of us, and even for the peanuts he was asking, we declined. Afterward, he told me he was going to pass it along to one of his girls—a bartender of his. I assumed she was his mistress but he was adamant there was nothing like that between them. Sydney received the club shortly after, and, since he was stepping back because of his illness and Pant is in our vicinity, he asked if I’d keep an eye out. The boys and I introduced ourselves a couple of years ago, and things have gone well enough for her that I’ve never had to involve myself in her business, until now.” He settled on one of the chairs in

front of Maks’s desk. “Cezar spoke highly of her, carefully though, as if trying not to let something slip. I found that interesting but not interesting enough for me to look into her.” Pretty much the same story Sydney had given him earlier, only with more details. “Well, I’ve looked into her, and her past is missing. Nothing comes up on a search of her name, so I’ll assume it isn’t really hers.” “Find out tomorrow,” Vasily suggested. “If she’s asking for help, we have the right to know who we’re helping.” Maks felt good about that. They did indeed. Finally, he would get something on her. The anticipation that had been simmering under the surface since Sydney’s call, the same anticipation that had fizzled and died when Vasily had called him off the chase, sparked back to life. There was nothing he loved more than information. “When will you contact Morales? Or do you want me to?” he asked as Vasily replaced the lid on his water bottle. “I’ll call him myself. I have to work on a reason for not having revealed your ‘personal connection’ to Sydney during our meeting tonight.” “Say she and I keep it on the DL so my enemies don’t use her or her business to get to me.” That’s what he’d do if this farce were real. Vasily inclined his head as the door opened, and Alek came in, followed by Micha. “Done,” he said. “Have your meeting with her tomorrow, and let me know what you learn about what she’s running from.” “Will do.” “Who?” Alek asked. “Sydney Martin,” Vasily answered. “She and Maksim are officially an item, so be friendly.” Alek’s raised brow was nowhere near as disturbing as the knowing look Micha threw his way. He easily ignored them both as he went around his desk and sat. In his mind, he was rescuing a damsel in distress amid the deserted rides at Luna Park. He was also demanding answers and getting them. It was brutally disappointing that he and his “date” wouldn’t be conducting any of their coming get-togethers while intertwined amid some tangled sheets, hands roaming, eyes rolling in supreme pleasure, but he got the whys. Distraction got people killed. No second chances. And Vasily had issued an order. Nika’s face flashed in his mind, followed by the image of her shot and bleeding out in front of him. Yeah. Being emotionally involved in a situation— even peripherally—sucked dick when things went wrong. The business-is-

business rule was a good one. If he implemented it, maybe he could be spared the grief he’d suffered after his most spectacular fuckup to date. What if next time he wasn’t gifted that two inches and the shot was a killing one? His Aussie’s face flashed next. Fuck that. Not on his watch.

Vasily surreptitiously watched the chill settle into Maksim’s stare and wondered where the guy went when he adopted that I-am-an-island countenance. Did he go to that cage Vasily had found him in? Or to the home he’d left behind in Russia? Was he thinking about what had happened with Nika? If only they knew what the triggers were so they could avoid sending him there so often. But after nearly twenty years, Vasily was coming to see it was more about what went on in Maksim’s own head than anything anyone else said or did. Wandering over, he again saw Pant’s website on the computer monitor and felt the oddest need to smile. He doubted Maksim himself knew what to do with the attraction he felt for this girl. His ferocious need to protect her, the confusion she’d put in his stare from the moment they’d met, the arm’s length she insisted on with him. Vasily had watched Maks’s fuck-it-if-it-moves-then-get-it-awayfrom-me antics for enough years to know Sydney Martin’s pursuit was different. She was making him work for it, and he didn’t yet realize that was part of the draw. He also didn’t realize the draw was a strong one, and now that Vasily was finally seeing Maks experience it, there would be no interference. But that green light would come after this job. Because they all knew what distraction on the job could bring. Death. He supposed he could set Maks on the back burner and hand the assignment over to one of the others, or refuse to get involved at all. The latter hadn’t really crossed his mind. Aside from his vow to his dead friend to watch Sydney Martin’s back, she seemed like a woman who did things for a reason. And he was very curious as to what the reason might be for crossing Luiz Morales. As for delegating the job to someone else, again, he wouldn’t have done that to Maksim. Even though the guy was one of his most powerful, and dangerous, Vasily knew he was also one of his more volatile. Understandably.

Maks, as civilized as he most times was, still had moments when he was downright feral. As he’d been when Vasily had found him, hair shaggy and hanging in his eyes, living in his own filth. Having heard about an organization making their dime in the kidnapping/ransom market, Vasily and his crew had gone in as soon as they’d located the operation. They’d released more than a dozen young men and women from that vile-smelling underground horror show. But not Maksim. Yes, Vasily had sensed the threat in the kid immediately, but he’d also gotten something else. Something that wouldn’t allow him to walk away. A big skeleton with skin had sat with his back to him that day. Vasily hadn’t called out but had stood, knowing his presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. It had taken Maksim fifteen minutes before he’d turned. His silver eyes had met Vasily’s; they were unusual in their beauty, but it had been the strength of the hate in them, the absolute rage, that had made an impact. You lost? Maks had murmured. Later, after having explained for the third time who he was and why he’d come, Vasily had unlocked the cell door. I don’t trust this, Maks had said in his deep, raspy voice. I don’t trust what you’re doing. Where are you taking me now? Where are the others? My men have brought them to the hospital. Fourth time he’d had to say it. But not me. No, not Maksim, who Vasily had instinctively known was more dangerous than all the others put together. Dangerous, and intriguing. He’d told him so. The emancipated kid had shuffled out, holding his gaze. Stopping, Maks had hesitated, stiffening, as if waiting for a blow. When it never came, he’d held out a big hand. My loyalty is yours until the end of my life. Their connection had been sealed, and Maks had been part of Vasily’s organization ever since. Focusing on the present, hating to play the heavy, but with this headstrong man he sometimes feared for and loved as he had his own blood brother, Vasily knew he had no choice. “One more thing.” He turned and waited for that dark head to rise, those shadowed eyes to meet his. “You have Micha for a reason. You go anywhere without him or one of your boys during this assignment, I’ll cut you off at the knees. Don’t think I won’t. Your updates will be often enough that I want them to get annoying. Understand?” When Maksim gave him a solemn nod, he drained the rest of his water and tossed the bottle into the blue bin next to the printer. “Since it seems we’re done here, I’m going home. I’m having breakfast with my daughter first thing, and I

know she worries when I’m late. Good night, boys. Alek?” He stopped before his hollow-eyed nephew. “Didn’t you come into the city with Vincente?” “Yes. He must have assumed I’d hitch a ride home with you.” “He texted me a few minutes ago to make sure I didn’t leave without you,” Vasily assured him as they headed out. The way these boys watched out for one another, even in so small a way, was comforting to him. Most days, in this business, even the smallest gesture of support was valued.

CHAPTER 4

Having spent most of the night in her son’s room, all the lights on in the loft, ears straining, heart jumping at every little sound, Sydney was worn-out as she walked home from the bus stop where she’d left Andrew and his friends. Her son had given her an odd look when she’d put her jacket on while he did the same, but he had shrugged it off when she’d said she needed some air so would walk him to his stop. After letting herself into the loft, she took a hot shower and then tried to lie down for a while, knowing her aching stomach and throbbing head had just as much to do with fatigue as the anxiety carving out her chest. She could not have sex with Luiz Morales. She could not let him use her. Possibly abuse her. Because of what she’d done. The thought was revolting. Would Maksim be able to help her? She stared at her jewelry box on her dresser. Who’d have thought after all this time wishing him away, she’d suddenly be happy he was in her life? She actually felt grateful she knew him. That she had something he wanted. But could she barter her body—to get out of someone else using her body—to save herself? The irony wasn’t lost on her. And, no. She couldn’t. Could she do so to save Andrew? Yes. Absolutely. It might sound strange to give in and do with Maksim exactly what Luiz wanted—assuming Maksim would even be willing to offer his protection for sex —but she wasn’t sure that was all Luiz wanted. Eberto had mentioned bringing his daughter and Andrew together. That would never happen. Not if she could help it. And maybe with Maksim it wouldn’t come to sex. Maybe he would surprise her by getting Luiz Morales to back off without demanding her body in

payment. Maybe cash would do? And maybe she should just pack up and leave town before the flying pigs descended. Frustrated, she gave up on attempting to sleep. It wasn’t going to happen. She got up, threw on some leggings and a tee, and went down to her office, thinking back to when she’d met her first mafioso. Vasily Tarasov, the leader of Maksim’s organization, had come into the club not long after she’d taken over. His nephew Alek and a dark terror they’d called Vincente had made up the trio. They’d introduced themselves, and without staying long enough to even have a drink, had offered their names, implied who they were without uttering a single surety, and left her with an offer of aid, telling her to call if she ever needed a hand. We know the neighborhood. She’d been given business cards and off they’d gone. She’d programmed the numbers into her phone without any intention of ever using them. Until now. She bit her lip as she opened the panels to show her monitors and kept an eye on them as she sat behind her desk. She flipped up the screen of her laptop and logged on, nervously swirling her mouse in a circle while she waited for her programs to load. Was she traveling the proper channels by speaking with Maksim first? Maybe she should call the number Vasily had given her to make sure. Then again, who went straight to the top like that? It might appear too presumptuous. Even with Luiz she’d gone through his street team before finally speaking with him. And she did, in fact, know Maksim personally, so to speak. She double-clicked the Excel icon and brought up a spreadsheet she’d started on yesterday but hadn’t finished. Trying not to think, she opened her desk drawer and took out a stack of receipts. She employed an accountant to do this sort of thing, but she did it regardless. Call her paranoid. She would then compare all the figures to make sure they jibed. Her plan had been to do so for only her first year as owner to make sure there were no discrepancies and the company could be trusted. She was still doing it two years in. Thank God for online accounting courses. The ringing of her cell nearly had her springing to the ceiling to hang by her fingernails. Looking at the display, her nape tingled at the “private number.” “Hello?” “Since you answered that means you’re awake. Come to the beach, Sydney. I’m waiting.” Her lower belly rolling with something that wasn’t fear was annoying. “Maksim?” He chuckled, the sound deep and low. “Unless you were planning on

holding more than one meeting in the sand today, yes, it’s me.” “You’re at Coney Island now?” she squeaked as she closed everything up and stuffed her receipts back into the drawer. She was already climbing the stairs when he replied. “I had to be up early for something, and it didn’t take long, so here I am. You on your way?” “I’ll be there shortly.” She hung up on him, shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers, snagged a hoodie, and was parking with a prime view of Luna Park before her in record time. She got out of the car with her hand secure around the cold metal of the gun she’d removed from her glove box. She’d bought it years ago, had taken lessons at a shooting range, and was confident in her ability to use it if the need ever arose. She prayed it didn’t, but she wasn’t so sure. Making a swift 360 to see that she hadn’t been followed—nothing but empty parking lot greeted her— she headed for the boardwalk at a steady clip, worried Maksim might grow impatient and leave. What if he refused to help her? She thought again. What would she do? Go to Vasily Tarasov. And if he refused? Try Gabriel Moretti. She’d already decided that. Gone over it enough times in her head. She knew that was even more of a long shot than asking for Vasily Tarasov’s help, but she was desperate. Maybe the Italian mobster would be willing to help her since she’d aided Vincente the night she and Maksim first met. And what would she do if he refused to help her? She couldn’t go to the police. Because she had, in fact, been buying illegal fucking drugs for a fucking year, regardless what she’d done with them afterward. And how would she prove she hadn’t sold them and made a ton of cash? By pointing to a pile of ashes in a hidden patch of land in New Jersey? Right there, Officers. There are the drugs. See that charred stuff—those were the baggies with the cute cartoons on them. She groaned, rubbing at her stomach as she came up on the spot where they’d agreed to meet . . . Sydney’s groan turned to a moan before she could stop it. He’d waited. The Russian she was pinning her hopes on. Oh, my, my, my. Had someone gone into her head, plucked out all she found attractive in a man, and slapped him together, Maksim Kirov would be the result. He stood tall and full of authority next to an empty bench, his suit covered by a lightweight three-quarter-length wool coat that looked much warmer than the hoodie she’d donned in her haste to

leave the loft. Seeing him, she was reminded why the thought of sharing his bed wasn’t as repugnant as the thought of sharing Luiz Morales’s. It really should have been. But it wasn’t. As she drew nearer, noting two men dressed similarly but not as beautifully standing about twenty feet away, she tried harder to be repulsed. By nightfall tonight, she might be naked with this man who’d banged his way through half the women in Manhattan. The expected disgust surfaced but was made a fool of when her breath caught and her limbs weakened because he turned to watch her approach. Sydney didn’t even try to fight the buzz traveling through her. In fact, she had the strongest urge to walk directly into what she knew would be a strong embrace and let him do what he looked so capable of doing. Protecting her and her son. It was too bad she had no intention of telling him about Andrew. Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake? News that her son still existed getting back to his father or her parents. The last thing she needed on top of the mess she was already in was a legal battle for visitation. Stopping with the length of the bench between them, she was barely aware of taking her hands out of her pockets and twisting them in front of her. “Hello, Maksim. Sorry you had to wait.” She didn’t bother attempting a nice-to-see-you smile. He reached up to remove the sunglasses he wore even with the heavy clouds in the sky. She tried not to let him see what the sight of those unusual silver eyes did to her—they had a pewter ring around the silver that was so gorgeous in the light of day. And would it kill him to attempt to hide the hunger in them when he looked at her? Chemistry was a powerful thing, she decided. And something she couldn’t control but could ignore. So that’s what she’d do. Or try to do. “Hello, Sydney. No apology necessary. I don’t mind waiting for you.” She realized immediately that was the first time he’d ever greeted her with something other than “Hello, lover.” She swallowed around a dry throat and indicated the bench. “Would you like to sit?” “I’m fine as I am.” Yes, you are, a very feminine part of her brain sighed. She nodded and wasn’t sure she’d ever felt so bloody nervous. Licking her lips, she was just about to begin, not sure where to even start, when Maksim shocked her speechless. “We know about Morales.” She blinked and took a few seconds to rally after that staggering revelation.

“I—you know . . . Who? I don’t understand how—” She took a breath, refrained from slapping herself, and tried again. “What do you know?” she asked, her voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper that got carried away on the damp wind blowing around them. “We know you’ve been in business with him for a year and that things have suddenly gone south. What we don’t know are the whys.” He took a few steps forward and lifted his hand. His long tattooed fingers casually pulled free some strands of hair she could feel caught between her lips. Lips she could barely feel because she’d pretty much gone numb. “How could you possibly know that?” She looked up at him through new eyes. Yes, she’d known he was a powerful man. But she hadn’t expected him to be omniscient. He leaned in until his scent, that luscious dark-chocolate scent he threw off to tempt her, mixed with the sea air to drift under her nose. “Because Luiz fucking Morales contacted Vasily Tarasov directly when he heard you were under our protection. We met with him last night, and he filled us in on your deal. He also made it clear he wants to be mollified for what he considers a double cross of sorts. What exactly have you been doing with the drugs you’ve purchased, Sydney? And why the fuck have you been purchasing them at all?” Her knees gave out, and her ass met the bench with a thump that jarred her spine. She looked down at her clasped hands and saw her knuckles were white and nearly protruding through the skin she was straining so hard. Holy shit. How could this have all gone so horribly wrong? Was she going to have to whore herself out to Maksim’s boss now, too?

Maksim gave Sydney a moment. She looked as though she could use a thousand moments. The briny smell of the ocean was a pleasant change from the city, he thought, as he settled himself next to her. He left about a foot between them and cursed the promise he’d made to Vasily last night. Abstain? From this one? Was he fucking nuts? He tried to concentrate as he hooked his ankle on his knee, noticing a scuff on the side of his polished Ferragamo as he laid his arm out on the back of the bench. His Armani suit jacket beneath his overcoat protested in a how-dare-you stretch.

Bet she wasn’t having that problem, he thought, looking her over again while she got her bearings. Her hair was down, strands of silver-blonde blowing around in the wind. She wore a pair of pewter leggings, bright-white sneakers, and a thick white zip-up, the hood of which was lined with a furry mass that looked warm and soft. Damn, she looked cozy and absolutely breathtaking. Her skin in the light of day was luminescent. This was the first time he’d seen her free of the face she wore every night in her club. No makeup. No mask. Just her bare pink lips and surprisingly lush lashes surrounding those incredible eyes of hers, which he’d noted at closer inspection had flecks of green interspersed within the amethyst. Gorgeous, even with the dark shadows of fatigue beneath them. And if her scent blew his way once more, he was afraid he might groan out loud. Every time he caught it, it was like being transported to the deepest part of a forest in the middle of summer. She smelled of nature itself, and it was enticing. His dick jerked behind his zipper. Big surprise. All he had to do was think about this one and he was hard. Examining her as he was, unapologetically and kind of invasively, was like being out-and-out stroked. Time’s up. “Tell me again why you chose this as our meeting place.” He put forth the random request in an effort to pull her from her thoughts. He could see her legs trembling, and he suspected the cold breeze wasn’t the only cause. She turned that brilliant gaze on him, and it actually traveled his face, resting a moment too long on his mouth. Fuck him, she had to stop that. Yet he didn’t think she was aware she’d done it. “I feel calm when I come here. Usually.” “Where did you grow up?” “Australia.” She seemed so serious his lips twitched. “I know that, lover. Where in Australia?” Almost as if coming out of a trance, she straightened her spine and shifted so that she was half turned toward him. “Why did Luiz Morales contact your boss about me?” Shut down. Or at least she was trying to shut him down. She wouldn’t get away with it this time. “Which part of Australia are you from?” he asked again. “And before you try to change the subject, know that I’m going to repeat that question until it’s been answered.” A little spark of her flattened spirit flitted across her face. “Eastern.” The short, evasive, none-of-your-business answer burned his ass. “What made you leave?” he tried again. “What was your life like growing up, Russia?” she asked suddenly,

glancing up from her twisting fingers just in time to see the scowl he couldn’t stop from flashing across his face. The mention of his early years did that to him. She turned away to face the open water, her leg jumping up and down, and spoke again before he could rush to his feet and yell at her. “You don’t want to talk about your ghosts, don’t ask about mine. My past has nothing to do with why I asked you here today.” Shock rendered him speechless. Hmm. So that’s what being kicked in the ass felt like. Not pleasant. But he’d take it for the moment. Especially because with that little blip of attitude, she’d seemed more like her normal self. A soft sigh came from her, and he watched her cover her cheeks with her palms, her long fingernails with their silver polish glinting. “I’m sorry. God, I’m such a bitch. I’ve dragged you out here to ask you for help, and I’m doing my best to make it impossible for you to want to say yes.” He laughed out loud at that. “Yes.” Her head whipped toward him, and a small sound escaped. “What?” she gasped. “I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t going to help you, Sydney. So, yes.” “But y-you haven’t even heard my story.” He waved at her to speak. “Then by all means . . .” She nodded and took a few moments to gather herself. “Okay. Er, about a year and a half after I moved to New York—I came when I was seventeen—I began working at Pant. My best friend, Emily, and I. We worked together, shared our lives, even lived together, until I bought the club, then me and Emily . . . uh, separated. She and her daughter stayed in the apartment, and I moved into the loft. Anyway.” She swallowed, and her brow worked as if her memories were upsetting. “Emily became one of my managers, and last year we were working close together. She’d gone to the rest room to change before going home and was taking a long time, so I went to check on her. I found her on the floor. She’d OD’d, leaving her daughter alone. Apparently, the product she’d taken had been tainted with something that had caused her to burn to death from the inside out.” “Fuck. I’m sorry, Sydney. That’s shit luck.” Her lips thinned. “It had nothing to do with luck, Maksim, shit or otherwise. It had to do with some asshole drug dealer coming into my club and shoveling his garbage into someone I loved! He stole her from me, the only family I’ve ever really had aside from my . . . other family.” He nodded, keeping his expression bland. But inside anger sparked. She was fucking lying to him. And if not outright lying, she was being evasive and selective in what she told him. How could she not know how transparent she was being?

“Anyway, the authorities came the following day and took her daughter away, saying her father wanted her. I’d never met Eleanor’s father, and they wouldn’t even give me a contact number. He also didn’t bring her to her mother’s funeral.” Her bottom lip trembled slightly, and she bit down on it as though irritated with herself for her show of emotion. She blinked fiercely. “I felt robbed and angry, so fucking angry. I got in touch with Luiz Morales and made a deal with him. I would buy his drugs and distribute them through my club if he would keep all other dealers out.” Her naïveté had his mouth twisting before he could stop it. She noticed. “I know.” She raised a hand that had the softestlooking palm. “I know what it sounds like now, but back then, in my head, it was much less insane and illegal. I never thought they’d find out I was simply destroying what I bought in order to keep their poison out of my club. Away from my friends, my staff, and my patrons.” The wind gusted, and she shivered again before pulling her hood close so that the fur framed her face. “He came to see you last night. What did he resort to? Did he touch you?” A pressure formed in his chest as he waited for her answer. His gaze ran swiftly down her fragile form. She wouldn’t have been able to fight off even someone Morales’s size, she was so slight. “Once I told him I didn’t want to continue our association, he stood and so did I. He told me I shouldn’t have bothered and then implied—actually, he came right out and said—I should get used to being on my knees, or my back, around him, because that’s where I’d find myself as soon as he ironed out some details elsewhere. I’ll presume now he meant with you and your boss?” Maksim’s vision quivered with a quiet rage. Taking away a woman’s choice about who she welcomed into her body was something abhorrent to him —as it should be—ever since he’d had to sit helplessly by while listening to the girls in his neighboring cells get raped by their captors. “Did he touch you?” She shrugged. “He grabbed me, but my bouncers showed within seconds, so it was okay.” “It was not okay. Nor was what he said. When I punish him for both on your behalf, I’ll try to make it so you’re present.” She leveled a puzzled look at him. “For weeks now, you’ve basically been saying the same things to me. Just because you’re smoother and more practiced, why should he deserve punishment when you don’t?” “Don’t put me in the same bracket as a man who would most likely have to resort to rape to get inside you, Sydney,” he said bluntly. “I’m pursuing you because I find you too desirable not to. He wants to use your body to appease his hurt fucking feelings. One would be for pleasure, the other for vengeance. Tell

me you see the difference.” Cheeks pinking up, she nodded as another shiver racked her. “Come here.” Her head tipped to the side, and her mouth went crooked. Had he spoken Swahili? “Sorry?” He patted the spot next to his thigh. “You’re cold. I’m not.” He was actually throwing off enough heat to melt a glacier. “You should be wearing a warmer jacket.” Her index finger waved like a wiper blade. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She paused and then narrowed her eyes. “And really? I take back what I just said. That offer was like a middle school attempt at a grope. I’ve come to expect better from you.” He tried to smother a grin. “You’re uncomfortable, and I can help with that. There was nothing more to the offer. Not this time, anyway, since that part of our story has been put on the back burner.” “What does that mean?” “It means that while we’re helping you deal with Morales, you’re going to have to keep your hands to yourself and your mind out of the gutter where I’m concerned. I know, I know,” he said in a long-suffering tone meant to chase that pinched look of anxiety from between her brows. “You were counting on a dirty weekend spent in my bed. But don’t worry—our time will come.” The sound of the wind whistling and the odd bird screeching was all he heard for a suspended moment. “I honestly don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so arrogant in my life. You think you’re really something, don’t you?” “It’s not arrogance, lover,” he clarified, having dealt with this accusation for years. “It’s knowing who you are without pretending you don’t. Do you go around bitching about needing a nose job or a chemical peel? Spew shit about liposuction or needing to go on a diet? Do you?” “No, of course not,” she said, as if doing so would be silly. “Why? Because you think you’re really something?” Her smile was slow in coming, letting him know she’d gotten his point. “It isn’t arrogance if you’re simply stating a truth. Fact one: you’re an exquisite little creature. Fact two: I’m a handsome guy. See? Nothing wrong with that.” “Other than stating it out loud and referring to me as a ‘creature.’ ” Crossing her arms over her middle, she changed the subject. “You never told me —why did Luiz contact your boss?”

“As old-school as it sounds, most businesses in the area of Rapture are considered to be under the Tarasov umbrella. Which means other organized crime factions can’t touch you without going through us first.” Her slightly arched brow quirked, and something like pleasure flitted across her flushed features. That was appealing to her. Which part, though? Being protected? Belonging to a larger group? He filed it and went on. “What have you been doing with your buys?” Her eyes flared so wide, he reached a hand out and grasped her arm, thinking she was going down. “What is it?” he demanded. “Uh, nothing. I—I just remembered something I forgot to do,” she stammered. “What?” She shook her head and looked down, hiding her expression from him when her hair fell forward. He released her and set her straight, physically and verbally. “The time for evasion is over, princess. You’re no longer in a position to pick and choose what you want me to know. If you want our help, you’re going to come clean. When I ask you a question from here on out, I want it answered. Do you understand?” She hesitated and then nodded but didn’t raise her head. “What do you do with your buys?” he began again. “On the sixth of every month, I go to New Jersey and light a fire.” That was unexpected. “Do you?” She looked at him, and her crooked little smile was a beautiful fuck-you to Morales. She nodded. He frowned. “Today’s the sixth.” She nodded again, that flash of humor draining at his reminder. “I would normally have gone this morning after . . . uh, waking, but I didn’t sleep much and was too anxious about coming here to remember.” “Where is the product?” She said something but had turned to face the water again, so he didn’t hear. “Sorry?” “The trunk of my car.” He straightened with a jerk, his foot sliding off his knee to hit the wooden slats with a boom. “You have a load of illegal drugs in the trunk of your goddamn car right now?” he whispered fiercely even though they were the only two around, save for Micha and another of the boys.

At another hesitant nod, he ripped out his phone and texted for a pickup. “You have a lot to learn about this business, little girl,” he growled as he replaced his phone when it was confirmed someone was on their way. “I don’t want to learn about this business, Maksim,” she said quietly. “I just want it to go away. I can’t believe I fucked up our lives so badly.” Hearing the strain in her voice, he watched her lean forward to rub wearily at her face. Realizing how out of her element she was, he softened and ran a hand down her back. She stiffened slightly as he found himself offering comfort to a female just for the sake of offering comfort. An oddity. “No one’s lives are beyond repair yet, Sydney. We’ll fix it up. Don’t worry.” She dropped her arms and turned to face him again. “I came to Rapture once.” He took his hand back, not sure his gesture was coming across as it was meant, and rested it on his thigh. “Did you?” “With Emily. It was just after I’d purchased Pant. We thought to check out the competition. Realized pretty quickly you weren’t it.” He grinned. “Did my place make you blush, Australia?” he teased. Her own place had cage dancers who wore next to nothing, so he didn’t think she was the squeamish type, but one never knew. She shook her head, and her spine grew long and straight in that way that told him she was adopting her high-on-her-horse attitude. “No. You practically having sex in the corner for all to see did.” She gave her attention to the Atlantic. “I guess we should talk payment for your services.” And there was the answer he’d been searching for. Or a part of it anyway. Why did she hold back even though she was clearly attracted to him? Because she knew who he was. Just as she’d said last night. She knew he’d fuck her and then toss her aside. Wouldn’t stop him from doing it, but at least now he understood a part of her reluctance. Why had she brought that up? He felt a pang of remorse that she’d seen what she had—not that he remembered the incident she was talking about. But then he thought, Why? He was a single man with no ties. Why shouldn’t he fuck who he wanted, whenever he wanted, and wherever he damn well pleased? And he wouldn’t have done so in his club. He’d have taken the final stage into the bedroom off his office. But he would have come damn close before changing locations. “Have I mentioned that high horse you sit on is an asshole? I hope you water it. Damn thing must be exhausted.” Her dainty jaw rippled. “I am not on a high horse.” He adopted a faraway call, as though he were trying to be heard from a great distance. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you from way down here.”

“How old are you?” she asked with a sidelong look. He deliberately misunderstood. “Thirty-two. You?” A quiet sigh escaped her as she turned to watch a seagull riding the breeze. Or maybe her eye-roll took that long. “Payment, Russia? What will I owe you for your help?” “I’ll have to talk to Vasily about that,” he said and then got down to brass tacks. “Here’s the simple solution to your problem and what we’ve decided will work because it has before. You’ll pretend to be mine, because if you’re mine, Morales won’t dare touch you.” Her head swiveled in his direction as he continued. “You will do as I say—everything I say—at all times. You won’t argue, you won’t give me ‘a better idea,’ and you won’t tell me no. You will simply do as told. You also will not demand updates; if there is something you should know, I’ll make sure you know it. Do you agree? Say, ‘Yes, Maksim.’ ” Their gazes locked, and the banked heat swimming within those specks of green—that she swiftly blinked away and tried to hide—was a massive carrot dangling right in his fucking face. One he couldn’t do shit with until this was over. “I’d have to do everything you say?” In a perfect world, yes. But he doubted it would go down that way. “Yes. Starting with giving me this.” He reached into her front pocket and confiscated the small pistol he’d seen her feeling up when she’d first arrived. “Until I’m sure you know how to use it, you don’t carry it.” He continued before she could protest. “And rest assured, this will be strictly business. If I touch you or kiss you, I’m not doing it because I want to do it. I’ll be performing for our Mexican audience. Anything I do will be for the job. I will not, under any circumstances, force you into doing anything against your will—unless it will save your life. Because that’s what is ultimately at stake here.” She had to know how deep she’d fallen into the hole. “Once Morales learns that permission to engage you has been denied by our organization, he could be one of those who gets angry enough to seek you out and simply kill you to make himself feel better. You belonging to me will prevent the thought from ever manifesting into anything close to reality.” She was trembling steadily now, and he felt bad for that. But still he pushed. “Do you agree to those very loose and subject-to-change terms, Sydney?” With a resigned slump of her narrow shoulders, she gave him the only answer there was to give. “Yes, Maksim.” Something passed through him at hearing that. She’d sounded like the true submissive he was almost positive she was. He stood and pulled her up by her

elbow. So tiny, he thought and was unable to stop himself from testing his theory. “You will obey me in all I tell you to do, even if you’re unsure. You will follow my instructions with the complete understanding that everything I do will be done with your best interests in mind.” Later that last bit would change to everything I do will be done with your pleasure in mind. Her anxious gaze remained on the stretch of sand beyond the boardwalk. “Okay,” she agreed. “Anything you say . . . I’ll do.” And that couldn’t have pleased him more.

CHAPTER 5

The bright fall sun had broken through the clouds and glimmered across the pool outside as Vasily sat at the twenty-foot dining table in his daughter’s kitchen; the scent of bacon hung in the air. He looked down the long stretch of polished wood and thought about Maksim’s new job, which would begin today. Looked as though they might have to add another chair. To keep up appearances, of course. Eva sat across from him, her long black hair shining. She was staring out the window, but her gaze kept flicking to him. She probably didn’t think he noticed, but since he normally watched her as closely as she watched him, it was hard to miss. And the bacon? Had to be her. “Kathryn also had cravings when she was pregnant with you,” he supplied because he knew she liked hearing about her mother. “She’d do with ham in a pinch but preferred bacon.” He was still having a hard time trying to process his daughter being pregnant. After being alone for so long, by his own choices, being blessed with Eva’s presence in his life had been incredible. But now she and Gabriel were giving him a grandchild, one he’d be able to watch grow from infancy into toddlerhood, then into a teenager and on to adulthood. He was warily grateful he was being given a second chance to enjoy all the things he’d missed out on by leaving Eva and her mother so many years ago. Even if his leaving had been in the interest of protecting them from his enemies. “As much as I love hearing about Mom’s cravings, it also makes me feel awful.” Her laugh sounded as though it had come from a constricted throat. He winced. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have shared that. You’re much more emotional than she was. I remember—shit, sorry. I was about to do it again.” “No. Dad, please.” She reached over and patted his hand where it was circled around his coffee cup. “I never meant I wanted you to stop talking about

her. Please don’t ever do that.” She seemed sincere enough, so he finished. “I was going to say that I remembered reading about the runaway emotions caused by pregnancy, and I teased her the one time that she was missing a gene because she wasn’t suffering as most women did.” He chuckled, feeling an ache as he remembered Kathryn’s crestfallen expression as she’d stared at him across the pillows of their bed. “She certainly became upset then, asking me if I thought she would pass that on to you. I laughed but at the same time felt like hell for making her worry.” “That sounds so much like her.” Eva sighed, a small smile playing around her mouth as her gaze went outside again. Very preoccupied today. She pulled at the collar of her Columbia University hoodie. Going by that and her jeans, he guessed she wasn’t heading to the office today; she was normally dressed well enough to grace the cover of Fortune magazine. He’d been out of town and hadn’t contacted her but for a few quick phone calls. Could this be her version of the cold shoulder? He hid a smile. Her mother had never been able to stay mad at him for long. But Eva had to understand that if there was a chance a call could be traced, he would not make it. With her mother gone, killed by one of Vasily’s enemies, it was more important than ever that he do whatever he could to keep his daughter safe. “What’s the matter, precious? You don’t seem yourself today. Are you upset that I didn’t get in touch often while I was away? I only returned late last night, if that helps.” She shook her head. “I’m not upset about that. I know how busy you are.” She played with the corner of the cloth napkin in front of her. “Did you know Gabriel was going to ask me to quit working?” Boom. A cold blast of oh-shit hit him squarely in the face at the accusation layered in the question. As if she already knew what his answer was going to be. But he was honest with her. “Yes, I did. We spoke about the TarMor building not being quite as secure as we’d like. And the dangers of you traveling around the city, going to different board meetings without proper protection, hasn’t been sitting well with either of us.” Her eyes closed on a pained sigh. “I was hoping for a simple no. This sucks,” she whispered, and then said louder, “Why wasn’t I included in these conversations? I wish you both knew how awful it feels to have everyone know what’s going on but you. I thought we were through with this.” “When did Gabriel speak to you about it?” Had Gabriel demanded she quit, or had he given her the option to work from home, as they’d discussed? She reached out and quickly aligned the sugar bowl and creamer with her

empty coffee mug before looking at him. He hadn’t seen her do that in a while. Her OCD—a condition Nika had been the one to tell him about—always kicked into overdrive when she was unsettled. “He told me last night. So you’re home just in time,” she said with a wry tilt of her lips. “What did he say?” “That he thought it might be better if I gave up my office in the city and worked solely from here.” Okay. That wasn’t so bad. Score one for the Italian. “That’s good.” Her expression fell, and she settled a glare on him. An actual glare. At him. He wanted to grin. She already saw him as nothing more than her dad. Not a ruthless organized crime leader she should fear. Just her old man. After having had to stay away for all of her childhood, it felt good that they’d reached this point. Especially since he’d never thought it would be possible for him to have a relationship with her at all. “Good? It’s not good. Believe me. After that suggestion—which I laughed at because I thought he was joking—he fired me! He freaking fired me! He can’t do that! He said I didn’t ‘need the goddamned job anyway.’ But it’s not just a job. It’s . . . I feel useful there. I went to college for four years to do what I’m doing now, and he wants me to throw that all away. I swear, just to spite him, I’m going to hand in my resignation and go to . . . to . . .” She snapped her fingers as though she’d missed an opportunity. “Not some random bottom-ofthe-corporate-ladder gig. I’ll go see Lucian Fane! Markus said his brother is on his back all the time about needing someone with a good head for business. I’ll have to remember to throw that at Gabriel next time. Why do I always think of the good stuff after the fact? And why didn’t he tell me this was on his mind? Or you? You could have told me what was coming.” Okay. Vasily hated to even think it, but he was pretty sure her hormones were adding to her crazy here. Not that he would point that out. He wasn’t an idiot. “For starters, you don’t call Lucian for anything. Understand? And it wasn’t my place to get involved, Eva. You’re Gabriel’s wife, and anything—” She surprised him again by slashing her hand through the air to cut him off, her humor gone. “Yes, I’m his wife. He’s not my owner! He can’t dictate what I do with my life. He should have talked to me about this rather than you,” she insisted stubbornly. “This should have been a discussion, not a foregone conclusion after he made some solitary decision on my behalf. I hate that this was done behind my back. Don’t either of you understand relationships? God, this is screwing with my head,” she murmured, laying her palm across her forehead. She leaned her elbow on the table and sniffled alarmingly. Tears coming or not, he set her straight on her backward thinking. “There

is a marked difference between breaking someone’s trust—as you seem to think we did—to fuck them over, and breaking a trust to protect someone you love.” She looked up at his blunt words. “You must know by now the type of fear Gabriel lives with. It’s damn near impossible for him to function properly when it comes to your safety unless he’s standing over you with his finger on the trigger.” She blanched, and he felt bad for that, but she had to be made clear on the dark part of their world once and for all. “A man like yours isn’t used to bringing anyone else in on the decisions he makes. That isn’t who he is. Now saying that, he does pussyfoot around you. I’m quite sure he hasn’t told you some of the assholes he and Vincente have slapped down lately have threatened to come after you.” One of her hands dropped below the table, indicating the type of mother she would soon be since her first thought was for her child. The other curled into a fist. Vasily waited until she shook her head, confirming Gabriel was treating her with kid gloves. “He doesn’t want you to live looking over your shoulder, but you have to be aware that there is reason to be careful.” He could have used her mother to press his point, but he didn’t really have to. Kathryn’s death was always between them. Always. “We knew the minute we broached this subject you’d dig your heels in. And with good reason,” he added, holding up a hand when she would have spoken. “Your career is a very important part of your life, and knowing that, Gabriel was understandably leery about making you choose between it and him. Not that he’s gone that far.” Her expression softened, but the leniency didn’t last. “He said something along those lines last night. But it’s a little late for me to be making choices now, isn’t it?” Vasily’s frown deepened at her tone. “You’re married, Eva. But that doesn’t mean your choices are gone. If you don’t want to stay with him”—he couldn’t believe he was saying this—“you can leave anytime you wish. You come home, stay with me, and I’ll deal with him.” A startling glimpse of pain flashed in her expression. “And have my child grow up as I did, without his father? No way,” she whispered sadly. She turned her head away from him and stared out the window. Shock had him sitting back. This was the first time she’d allowed him to see what his desertion of her and her mother had done. And it was brutal. “Eva?” “What?” she murmured without looking at him. “Evangeline,” he repeated, using the full name he and Kathryn had given her after his mother.

He waited for her to look at him. “If I could change the past, I would. If I could make different decisions, I would. But I can’t.” “Did you love her, Dad?” she asked suddenly. “I mean, did you love her the way I love Gabriel? Because she loved you. Losing you wasn’t something she got over. I don’t remember her ever even going out on a date. It was like she couldn’t have you, so she didn’t want anyone.” For the first time in their relationship, Vasily regretted coming to visit his daughter. He’d known this question would come. Was surprised it had taken so long. Had he skipped today and dropped in tomorrow maybe their conversation would have been different, and he wouldn’t be in this position. He didn’t want to respond. Because the answer was too private. His pain too personal. Hearing of Kathryn’s loyalty, even after his desertion, was agonizing. In this life, there were just some things one had to sacrifice in order to survive. In order to allow others to survive. He knew that better than anyone. He looked down the table again, picturing it full of the boys and the women coming into their lives, and he felt pure envy. “I’m still single, aren’t I?” was all he said before steering the conversation onto something that didn’t make him bleed inside.

Anxiety shadowed Sydney for the rest of the day. Every time she turned around —even though Maksim seemed to think her problems had miraculously been solved—she expected to find Luiz behind her, ready to collect. Was she supposed to contact him and tell him of her “relationship” with Maksim? Or would Maksim or his boss do that? She wasn’t sure. Hadn’t thought to ask while two men had transferred the duffel of drugs from her trunk to theirs and driven away. Only minutes in, and her Russian had, with one phone call, taken a portion of the weight from her bowed shoulders by saving her that dreaded monthly trip to New Jersey. But even with the reprieve, she couldn’t help but find that the more Maksim revealed, the more he showed exactly what he was capable of, who he was in the organized crime world, the warier she became. He was much higher on the totem pole than Luiz Morales was, she’d realized as she’d obediently kissed his cheek where his tattooed finger had pointed before sliding into her car and leaving Coney Island. His Hummer had stayed on her tail the entire drive back, continuing on down her street after she’d turned into the alley behind the club.

Now as she moved up in the checkout line at the small market she favored, she juggled her kale and avocados and remembered Maksim’s words. You will do as I say—everything I say—at all times. Would he abuse his position? Make her do things she didn’t want to do? Shivering, she dropped her produce on the counter. She honestly didn’t think so. For some odd reason, she trusted him. You will do as I say—everything I say—at all times. She shivered again. Did that authoritative attitude of his carry over into the bedroom? Was Maksim one of those men who enjoyed lording over his women—? She didn’t even finish the thought. Yes. She absolutely believed he was. Too bad she wouldn’t have the chance to experience it. Too bad for him, she meant. Because if she believed what he’d said, it was all business from here on out. And that was good. It was. Her cheeks felt hot as she used her debit card to pay the cashier. She took her bag and thanked a young girl that held the door open for her before walking out into the windy day. As she started down the sidewalk, having left her car at home as she usually did when traveling around her neighborhood, Sydney kept her head down and her hood tight around her neck. She wished she’d remembered to grab her earbuds— A heavy arm snaked around her waist, and fear slammed into her. She was pulled to a stop with seemingly no effort and drawn into a hard body. Luiz! “Rule one: always monitor your environment.” That rolling r and dark-chocolate scent now surrounding her had a whimper of relief squeezing out of her throat. Furious, she gripped her bag with one hand and slapped hard at the arm around her with the other. Three good whacks. “You scared the shit out of me, Maksim! What is wrong with you?” He spun her to face him and, grinning down at her, walked her backward toward the outside wall of the market to get them out of the way of foot traffic. His hands remained at her waist, and she could feel the pressure he was exerting with his thumbs against her ribs right through the leather of her jacket. She tried to ignore how good it felt to be touched, even in so simple a way, and continued to glare up at him. Her ire faltered when he bent and nuzzled her ear. “You need to work on your greeting, princess. This one sucks. There should be stars in your eyes when you look at me, not daggers.” “What a-are you doing?” She cringed at the breathless note in her voice. Already? Jeez. How easy are you? her pride complained. “How did you find me?” And was this mauling really necessary? She didn’t think so. “I have my ways. I came by to personally set up our first date. I want you ready by seven. We’re going to a play,” he drawled, his tone making it clear a

play was the last place he wanted to be taking her tonight. “We are?” He drew back, and his brow went up. “Yes, we are.” She was just about to chastise him about proper etiquette. Let him know he should be asking her to the play, not telling her they were going. Then she remembered this wasn’t going to be a real date. His touch wasn’t real. The desire bleeding into his smile wasn’t real. None of it was meant for her, but for whomever he thought might be watching. “Are we being watched?” she whispered. “You never know.” “Oh, okay.” Feeling nervous now, she asked, “Um, what kind of production is it? How should I dress?” Not that she was worried she would embarrass herself, she just wanted to be prepared. Having rubbed elbows with Sydney’s elite for the first seventeen years of her life, she knew how to play the game against the worst of snobs. It was the prospect of being observed while she did it that was making her stomach quiver. “You shouldn’t.” She pushed gently at Maksim’s chest, trying for some space between them. “Really. Sounds classy,” she said distractedly. The people walking by were staring. But she had to admit he was exceptional to look at, so she couldn’t fault them. Especially the ogling women. “Sorry. I’ve always wanted to say that. Wear something black, low-cut, and I want to be able to tell that you’ve chosen to go without panties.” That got her attention. “Russia!” She laughed. Couldn’t help it. “That’s my girl. Now you look the part.” He cupped her cheek, keeping her head tipped back so she was looking up at him. He grew serious and his actions lent an intimacy to the interaction that she was sure would fool anyone observing them. He then proceeded to give her shit. “If you want Morales off your ass, you’re going to have to make more of an effort, Sydney. I’m seeking you out to interrupt your everyday routine as any lover would. You wouldn’t give your man hell for that in real life, I hope. And believe me, if you were sharing my bed, you’d be pulling me in, not pushing me away. You asked for this. Now do your part.” The berating tone he used left her feeling as if she’d failed her first test. If there was anything Sydney hated, it was being on the defensive. Yet, as most times with this man, here she was. “How am I supposed to feel comfortable enough to fall all over you when we’ve only just started this?” “Luiz isn’t supposed to know we’ve only just started this,” he said

impatiently. Her temper flared. So, figuratively slapping on her role-playing hat, she bent and placed her bag at her feet. She’d show him. In high school she’d been in countless plays; in many of them she’d had the lead role. When given a proper script, she knew how to act. But she could also wing it. Which is what she did. Sifting through the layers of his coat and suit jacket, she tipped her head and cuddled her cheek into that warm palm as she glanced up at him through her lashes. Coy and gag-worthy, that was her in that moment. She felt stupid, but that didn’t stop her from placing her hands flat on his abs—the rolling pins beneath his skin had her fingers involuntarily curling so that her nails dug in slightly. Holy shit. Ripped. His eyes narrowed, and the disapproving expression on his face faded somewhat as she touched him for the first time. It’s just pretend, she reminded herself before speaking. “Please forgive me for not being as experienced at deception as you are. You act as though I should already know my response to moves I don’t even know you’re going to make. I’m not used to lying and pretending I’m something I’m not.” Her actions might be loverlike, but her voice wasn’t. “If this is going to work,” she continued, running her hands slowly up his chest, over his rounded pecs and rock-hard shoulders. The man obviously worked out a lot. “And you want me to appear to be into you, then you’re going to have to watch your tone. Any woman with an ounce of self-respect would find it very difficult to smile and look as though she’s staving off an orgasm when her partner speaks to her in such a way.” Her eyes roamed his features, and her hands made slight claws that scratched their way up his nape. When she reached the back of his head, she pulled him down and brushed the lightest of kisses across his lips. “If this is how you treat your throng of followers, I’m not surprised you’ve had to resort to stalking to get a date.” She kissed him hard for a moment—mouth closed—before releasing him to pick up her bag. As an afterthought, she swiped her pinkie over his bottom lip, as though to remove her lipstick smear. Then, pasting on a syrupy-sweet smile, she walked away. “I’ll be in the alley by seven,” she called back. Arrogant jerk. She hoped his groin hurt.

It was in a daze that Maksim found himself climbing back into the passenger seat of the Hummer, his balls aching as if they’d been kicked.

“Okay. After her initial scare, I’ll admit that was convincing as shit. Are you sure you’re not fucking her?” He looked across the console at Micha—who was actually grinning—and shook himself out of the stupor of lust Sydney had left him in. Christ. And he’d thought he had skills. With a little prodding, who knew how far she’d go? He licked a hint of her taste off his lips. She sure didn’t take criticism well. Was defensive to the extreme, as a matter of fact. Why? He couldn’t help but wonder. “No fucking,” he assured him—or was that a reminder? “If she’s being followed, you think they bought that?” “Short answer? Yes. But they’ll definitely wonder why you let her walk away.”

Maks began to wonder the same thing as his Aussie continued to walk away from him after every touch, every caress, every chaste kiss they exchanged. The night after the evening of the play, which Maks had been surprised to find wasn’t horrible, he invited Sydney on a walk through Central Park—something he’d never done before—and by the end, he found himself wondering why not. Sydney seemed to enjoy it, too. Bringing her home, the radio playing to fill the too-comfortable silence that had cropped up between them, he drove up the alley behind her building, parked next to her BMW, and turned the ignition off. “I think that was better than the play,” she said as she dug in her large black purse for something. “Oh? How so?” She shrugged. “I like the fresh air. I’d rather be outside than in.” Maksim took a moment to observe the difference in her. Two days ago she’d been a nervous, frightened wreck. Now, with a little support from yours truly, she was slowly coming to be herself again. Or close to. Every little while a shadow of anxiety would creep in and steal the light from her eyes—her lack of faith in his abilities was insulting. But at least she wasn’t as prickly with him as she used to be. “Same,” he eventually said. “But sorry. As much as you enjoyed it, we won’t be doing it again. Our company is going to wonder why I’m not coming up, by the way.” She looked over, her keys now clutched in her hand. “Why won’t we do it

again? And what company?” “We were too exposed. And the company that’s been following us, or more likely following you. I spotted him outside the theater last night, bent over lighting a cigar in front of the sub shop. He was on our ass again tonight, hanging back in the park. He fucked up by coming out of a path in front of us rather than behind. Tried to cover by making a purchase at the gelato truck but . . .” Maks shrugged. Sydney was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Why didn’t you say something?” she gasped, looking behind them toward the street. He rolled his eyes and pointed at her. “For exactly that reason. You have to take things in without actually looking at them, princess. You’d make a terrible spy.” That earned him a wrinkled nose and a stuck-out tongue. She was becoming comfortable with him, and he wasn’t sure whether to like that or not. “Don’t do it unless you mean it,” he drawled. “Our tail is Eberto Morales.” She stared again, then spoke after a few tense seconds. “So that means this is working?” She sounded hopeful. “I mean, if he hasn’t approached me, maybe he’s afraid of you. He, or Luiz, could have come into the club at any time last night, but neither of them did. But they might come tonight.” She chewed on her lip. “Or maybe Eberto is going to see Luiz right now to tell him we were together again—” “Sydney. Slow down. Micha has eyes on him, and he’s sitting halfway down the block from your club. He hasn’t seen nearly enough to be convinced of anything yet. And of course Eberto’s afraid of me.” “Of course,” she agreed sarcastically. “But what more does he need to see?” His brow went up. “Please tell me you’re not that naive. Two people spending a handful of hours together doesn’t make them a couple.” She snorted and pulled her bag in front of her as she settled her back against the door. “I know that. But as you said yesterday, Luiz doesn’t actually know how long we’ve ‘been together.’ We’re acting with enough familiarity for it to appear we’ve been seeing each other for months.” “It would take months for you to hold a man’s arm during a walk through the park? He’d have to wait months before you’d kiss him on the sidewalk in front of a bunch of strangers you’re never going to see again?” “No, of course not. Well, it would depend on how I felt about him, I guess.” Her leg started bobbing. “How long do we have to sit out here anyway?” she asked, brooding now. What a mercurial little thing she was. “For as long as it would take to work each other up, tear ourselves apart

because fucking in a vehicle is juvenile, make out a little more, and then you’d have to put your foot down and insist you have to go upstairs so you can get ready for work. This would be much more comfortable if you’d allow me into your loft. What are you hiding up there? A couple of bodies?” She shifted in her seat but didn’t change position. She cleared her throat. “No. I’m just a private person and would prefer to keep this thing separate from my real life.” Was that meant to appease him as an explanation? “And me seeing where you live would affect your real life . . . how?” Her head tilted at that angle. The one that let him know his head was about to start bleeding from banging it on those bricks. “It just will,” she insisted. “So let’s move on, okay?” “You certainly enjoy your control, don’t you, princess?” he observed as he settled in. She glanced at him and then away. “Am I supposed to answer that?” “Sure.” Fiddling with the key fob for her car, her attention went to the chain-link fence that divided her alley from the neighboring one. “If you really want to know, it’s not so much that I enjoy it—I’ve just gotten used to it. You have no idea how difficult it was for me to hand this over to you. I’m not used to others doing things for me.” Maksim barely dared breathe. She was offering him a glimpse into who she was. Giving him information. His ears practically separated from his head. “At the beach you mentioned coming to New York when you were seventeen. Were you on your own?” Her lip went between her teeth, and he could see she was debating whether to answer him or not. She nodded once. He nearly shit. She’d left home and moved to the other side of the world when she was only seventeen? By herself? “Why?” His voice came out hushed. He didn’t want to spook her into sidestepping back behind that monstrous shield she called silence. “Because my parents made it impossible for me to stay with them.” Questions crowded his mind so quickly he wasn’t sure which to voice first. But before he could ask even one, a high-pitched voice gave a muffled shriek. “He’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die!” Maks looked around. “What the fuck was that?” Sydney chuckled. “My text tone.” She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her black sweater-coat and waved it. “I like my minions,” she murmured as

she read. “I have to get upstairs. One of my servers needs to speak to me about something personal before her shift.” What? No! He wanted to shout. He had questions he needed answered. The first being what the hell was a minion? “Fuck tha—” His own phone went off, and he rattled off a few curses in Russian as he snatched it from the console. It was a text from Vasily asking for his presence at a meeting he’d mentioned earlier in the day. Lucian and Gheorghe Fane would be arriving at Rapture in the next thirty minutes. Shit. “Okay,” he said. “If I have time later, I’ll drop in and we can have a drink. Keep a booth open that’s highly visible.” She nodded and ducked her head, becoming cautious in the same way she had last night when it had been time for them to part on the sidewalk in front of her club. He’d held her in his arms and told her dirty jokes until she’d broken and giggled so that it looked to anyone watching that they were enjoying each other’s company. “Fine. Stay there.” She slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder and pocketed her phone before getting out of the SUV. He watched her walk around the hood and come up to his side. Man, did she know how to move that body. A hum sounded when he pressed the button to lower the window. “How many men have been up to your loft in the two years since you’ve had it? And before you refuse to answer,” he cut in when she opened her mouth, “this would be one of those questions you’re not allowed to evade.” She took a moment, looking as though she was counting in her head. Her tongue tapped on the inside of her top teeth, reminding him of the night they’d first met. “Thirteen. Eleven of them in the last month.” He blinked and felt the monsters inside him release a portion of their darkness. The shit ravaged him when it shouldn’t have. “Eleven? In a month?” he spat. “Uh-huh.” She smirked. “I had the hardwood redone, and to make things move along they sent two teams in at the same time. We’re talking almost four thousand square feet, you know. Big job.” The darkness receded. “You’re a brat.” “I know.” She came up, and he received a blast of her deep-forest scent when she stuck her head into the SUV. If anyone was watching, it would have looked as though she were kissing him. She wasn’t. “I have a complaint about dating you,” she said, the sweetness of her breath drifting over his jaw. “Already?”

“Uh-huh. You don’t feed me. Now I have to go up and cook something.” She blew a light puff of air into his face and hopped down. “See you later, boyfriend,” she said quietly before heading for the door that led to her loft. It was shortly after eight, so they both had a couple of hours before their respective clubs opened. “I see panty lines,” he called, just to prove he was a degenerate. She flipped him the bird before the steel door slammed shut behind her.

CHAPTER 6

“You should not be smiling,” Sydney muttered to herself as she punched in the code to reset the alarm. She skipped up the stairs and let herself into the loft, punching numbers once again into the pad next to the coatrack. “Andrew?” Two pairs of shoes that didn’t belong to her or her son were lying haphazardly on the welcome mat. “Hey, Mom.” She shrugged out of her sweater-jacket and hung it up while kicking her boots off. Remembering to grab her phone from her pocket, she went inside to call her server. The one that didn’t exist who supposedly needed to discuss that personal problem that also didn’t exist before a shift that, yep, didn’t exist. She’d felt bad for lying to Maksim about the text, but she hadn’t had much of a choice. For now, he was calling the shots. When he asked her something, she had to tell him. Little portions of her past she didn’t mind parting with. All of it? No. And she knew him well enough to know the more details she gave up, the more details he’d want. So the minute she’d gotten Andrew’s text telling her his friends were leaving soon, she’d said what she’d had to in order to get out of the confines of that vehicle that had smelled overpoweringly like its owner. Maksim had needed to be gone before he witnessed two teenagers leaving her loft. Plus—naturally there was a plus she couldn’t deny—sitting down there, she’d been affected. Spending time with Maksim, she was coming to see, wasn’t completely awful. Some of what he made her do was unnecessary; she was sure. He’d told her to put her hand inside his coat tonight. Show me again how sharp those nails are, he’d drawled. She’d refused, and he’d smirked at her, proving she didn’t have to obey everything he said. He was entertaining and funny. So funny in that way few naturally were. Especially as they’d people-watched. The random comments he’d made had had her giggling like a teenager with her first

crush. That had felt good. Too good. Also bringing up the dial on his attraction meter—cliché or not, it had worked on her—had been the generous donations he’d dropped into the hat or tattered paper cup of every homeless person they’d passed. One sleeping teenage boy had gotten a few bills tucked into his hood from the roll Maksim kept in his pocket. Those weren’t small denominations. Do you carry that instead of a debit card because you think it makes you look all gangster or something? She hadn’t been able to keep a straight face, so it had been obvious when he’d looked down at her that she was teasing. He’d chuckled. Nah. If I want to look gangster, I’d flash one of my guns. Or better yet, the machete I keep strapped to my back. She’d rolled her eyes at his wink and thought, sure, because men in the mafia wore short swords on their person. She did believe he carried a gun, though. Flopping onto the couch next to her son, Sydney shoved her Russian from her mind—didn’t even move on to learning that Eberto had been following them because she’d decided not to make herself crazy with worry until Andrew went to sleep—and asked the kids how their evening had gone. She listened to stories of their game play, who had beaten who harder and who had let the other win, until it was time for Daniel and Heyden to go home. She walked down with them, making sure Maksim’s vehicle was gone, and waved to Heyden’s mom— who’d clearly just finished her shift because she was still wearing her nurse’s uniform—before resetting the alarms and coming up to fix Andrew a light snack. She ate, too, not having lied about being hungry, and before long it was bedtime for Andrew and work for her. Once more, because she’d been ordered not to linger on the club floor, Sydney found herself roaming her office, studying her monitors, watching with a special interest the ones that showed the front and back entrances to the club. Any minute she expected one of her staff members to call her down because she had a visitor. None came. Not even Maksim for that “drink in a visible booth.” After closing up shop at the end of the night without incident, she got Andrew off to school on time and then went to bed, feeling almost optimistic. She even slept soundly enough so that when Maksim’s text came midafternoon, she handled it like a pro. Dinner at seven. Look sexy.

She rolled her eyes even though she was sitting at her breakfast bar alone. Her phone buzzed again, and she hit the screen to turn it back on because it had just flashed off. This message was from Andrew. Daniel asked me over for a sleepover. Can I? It’s Friday. Not an unusual request since the group of them had sleepovers all the time. She texted her son back first, telling him it was okay but that he had to call her when he got out of class. After she received an okay back from him, she then texted Maksim. 7:00 is fine. But I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Which one? She felt too edgy having him come here, even if in the alley, without Andrew home as a chaperone. How pathetic is that? she thought as her alert went off. I’ll pick you up. Her mouth twisted. “Stubborn man,” she muttered, typing again. I’m going to be out, so it will be easier to meet you. She tapped her nails on the side of her favorite mug as she waited for a response. Out where, lover? Dammit. Now she had to go out. She thought for a moment and then

shrugged. Shopping, darling. Where else? She drained the last of her tea and read his response. Not that I wasn’t fully aware before, but you are all woman. Be at Apetito by seven sharp. Make it count when you greet me. She nearly spit what was in her mouth at the screen. Make her greeting count? What did that mean? He wanted her to climb into his lap in the middle of a restaurant and purr? For goodness’ sake, the man was ridiculous. She disregarded her quickened pulse at his “all woman” remark. She texted back a thumbs-up emoticon and went to shower and decide what to wear. At seven o’clock, following orders, Sydney found herself handing her car keys over to the valet at Apetito so she could meet her Russian mobster for dinner at an exclusive restaurant she’d never thought to enter. How was this helping her? She had to wonder. How would eating among the snobby upper crust of society protect her and Andrew from a drug dealer she couldn’t see coming anywhere near this place? She didn’t see how it could. But it was certainly doing a great job of making her feel as though she were on her first real date in years. Their first evening out, she’d been too deep in worry to allow for anything but settling into her role. Last night had been better, but it had simply been a walk in the park— one she’d enjoyed. Right now? She couldn’t deny the anticipation and nerves thrumming through her as she handed her wrap to the woman in the entrance. So much for the pep talk last night, she thought mockingly. This man has slept with more women than you’ve ever known personally, she reminded herself, adding, and he’s a freaking organized crime figure that can get you and Andrew killed in a situation as innocent as standing on a sidewalk chatting. Smiling pleasantly at the host, Sydney finally felt her anticipation flee. Good. If that’s what it took, then those were the things she’d remember. As often as needed. Regardless of the back burner Maksim had spoken of, she could not

weaken in the interim. She’d be fair game by the time this all played out if she allowed him to get to her. Ripe for the picking. Again, if she allowed herself to be charmed by him. If she allowed herself to get to know him as a person, rather than keeping him in that little slot labeled “Dangerous Materials.” Dangerous, mouthwatering, tempting materials, she thought, turning the words into curses in her head when she spotted her Russian on a raised platform across the crowded, softly lit room. The chill of the evening left her, and she found herself glad the material of her dress was thick enough to hide her hardening nipples. She ground her teeth through a shiver, tipped her chin up, and followed the host after motioning to whom she was meeting. Maksim’s silver eyes followed her every move, his expression becoming more and more predatory the closer she got. He stood when she reached the small table, and she only vaguely noted his bodyguard—Micha, he’d introduced him as—and another man she hadn’t seen before, sitting at a table not far away. That must be awkward when making reservations. It was too bad that she didn’t have to force her body to relax when Maksim slid an arm around her waist to pull her against him. “So naturally beautiful, you,” he whispered as he bent to kiss the pulse at the base of her throat. Her hands gripped his shoulders when her knees weakened. “Don’t forget, role-playing. Eyes are everywhere,” he informed her as he straightened. His words hit her like a runaway bus, bringing with them a reminder of why they were here. “Get that fear out of your eyes, Sydney. Just follow my lead, and it’ll be fine.” He released her and held out her chair, waiting until she stiffly sat before going around and taking his own. She wanted to ask if he knew for sure someone was watching them and who it was, but before she could, a waiter appeared with a bottle of white wine, presenting it with a flourish. Maksim nodded his dark head and held a hand out. “Oh, but, sir, I would be pleased to open it for you . . . ?” Maksim shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it from here.” Eyes darting around, as though expecting to get yelled at, the waiter quickly handed it over with the bottle opener and left. The cork was popped, the wine poured, and she was handed a glass. She took a much-needed gulp before Maksim could do something as cheesy—romantic—as make a toast. She could see him watching her with a discerning look, which had her trying to gain that air of distance she’d perfected when she was only fourteen and sitting at a table she wasn’t allowed to leave even though she was being ignored by all the adults. She met that intent silver gaze of his and could tell he knew she was

floundering. She took another drink and tried not to wonder what kind of kisser he was—languid and coaxing, firm and demanding—all the while trying desperately not to fall into his trap. When she was around him she felt she was constantly jerking back on the reins of her libido—one that had awakened with a vengeance the day they’d met and had yet to go back to sleep. It badly wanted what he’d already given to so many others. It didn’t care about all the reasons it shouldn’t. Didn’t care that he was a dangerous organized crime figure. That many things he did throughout his day were likely illegal. Her fluttering stomach didn’t care that his activities might also be immoral. For all she knew he was a pimp. “Do you know many prostitutes?” she blurted, forcing her attention to remain at their table rather than allowing it to roam the room in search of someone with opera specs trained on them. “A few.” She balked and became more determined than ever to fight her attraction. “I consider a good many of my associates’ wives prostitutes because they married for the money and house rather than any feelings they might have for the man supplying the lifestyle. That’s the worst form of prostitution. Don’t you think? At least the men and women you see on the street are honest about it. And I don’t have any on my payroll, if that’s what you were really asking.” “Sorry.” She looked around at the cozy tables for two and spacious booths for larger parties. Had to—it was the lesser of two evils, after all. “I was thinking about you—I mean, about what you do for a living—and was curious but didn’t think it polite to ask if you were a pimp. Or manager, or whatever it is they call it these days.” “Sydney.” Setting down his glass, he picked up her left hand. “You have to relax, lover. Just play your role. You’ve been doing well so far. Why are you feeling off balance tonight?” Her focus came back to him, and she lost her breath when he smiled across at her. I really should have gone to Gabriel Moretti for help rather than this temptation. Her teeth gnashed together as she shook her head. “Things seem . . . different tonight,” she said honestly. “They’re not. You’re in love with me, of course. Can’t get enough of my body. Would do anything, anywhere, blah, blah, blah. You know, the usual.” He winked, seeming unaffected by what he’d just said. But then, why wouldn’t he be? It was his shtick. She was at odds because this, all of this, was unfamiliar to her. From the criminal activity to the make-like-we’re-lovers. “The usual. Yes, of course,” she muttered, raising her glass to her lips once more.

His thumb running over her inner wrist had her practically dropping the fine crystal rather than placing it back on the table. “Tell me about this,” he said, lifting her hand and running his nose across the elephant/Andrew tattoo on her wrist. “It’s a tattoo,” she said in a tone snootier than she’d used with him in days. “Is that so?” he said dryly. “What does it mean to you?” “That’s private. Tell me about your tattoos,” she forced herself to demand as she tried to pull herself from the moment. He needed to stop what he was doing with his thumb. A muscle flexed in his jaw, and a calculating light entered his eyes before he came at her with both barrels. “For all anyone in this fucking place knows, we walked in separately for modesty’s sake. I could have taken you in the car on the way here. You could have taken me, ridden me like the stallion I am. Or you could have interrupted my shave an hour ago by sliding up on the bathroom counter between me and the mirror to tempt me with a smooth shave of your own.” She gulped. “Maksim . . .” “I could have had you in our breakfast nook this morning, or maybe at lunch. Right on the table because you’re my favorite thing to eat.” Lust roared through her. I can’t allow him to do this to me. But her stupid body didn’t listen. It did its thing, tightening her belly, quickening her breath. As her cheeks flamed, Sydney was barely aware of Potty Mouth getting to his feet. “And now that you actually look the part of panting lover, let’s dance.” In a daze, the imagery he’d stuffed into her head making her core pulse, she allowed him to draw her up and bring her to a small dance floor surrounded by foliage in the back corner. Very private. She attempted to hold her breath when he turned and pulled her into his arms but couldn’t without getting dizzy. Dizzier. He made her feel as though she were a doll when her head barely hit his shoulder. Good God, the man was nothing but miles of hot muscle and . . . dammit, he smelled edible. “Your cologne is very distinct,” she croaked because she needed to say something. But not in that take-me-to-bed voice I just used! “I think I’d know it anywhere.” And would like it everywhere. All over me. I want to interrupt your shave! She tried not to groan out loud at her idiocy. This was so unnecessary, she thought as she dug deep for that control he always accused her of hoarding. She came up empty.

Maksim had to fight to focus around the staggering amount of male satisfaction he experienced from Sydney’s words. At Micha’s slight nod—the one Maks had been waiting for—he zeroed in on the entrance in his periphery and waited until the man finished speaking with the hostess behind the podium and looked their way. Then Maks made his move. Dancing them nearer to the darkened corner, he bent his knees and tightened his arm around his Aussie’s narrow waist. When he came back up, he brought her with him, pressed hard against his front. “Play along,” he said quietly, his face still in her fragrant hair. He’d needed a break from seeing that fire in her eyes. That was doing nothing to make his job any easier, goddammit! “Don’t make a fuss—just play along, and I’ll explain later. Now tighten your arms around my neck and pretend you’re wishing we were naked.” The sweetest, most musical sound burst from her, and it took him a couple of seconds to realize it was her laugh. First time he’d ever heard it. She’d given him the odd reluctant snicker in the park last night, but this was a real, honest laugh. He drew back so he could watch her. Heated eyes sparkling, white flashing teeth, quick glimpses of her pink tongue. Fucking breathtaking. “Know what, lover?” Shit. His voice was a wreck. Deep and rough, as if he were already inside her. “I don’t wear cologne. Never have. So that means you’d know my scent anywhere. Like we’re animals.” Her impetuous outburst tapered off as he spoke, and the quiet little pant that was left behind had him role-playing with a fucking vengeance. “I’ll try to remember to explain this later,” he said before swooping in and taking that luscious mouth in a way he hadn’t yet. Full bore. Her startled gasp parted her lips, which in turn gave him all the permission he needed to finally sample what would be his prize for being a good, obedient boy. And what a fucking prize it was. His tongue went in with a slow sweep, and he licked into her warm mouth, drawing a needy little moan from her that had him hardening at a painful rate. Her tongue met his, circling around it, twining. He tipped his head to the side, deepening the kiss so that he was rolling and caressing those honeyed inner depths with an expertise that hopefully didn’t have her cursing him even as she enjoyed him. Her hands slid up from his shoulders; her fingers found the short hair covering his scalp. “This . . . isn’t necessary,” she said when he left her mouth to nip at her pretty jaw in an effort to slow this freight train down. He needed her breasts in

his hands. Wanted her nipples between his knuckles. Had to have his tongue in her navel. Couldn’t live without the scent of her sex rushing into his nose. The sound he made then was disturbing because he was having a fuck of a time remembering that he was doing this for anything but the sheer pleasure of it. She shivered against him when he said, “Oh, yes, it is. It’s so fucking necessary it’s stupid.” He didn’t question the truth in that statement. A truth that shouldn’t have been there. None of this should feel necessary. Stepping even farther into the shadows, he wrapped a hunk of Sydney’s hair around his fist and pulled gently until her head was tipped back. Then he went at her neck, feasting on her fragrant skin. He made it to the silky material of her LBD—she pulled off the little black dress like no woman he’d seen yet— and wanted to rip into it with his teeth. “Goddammit, I need you bared,” he growled. “Yes,” she whispered, squirming in his embrace and rubbing against him like a little cat. “Bared . . .” Her agreement inflamed him. Actually, everything inflamed him—her touch, her scent, the feel of her slight body against his heavier one, her mouth, the accent that came out of it . . . Goddammit, he hadn’t been this turned on by just a kiss since he was fifteen. And wasn’t it funny how she didn’t seem to care that he was making out with her in a room full of people—even though they were all but hidden now— yet she’d looked down on him for doing the same with someone else the time she’d seen him in his club. He made his way back up the column of her throat, needing his little liar’s tongue again—she so fucking wanted him. He took it by sucking it back into his mouth. Sydney’s long nails scored his scalp, making him groan as he ran his hand up her ribs to finally cup her— “Well, isn’t this interesting?” The coldly delivered comment had Sydney’s pliant body seizing, and then she was pushing at his shoulders. Maks didn’t budge but to allow her to take her mouth away. With a last lingering kiss to the fragile slope of her perfectly straight nose, he brought his head up and looked toward the voice he’d hoped to hear. Micha was two feet away, he noted absently, not expecting anything less. Luiz Morales stood with a beautiful Hispanic woman on his arm. His wife. She looked . . . high. Her eyes were too bright and bouncy. She looked as if she were watching an exciting TV show that no one else could see. “Morales,” he said coldly. His tone matched the one he’d used when he’d spoken to him a couple of days ago. Maks had called to report that under no circumstances was Sydney to be approached by anyone in Morales’s organization. Before he’d hung up, he’d made sure the drug lord knew a follow-

up call would be coming from Vasily. “Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” he added when Luiz continued to stare at Sydney as a kid would stare at a balloon as it floated up toward the sky. “Especially here.” Luiz turned furious eyes to him. “Why is that, Kirov? When I own the establishment.” Sydney felt like marble against him, and he ran a soothing hand up and down her back. “I was under the impression this was Lucian Fane’s place.” “It hasn’t been for some time.” “Oh. My bad. Next time I’ll defer to Sydney,” he said, figuring she’d had enough time to gather herself. “She always knows how best to choose.” He felt her brace herself as he turned her, but he made sure to keep her firmly against him. Don’t worry, lover—I’ve got you, he tried to project when he felt her tremble. “Yes, when given a choice, I can usually be trusted to make the right one. Hello, Luiz. Is this your wife?” Whoa. It was all Maks could do not to lean over and look at where that tone had come from. And he’d thought she was sometimes cold with him. Christ. He was surprised icicles weren’t forming to hang off the Mexican’s nose. Luiz made reluctant introductions and, as though she’d been waiting to participate, his wife gushed an excited hello and nearly pumped Sydney’s arm clear out of its socket. The feel of Sydney’s hands settling on his where he’d put them around her waist, the back of her head coming to rest on his shoulder, was . . . satisfying. That was the only word he could think to describe it. Very. Fucking. Satisfying. And, unfortunately, it had nothing to do with proving a goddamn thing to the man in front of them. The role-playing would be for the sake of the outside world only. Vasily’s words echoed in the back of Maks’s mind, crushing a good portion of the desire lighting him up like a fucking motherboard. His Pakhan had given him strict instructions. Clear. Concise. And Maks had given him his word. He loosened his hold on Sydney just slightly. How the fuck had she gained the power to make him forget that? He wasn’t sure, but he was taking it back. Right. Fucking. Now. This was a role, and he’d damn well remember that.

CHAPTER 7

There was no denying it. Sydney was more thankful for the Russian standing at her back in that moment than even she thought she’d be when this time came. Seeing Luiz Morales now, the anger in his eyes, his threat from the last time they’d spoken echoing in her mind, she couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop imagining what he could have forced her to do with him, to him, what he’d have done to her, if not for the man holding her so securely. The same man who’d just blown her mind with a kiss that couldn’t be categorized no matter how hard she tried. “Since this is your first visit to Apetito, why don’t you join us for a drink?” Her nails sank into Maksim’s forearm at Luiz’s abhorrent invitation, so deep she heard him hiss. “I’m afraid we’ll have to pass this time, Luiz.” He didn’t sound even socially contrite, making Sydney want to cringe. Her mother would have died on the spot. “Sydney and I are celebrating, and we’d much rather do that on our own.” “Oh? And what might you be celebrating?” Whereas Maksim sounded almost bored, Luiz was the opposite. His tone implied a great deal of interest. He wanted details. Maksim loosened his hold, and she looked back at him over her shoulder, curious as to what he would say. Their eyes met, and something passed between them that she knew—for her, at least—had nothing to do with the game they were playing. It was personal and warm and so tempting it made her throat ache. It was a connection. Yes, she had her son in her life, and she loved him as much as a mother could. But as a woman, she hated to admit it, she needed more. She needed something like this. But not from this man. I shouldn’t want it from this man. “A personal accomplishment I have no interest in sharing,” Maksim

answered, his tone cutting, as if the question never should have been asked. “Then I would suggest, since it’s so personal,” Luiz returned just as rudely, “you take it home and allow my patrons to enjoy their dinner without having to suffer through having to watch you two mate.” Mortification nearly rendered Sydney unconscious. Until she glanced around. Expecting scores of disapproving faces staring at them, New York’s elite wearing the same distasteful expressions she’d last seen on her parents’ faces, she was relieved to see nothing but tropical plants. Not one person was visible from where they were standing, which meant the patrons wouldn’t be able to see them either. Rather than be offended by the dismissal, Maksim was grinning when he looked down at her with something hot and dirty in his eyes. “My thoughts exactly,” he murmured. “Good night, Morales.” He took her hand, and, after nodding to the listless woman on Luiz’s arm, they walked away. When they reached the table, Maksim sat her down instead of allowing her to get her purse so that they could leave. He claimed his chair again. “Why are we sitting? Shouldn’t we just go?” His goatee curved with a wicked smile. “Not yet. Now talk about something random.” “But why?” “To quote Vincente, ‘Because.’ ” “Seriously, I really think we should leave.” “Even that little whine in your voice is appealing, Sydney. Do you know that?” “Cut it out,” she murmured, grabbing her small black purse. “Let’s go, Maksim. Please.” “Pardon?” he said politely. “I said, cut it out and let’s get out of here.” “And . . . ?” She frowned. “And what?” “That last part.” Okay. On top of expecting to feel a bullet between her shoulder blades any second now, her already stretched-to-the-limit nerves were fraying at an alarming rate. But she kept her voice level, her mother’s words from her teenage years echoing in her head. One does not raise one’s voice and shout like a lunatic. Control in any situation is what earns respect from those who will inevitably observe and want to emulate us. That nonsense had been spoken to Sydney more than once.

“Please?” she repeated calmly. He nodded and made a go-on gesture with one of his hands. “Maksim?” she finished, unable to stop from grinding his name out from between her teeth. She’d managed to say it quietly, though. Settling back in his seat, he rested one hand on the table, the other in his lap. His purple dress shirt—which was so dark it appeared almost black—had the top two buttons open, and she had to force herself not to stare at the elaborate cross tattooed on his throat. His masterpiece of a suit was a stormy gray. “Liked it better the first time,” he complained, focusing on her mouth. “I’m used to the way you said it right there, but before you used a nicer tone. Normally your lips are a pretty pink. I’ve made them red. I like it.” She’d liked it, too, but would now put it behind her as an experience she hoped they wouldn’t have to repeat, because she just couldn’t be another forgettable face in some irreverent bastard’s history. She’d been there and done that, and even though the experience had resulted in her son, she didn’t want a repeat. Especially not with someone like Maksim. Her entire track record with men wasn’t a winning one. Andrew’s father had been a onetime thing in the bathroom of a frat house. Her second attempt at a relationship had been with a guy she’d met during her first month working at the club. He’d been a waiter who’d charmed her, pursuing her during their every shift together. She’d been nineteen then and lonely, wishing for love as every young girl did, desperate to know she could be seen as more than a teenage mother. She’d eventually given in, and they’d dated for about a month before she’d finally ended up in his bed. The same bed he shared with his live-in girlfriend. After that disaster, she’d given up for some time, concentrating on her little family and working her ass off, but she had eventually tried once more. She’d been twenty-three, Andrew a beautiful five-year-old, and she’d met who she thought was a great guy through a friend of a friend. They’d been dating for about five months when he told her he was gay after all. She’d thrown in the towel then, not overly heartbroken, and had been single and much too wary ever since. Club life didn’t help. The nightly meaningless hookups, the sex between strangers, the drama of that-one-cheated-on-this-one-and-now-it’s-payback-time. Ugh. It was enough to jade even the most devout romantic. Gathering her dignity around her, and erecting what she hoped were stronger barriers against his charms, Sydney picked up her menu and wished she hadn’t gone down the failed relationship road in her mind. Depressing. “If we’re

staying, maybe we should order. Are you hungry?” “Ravenous.” The heavily bound paper in her hands shook, and she looked beyond it to see those silver eyes staring right at her. “But we’re not ordering here. We’ll most likely be poisoned. The only reason I drank the wine is because I opened it myself.” Paranoid much? She placed the menu across the plate in front of her again and dropped her focus to his hands. Would he tell her what the symbols meant if she asked again? Nicely this time. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. She’d heard it was a faux pas in the Russian organized crime world to— “I want you in my bed.” The gears in her brain rusted and seized midthought. Her gaze flashed to his, and the hunger that blazed there had her breath lodging in her throat. Oh, shitty-shit-shit. She made a noncommittal sound and reached for her purse, clutching it hard in her fingers. Sure, he’d said it before, in a variety of ways, but her resistance had never been so low. He snagged her wrist. “What do you have to say to that, lover?” She forced a “duh” look around the tremor fluttering from her center out. “Absolutely nothing. Didn’t you hear it? The nothing I said? Come on. We should go.” She got to her feet and had to step near him when he still didn’t release her. The slow-forming smile he gifted her with had her shaking with the effort it took not to lean over for another taste. See? One and she was hooked. Hooked on his well-used mouth? she demanded of herself. Get some pride. But that kiss. It had literally curled her toes in her shoes. Had they not been interrupted, she wasn’t sure what she would have let him do to her. She’d been lost. Within seconds of their mouths meeting, she’d been lost, proving she was far more vulnerable where he was concerned than she’d ever been with another. “I heard from day one that you don’t fuck around. And for once, it seems the rumors are true. Tell me this time; why won’t you play?” She shrugged and glanced at the diners paying them no attention whatsoever. “Now isn’t the time for a discussion like this. And I thought you said we couldn’t ‘play.’ ” He tugged on her until she had to lean in. She didn’t care how it looked if Luiz or any of his people were watching, she strained not to get too close. “We can’t. But if we could, would you?” Why was he carrying on this way if they couldn’t? “Of course not. Now shouldn’t we go?” She latched on to his arm and attempted to pull him up. “Look at you,” he commented quietly. “You have such a desperate need to

control everything that you’ll even physically attempt to move a man three times your size in order to get me to fall in line with your plan. Well, allow me to enlighten you, lover. You’re going to lose here.” He stood and drew her against him. “Why, you ask? Because I don’t do a goddamn thing unless it’s what I want to do.” Refusing to be beaten, she brought her hand up to run the tips of her fingers over his throat—reverting to the role she’d forgotten she was playing. “Really, Russia?” she said silkily. “I don’t believe that. In fact, I’m sure you’re quite flexible if an opportunity presents itself. You don’t get a reputation like yours by being rigid.” Very subtly she tried to step out of his embrace. He didn’t give her an inch, and thankfully he let the obvious joke pass, so she went on. “If I led you to the restroom right now and asked you to have sex with me in the cramped stall, you’d refuse? Just because it wasn’t your idea? I doubt it. Now come on—my stomach is trying to eat itself. I want Chinese.” “No, Sydney.” The change in his tone caused the air around them to grow heavy, the atmosphere to darken, reminding her who she’d just attempted to put in his place. “I would refuse to fuck you against the wall in a public restroom because you’re too much of a lady for that. But even more importantly, I’d refuse because I gave my word to a man I respect above all others. I may play with you and try to work you up because it’s entertaining, but that’s as far as I’ll take it until this is over. Believe me—your change of heart won’t be the deciding factor here. And no matter what happens between us down the road, you’ll never have the luxury of calling the play. Don’t forget that.” She could do nothing but stare up at him as he released her and withdrew his wad of cash. As he tossed some bills to the table, he kept talking. “You think you hold the monopoly on control?” He laughed and took her arm to lead her to the front entrance, all the while speaking into her ear. “It’s like comparing a world-renowned symphony conductor to a baby with a rattle. Lording over women is what I do. Or over anyone, for that matter. Why do you think we’re still here? I’m going to leave because Morales told me to leave? Fuck no. We’re leaving now because I think we’ve gotten our point across.” He took her wrap from the attendant and laid it over her shoulders before bustling her out the front doors. Gulping in the cool air in order to clear her head, Sydney dug out her valet ticket, only to have it plucked from her fingers. Maksim overtook even the smallest of tasks from her by handing it to the man who’d sat with Micha inside. Another one materialized beside him, and they walked off together, presumably to get her car. “Come. Your car will be delivered to your club. I don’t want to be seen leaving separately.” She was tugged to the curb and put into the back of the

Hummer. The choice taken from her, she settled in, with Maksim following suit. Micha, who was at the wheel, pulled into traffic. “Obviously you knew that was Luiz’s restaurant,” she said after they’d gone a few blocks. She couldn’t process all he’d said back there, so she didn’t even try. She did understand that he was out of her league and clearly dominated in the bedroom as much as he did in his everyday life. “Of course.” Of course. “And that’s why you said kissing me was a necessity?” She’d lowered her voice so Micha wouldn’t hear the question she shouldn’t have asked. “Because you knew Luiz was there?” Maksim glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Yes. Why?” “Just curious.” She turned and watched the lights of intersection after intersection go by. She was messing this up by forgetting the reasons they were doing it. Even with her constant reminders. At the beginning of each night she was clear on her path. But the moment they were embroiled in a new scenario, she lost sight of everything but how he made her feel. She had to make more of an effort to remember what this was—contrived. They were not involved. Anything they did together was for the benefit of an audience. The end result? Her and Andrew’s lives back. Working her up, making her want him, was nothing but entertainment. He’d just said so. “Did he spook you?” She straightened at the question and looked at this man who was putting himself out to save her ass. “Yes, he did. But I felt safe with you.” Wrong or not, inappropriate or not, she reached up as far as her seat belt would allow and hugged him as she would have Jerome, or any of her other bouncers who’d ever come to her rescue. Maybe if she put him in the friend slot, it would make this easier. “Thank you for that, Maksim. I’m sorry if I’m difficult and come across as ungrateful. I’m not. Really. I appreciate what you’re doing for us more than you’ll ever know.” She saw his brows come down in the flash of illumination from the streetlight. “For ‘us’?” Shit! “Yes. For me and Emily. I sometimes talk about her like she’s still here.” She laughed nervously and jabbered on. “And I guess I can include my staff, too, because if things had continued as they were, I’d have eventually ended up getting caught and going to jail, so you’re helping to keep them employed. Unless I’d agreed to sleep with Luiz, of course,” she said with a cringe that hurt it was so full of ew. “Why didn’t you just hang out with him for a while and work off your

debt?” The undertone of the surprising question was reluctant curiosity. How was she supposed to answer that? Could having morals be explained? “Because I don’t feel anything for him but fear and loathing. How . . . ? I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to . . .” She shook her head, at a loss. “I just couldn’t.” Maksim’s expression was almost tender as he cupped her cheek. He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head, reminding her of how she did the same to show Andrew she was proud of him. Then he settled back, big body relaxed, hands behind his head, eyes closed. He said something in Russian. Pretty sure he’d been talking to himself, Sydney didn’t ask him to translate.

Sitting alone at his dining room table, Luiz leaned back so his housekeeper could remove his empty breakfast plate. He picked up his cell phone. Never having been an overly patient man, he dialed Vasily Tarasov’s number for the second time in a week. He wanted this settled and done with so he could move on. He toyed with the lighter he’d received on his last birthday as he waited for the call to be picked up. Ever since he’d seen Sydney Martin in the arms of that giant Russian, oblivious to anything going on around her while in the arms of that giant Russian, Luiz had felt as if he’d been robbed. Again. Robbed and humiliated. It was one thing for Kirov to have called and warned him off, another to have a relationship Luiz had hoped to have with the Australian shoved down his throat. He’d had the rug pulled out from under him with that revelation, and he didn’t like the feeling. “Yes?” “Vasily. Luiz Morales. Do you have time to talk?” “Luiz. I had planned to speak with you last night, but the time got away from me.” “Yes. So Kirov told me.” “You spoke to Maksim?” There was a sincere note of surprise in the Russian’s voice, but he couldn’t trust it. “Twice in the past couple of days. Once on the phone, and once in person when he came to my restaurant last evening with Ms. Martin on his arm. Or should I say in his arms. The two really should learn how to conduct themselves

in public,” he said disparagingly, even though if he’d been the one with Sydney on his dance floor, he would have done something much more shameful than kiss her. No matter who was witness to the event. “Yes, they do have a habit of forgetting others are in the vicinity when they’re together,” Vasily said indulgently, a smile in his voice. “Forgive us for not sharing the nature of their relationship the other night when we spoke. They prefer not to advertise it so Sydney’s business isn’t negatively affected by anyone with a grudge against us. You know how some in our circles can be.” Luiz tightened his fist around the lighter. “My impression when telling you of my dealings with Ms. Martin was that you were unaware of them. If she and Kirov are together, that must mean you knew about our problem before I came to you.” “No, actually it doesn’t mean that,” Vasily corrected him. “I had no clue you were associates or that you knew each other at all. Sydney doesn’t share the details of her business with me, any more than I would share mine with her. I know her only in social situations where Maksim deems it suitable to bring her out. He’s unusually protective of this one, and I will tell you, he wasn’t very pleased to hear what she’s been up to in her spare time. She certainly won’t be doing anything of the sort again. From what I understand, she learned her lesson quite well.” So Kirov had had the pleasure of punishing the beautiful blonde. What had he done, Luiz thought caustically, spanked her before fucking her? Foreplay. “I don’t mind telling you how disappointed I am in learning of this development, Vasily,” he said. But recognizing when he was beat, he chose to give in as gracefully as he was able. “But it is what it is, and because I’m not a foolish man, I will wish your brigadier well with his lady and hope our paths don’t cross until my pride has had some time to recover.” That might take a while. The silence stretched in his ear, and then Vasily chuckled. “It’s rare for a man such as yourself to admit defeat without more of a fuss, Luiz. As nice a change as this is, I find I’m leery of trusting it.” “You should be,” he said bluntly. “I would be, too. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have many more important things on my mind than Ms. Martin’s lack of business etiquette. Good-bye, Vasily. Enjoy your day.” Luiz hung up and stood. He walked over to the buffet table set up with anything he could possibly want to eat for breakfast. The sight reminded him of a hotel. With one swipe, he sent it all to the floor, smashing the plates, causing a mighty crash from the metal serving dishes slamming together against their lids.

The sound of footsteps slapping against the tile made him turn. His wife, fresh from the shower in just a robe, dark hair wet and hanging down her back, skidded to a stop. Her unmade-up eyes were wide and clear of the haze of drugs. She looked young and so beautiful. Just as she had when they’d met. She looked away from the mess he’d made when he moved toward her and glanced questioningly at him when he scooped her into his arms. “Luiz? What are—?” He slammed his mouth down on hers and poured his aggression into a kiss that had her stilling, and then yanking his clothes off before he could even hope to reach their bedroom. He veered into his office since it was closer and brought her over to the sofa. As he made love to his wife for the first time in months, leaving love bites and small marks that would be gone within hours, his mind was blocks away, his cock buried not within her body but within the curvy body of the blonde club owner who’d just fucked him harder than the woman in his arms ever could.

Dropping a kiss to Andrew’s head, Sydney leaned over and grabbed her cell off the coffee table, pressing the side button to stop the text alert from going off again. “Want me to pause it?” She shook her head, having no intention of allowing anything to interrupt their quiet time. Daniel had had hockey practice, and for once Andrew hadn’t felt like sitting around the arena for two hours, so he’d come home earlier than expected. When she heard the alarm being reset, Sydney had woken and couldn’t go back to sleep, so here they were, enjoying a late-morning cartoon session thanks to Netflix. Bugs Bunny and Tweety were doing a pretty good job of keeping her mind occupied. She glanced at the display screen on her phone, fully meaning to toss it to the cushions next to her. Until she saw the text. “Ugh,” she groaned. There went her Saturday. “What?” “The costumes are ready for the Thanksgiving float. The mother of one of the committee members did them, and she lives in Stamford. I have to drive out there to pick them up.”

From the time Andrew and Eleanor were little, Sydney and Emily had, as so many parents did, taken them to the annual Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. They’d been so enamored that she and Emily had looked into volunteering their time in any way they could just so they could say they were a part of it. “Connecticut?” Andrew asked with a twisted mouth. She nodded and put her newly polished drama skills to work. “Come with me, please. I know you want to spend the day playing, but will you change your plans and keep me company for the drive? Pleeease?” she wailed, slouching low so that her chin hit her chest as she clasped her hands in front of her. “’Kay. Can we stop at Starbucks for a Cookie Dough Frappuccino?” She straightened immediately and gave him a playful swat to the thigh. “I can’t believe it’s come to me having to beg and bribe you to spend time with me.” “You don’t, Mom. I would’ve come. You didn’t have to beg.” She tried not to smile. “And the bribe?” “I do love my Fraps.” Laughing, she dragged herself to her feet and went to throw on some jeans and a blouse, not looking forward to what should be only a three-hour drive there and back but would most likely turn into five because of traffic. Andrew met her at the door, backpack forever on his shoulder, and she locked up before following him down the stairs. “Now that you mention Starbucks, remind me to grab some gift cards for your teachers. I’ll put them in their Thanksgiving basket.” Another thing she did every year because the teachers at Andrew’s school were saints in her eyes, and they deserved much more than the coffee, chocolate, and biscuits she tucked away under the pretty bow and cellophane. “Better make sure you give it to my teacher first. At least she’ll be fair in handing them out. Not like Mr.—” “Andrew,” she interrupted as she paused behind him on the bottom step. He looked back at her with his hands on the push bar across the steel door. “What? Mom, seriously, he hates just the guys. Ask anyone.” Shaking her head, she thought she had no need to ask about the teacher they were speaking of because she’d seen and heard about him from enough people to know what Andrew said was true. She defended the miserable man anyway as she motioned her son forward, at the same time hitting the “Unlock” button on her key fob. “You never know what someone’s home life is—” All Sydney would remember later was the noise. The deafening, destructive racket that filled her head and made her ears ring as she was violently thrown back. She came down hard on the steps. Air whooshed from her lungs

when a heavy weight landed on top of her and another on it. The sound of metal and other debris raining down sounded close by. Dizziness assaulted her, and, coughing, she tried to call out to her son but couldn’t, couldn’t even breathe. She reached out in a feverish scramble, her heart lodging in her throat . . . Until she realized the thing doing its best to suffocate her was her precious boy, and he was already cursing and attempting to shove the heavy steel door off them.

CHAPTER 8

With the area cordoned off, lights flashing everywhere, Sydney kissed Andrew once more before reluctantly waving him off. She’d called Daniel’s mother and explained the situation—or what little of it she could—and the entire family had shown up on their way home from practice, all eyes. Especially Daniel’s father who just so happened to be NYFD. He’d spoken to his fellow firefighters for a moment before he and his wife had come over to Sydney. “As I said on the phone,” she’d said to the couple. “If you’re not comfortable taking him—” “Please, Sydney,” Daniel’s father had interrupted with a rub to his beard as he continued to look around. “Don’t. Given what I do for a living, I’m not as shaken by this as I should be. You need to be free to work with the police on the investigation without worrying about Andrew. As long as you’re okay with him coming to New Jersey, we’re more than happy to have him for the night. We’re going to my parents’ for my dad’s birthday. All Daniel’s cousins will be there, most of whom Andrew has met before, so the boys will have fun.” She hadn’t wanted to let Andrew out of her sight, but it was becoming clear that he was safer away from her right now than with her. She returned to the ambulance they’d been sitting inside—as per the hovering detective’s instructions—and finally sent Maksim a brief text. She accepted an ice pack from the EMT that had cleared her and Andrew. The woman had said they’d most likely develop some bruises but would otherwise be okay. This time. Shoving the hair-raising thought away, Sydney checked her phone. Why wasn’t he replying? Usually, when she texted, he sent a goading response back within seconds.

“No idea who might have done this, Mrs. Martin?” Her back and ribs beginning to ache from where she’d landed on them on the stairs, her cheek throbbing from where the back of Andrew’s head had connected with it, Sydney adjusted the ice pack on the back of her head and swallowed hard as she looked away from the two forms she just couldn’t keep her eyes from returning to: Maksim’s men. Their bodies had been covered with sheets, but she and Andrew had already seen their charred skin; one man was missing an arm because he’d presumably been closest to her car. She closed her eyes. This should not have happened. Her son should not have seen that. He should not have been here and been affected by the mistake she’d made in baiting a man like Luiz Morales. Had the bomb been planted while she and Maksim had been in Luiz’s restaurant last night? Or had Luiz had one of his men come here? How they’d have gotten past Maksim’s men, she wasn’t sure. Could the two have been killed even before her car went? The explosion covering for a double murder that had taken place hours before? Andrew shouldn’t have been here, she thought again. If only there was someone she knew who could take him for a few days or a week. Just until this was behind them. But she knew nobody. Daniel’s family would likely say yes if asked, but could she so deeply involve people she knew only through drop-offs and pick-ups? Through her own penchant for keeping people at arm’s length, she really had no one she could turn to. She felt awful about that, but more for her son’s sake than her own. “Mrs. Martin?” “It’s Ms.,” she corrected again as she opened her burning eyes and looked at the young detective. His wheat-colored hair and round glasses reminded her of John Denver. She still felt stunned. Why did he keep asking her the same three questions? Who could have done this? Could she think of anything she’d done to deserve it? And did she think the person would strike again? How on earth was she supposed to answer such nonsense? With the truth? Yes, Detective, I know exactly who did this. His name is Luiz Morales. Yeah, the drug lord. That’s the one. I bought a bunch of his shit and destroyed it instead of selling it through my club as we’d agreed upon when I approached him and made a deal with the devil. Now he wants to kill me. Can you help without sending me to jail and my son into the foster care system? Her deep sigh stuck in her throat when her back protested it. “I don’t

know,” she said again, and she would continue to say it until she was hoarse. The yellow tape billowed in her periphery, distracting her. Two men had died because of what she’d done. Because she’d been angry about losing Emily. Had the men been married? Did they have children? She wondered, her heart aching anew. “I don’t give a fuck about your goddamn crime scene.” Sydney’s breath caught at the low, familiar growl. She got up, dropping the ice pack, and walked away from the ambulance and the detective. She saw Maksim before he saw her. He was beside a patrol car, scanning the scene, impeccable navy suit in place. Alek Tarasov and another man she’d never seen before were with him. Maksim’s gaze clashed with hers when less than ten feet separated them, and without a thought Sydney walked straight into his open arms. He gathered her close and held her so tightly she moaned, her aching back protesting. He effortlessly lifted her off her feet and walked them a few steps away while she drew comfort from him. A comfort that was as dangerous as it was wonderful. “You better not have said a goddamn thing to anybody,” he whispered into her hair. “You didn’t, did you?” She shook her head because she couldn’t speak, but she wouldn’t cry. The effort it took to hold back her tears made her tremble, but she held on. She would not go all girlie and lose it like a big baby now that “her man”—who wasn’t even her man—had arrived. She was disappointed in herself that she wanted to do just that. “Good girl,” he sighed. “Are you okay?” She nodded again and forced out, “I’m so sorry, Maksim. Your men . . .” “Knew the risks. That’s not on you. We all know the risks. Jesus Christ, Sydney.” His hand cupped the back of her head. “You ever send me a text like that again, I’ll spank your ass cherry red.” And that’s what snapped her out of her stupor and brought her senses back online. She drew away, the shaking inside her slowly fading, and met those silver eyes. The pewter ring around them was more pronounced in the daylight. “I hope that’s your idea of humor.” “It’s not,” he said with a steady look that told her he was telling the truth. Dominant and a spanker. Interesting. His fingers brushed over the tightness she could already feel on her cheek. A deep throat clearing preceded a polite request. “Maks? You want to let me talk to her?” Realizing their moment was being observed, she squirmed until she was placed on her feet and turned to face the handsome black man standing shoulder-

to-shoulder with Alek. Both men nodded a greeting, and she forced her lips to work but couldn’t make the smile reach her eyes. “Mrs. Martin? We weren’t finished yet.” Her shoulders slumped at the sound of the detective’s voice. He must have followed her because he was now standing next to the patrol car with a wary look on his face. He was holding her purse, which she’d left in the ambulance, and she quickly took it, nodding her thanks as he glanced back and caught his partner’s eye. That detective also came over to offer support. Could they know who Maksim and Alek were? Or did they simply sense the power surrounding them? “It’s Ms. Martin,” Maksim corrected deliberately. He stared down both men, easily asserting himself as the alpha by waiting until they dropped their eyes. “She’d like a moment with her attorney, if you don’t mind?” “Is that you?” the detective asked. “No. That would be me. Jeremy Dashel.” The black man shook hands with them. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me and my client a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.” The detectives nodded and left, appeased by the professionalism. Once they were far enough away, Maksim made introductions. “Don’t shake hands,” he snapped, snagging hers and bringing it to his mouth as though to kiss it. He bit her thumb hard. “Ouch!” She jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry, okay?” she squeezed out between her teeth. “I’m not practiced at all of this sneaky bullshit.” “I hope you never have children,” Alek said dryly to Maksim. “You have zero tolerance.” He addressed her next. “Ignore him and talk to Jeremy.” “I will. Thank you.” Giving Maksim her back, she took a breath and tried to climb out of the playground and be an adult again. “I use a law firm—” “You’ll use Jeremy,” Maksim interrupted from behind her. Sydney held Jeremy’s dark eyes and continued as though there had been no interruption. “That I’m sure could recommend a criminal attorney, which is what I’m assuming you are.” Before Jeremy—whose lips were tightening more by the second—could say anything, Maksim was talking again. “You assume correct, and you’ll be getting no recommendations, lover.” He’d come in so close that his warm breath ruffled her hair. His fingers gripped her hips, and he squeezed. “This is one of those times that fall under the do-asyou’re-fucking-told stipulation we discussed at the beach. Remember that day?” “And he says I have control issues,” she said casually with a nod over her shoulder.

Both men in front of her stifled a smile, and despite being the cause, she found the humor so misplaced it made her feel sick. She sighed long and low and locked her knees so she wouldn’t settle into the body at her back. “Thank you for being here, Jeremy,” she said tiredly. “What do you need to know?”

As the Tarasovs’ attorney spoke to Sydney, warning her to continue with her Idon’t-know angle, Maksim forced himself to release the narrow hips he was still gripping and take a step back. She wasn’t seriously injured, but he’d seen her wince whenever she moved too quickly and could easily tell she was going to have a black eye. Where did she hurt? He wanted to strip her and catalogue every fucking blemish, every bruise, every tiny ache. And he would retaliate in kind, but much more sadistically than anything fucking Luiz Morales and his crew had ever experienced before. Micha was working on making that happen right at that moment. Maks made himself look at the charred shell of the BMW again and felt his rage climb, the malevolence of it swirling and writhing to break free of the hold he had on it. Goddammit, did his monsters want to come out to play. All in good time, he promised. All in good time. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt for his key as he looked to the covered bodies of two of his boys. He said a prayer, asking for forgiveness of their sins, one he’d learned from listening as Vasily whispered it over anyone they lost. Thankfully neither had wives or children, just girlfriends he’d have to visit. Fuck, he hated being the messenger. Fucking hated it, but respected his team enough to do it anyway. Listening to Jeremy’s easy tones, he snaked his gaze around and took in all that he could from where he was standing. Morales is a fucking dead man, he reiterated as he thought back to what it had felt like reading the text Sydney had sent. Leaving the house at a ridiculous hour that morning—to him anyway— Alek had glommed on to him for some reason and accompanied him to the breakfast meeting he’d scheduled with Jeremy. As he and their trusted attorney of more than a decade discussed Sydney’s situation—Maks wanted to know if she had any legitimate avenues open to her—Alek had sat there, staring into space. When Maks’s phone had gone off, he hadn’t hesitated in checking it

because he’d been feeling on edge whenever he left Sydney’s safety to anyone but himself lately—with good reason, he could now say. My car just exploded in the alley behind my club. Can you call me? He’d be seeing those goddamn words in his nightmares. He knew better than to ignore his instincts. That edginess, the gnawing at his nape, he should have fucking heeded the warning and stuck to her like honey to a nipple. Regret sucked ass. And he wouldn’t be welcoming any more of it. From here on out— regardless of the battle he would insist he wasn’t waging because he’d given his goddamn word to Vasily and he was struggling to keep it—he was on his target. His attention came back, and he saw Alek once again zoning out as he’d done over his cooling eggs. Only instead of staring into space, his blank gaze was on Sydney. But it was clear he wasn’t seeing her. Guy was backsliding, beginning to look as bad as he had when he and Sacha had first called it quits— just as Gabriel had complained last week when they’d lucked out and gotten the chance to work out together in the gym at home. It had seemed as if he was getting over it, but maybe not. Could be the others’ happiness was driving home the fact that he’d pushed his away. Alek looked over, meeting his eye, and tipped his head back as though asking what was up. That’s what Maks wanted to know. When the dust settled, they’d have a talk, he promised himself as he shook his head. Jeremy and Sydney went to where the detectives were waiting patiently and struck up what seemed to be a one-sided conversation; Jeremy did most of the talking. Maks sent off a couple of texts and wondered if they’d allow him to poke around to see if her building had sustained any damage. Actually, he’d better wait for her, and they could check it out together. The workers should be there by the time she finished with the cops. “You were a real asshole with her, you know?” Alek commented. Maks allowed his gaze to drift over, and it made its way up from her lowheeled boots and black jeans. He lingered on her maroon leather jacket. Mainly to keep his attention off her curves. “I know,” he finally said. “Oh. Well, I guess that makes it okay then. Since you know.” His lips twitched at the wry tone, until he saw those covered forms being loaded into the coroner’s vehicle. He was glad Sydney had her back to them. “I’m dying to go over there and move this shit along.” He leaned his ass against the hood of the patrol car and crossed his arms. “I’ll bet you are. But you won’t because you’ll draw attention.” “That’s why I’m still standing here.” “I can’t believe Morales started a war with us.” Maks frowned as something about that sounded off. “I thought he was

smarter than that, too, but pride’s a fucker, and his is bruised. I’m thinking my visit to his place with her last night might have pushed him to do this.” “Or he could have been planning on doing it anyway,” Alek returned. Which was true. “I think I pushed too hard last night,” he said again, decided. Alek settled next to him. “How so?” “Made out with her on the dance floor. Morales was front-row-center.” “Ah. But it’s not like she’s his, or ever was, according to my uncle.” “No, she wasn’t and isn’t.” They were quiet for a stretch. “Also according to my uncle, you’re supposed to do only what it will take to get your message across. This isn’t about rubbing anyone’s nose in it.” “He had to be convinced she was mine.” He tried to clarify when he heard how that sounded. “I mean, for the sake of this situation. My tongue in her mouth was merely the visual demonstration necessary to paint a clear picture that she belongs to me now.” “Methinks—” “Fuck off, Tarasov,” he drawled, cutting off the doth-protest he knew he was guilty of. “Why are you hanging around today anyway? You looking for friends?” Alek chuckled. “Yeah. I’m lonely.” Probably meant that. Maks thumped him on the shoulder and straightened when Jeremy and Sydney broke from the detectives and came back. He noticed right away that her right eye looked droopy from the swell that was already coming up from the bottom and her cheekbone was now red and puffy. A dark spot was forming in the outer corner of her eye, proving she’d been hit hard. Stepping forward, he cupped her turned-down face and lifted it, everything he and Alek had just said flushing as if he’d pushed the handle on a toilet. “What hit you?” he asked curiously. Thing was probably throbbing like a fucker. Taking one in the face was a shock one never got used to. She shrugged and brought her hands up to cover his. “Um, I don’t remember. It happened so fast.” She patted his knuckles and then rejected his comfort by gently removing his palms from her cheeks and stepping back. She emanated confusion and frustration. Aimed at him or herself? There was also a shroud of sorrow over her eyes that made him want to gather her close and simply hold her until it faded. Such a strange desire coming from him. . . “Are you through for now?” he asked Jeremy, who nodded. “I’ll deal with what I can and call if I need anything from either of you. I won’t bother telling you to enjoy your weekend.” With a salute that

encompassed them all, the attorney—who had the best suit collection Maks had ever seen—walked away. “Let’s go through the front and go upstairs so you can get some things.” Maks eyed the door. “It’s a safe house for you from here on out.” “Uh, no, it most certainly is not.” He tipped his head and raised a brow, as though tired of having to deal with a child. Waiting until the roar of the fire truck’s engine faded as it drove away, he observed her standing there fiddling with a small buckle at the waist of her jacket. Twirling it and then letting it go. Maks watched closely, curious about the fidget. Scared? In pain? Worried he might share the safe house with her? He stepped to the side, into her line of vision, and kept his voice low because there were still milling authorities and he was a private guy. “My final word, and Vasily’s, too, if he were here, would be that you’re going to walk through the doors of one of our safe houses in the next hour. Are you going to argue that, Sydney?” Her slim arms intertwined and settled under her breasts. He was almost positive he heard a harrumph sound come from her throat. Thirty seconds ticked by on the clock before he got his answer. “No.” He was tempted to pretend to swipe the spat word off his face but thought better of teasing her when he noticed how pale she’d grown around the darkening bruise on her cheek. “Are you feeling all right? The friend I told you about from Coney Island is the best MD you’ll find. She won’t mind coming to check you out.” She made a just-licked-a-lemon face and shook her head. Did her jaw just ripple? One of the gestures had her wincing slightly. “Like I need a doctor to tell me I’m going to have a black eye and a headache.” She shrugged. “It’ll go away on its own.” She hiked her purse higher onto her shoulder and took her cell out from where it had been tucked into the waistband of her jeans. “Who are you calling, lover?” She gave him an icy look and dialed. “I need someone to come fix my door before a pack of rodents decide to move in.” He plucked her phone from her fingers and ended the call before it could connect. “They’re on their way.” “Excuse me? You better mean the rodents.” “I called my guys earlier.” As he tucked her phone back where she’d gotten it—naturally he had to steal a caress against that firm navel—two men in jeans and jackets that needed washing chose that moment to come sauntering down the alley. They spotted Maks and came right over.

“Mr. Kirov. What did you need?” Feeling generous because he was getting his way, he gestured to his annoyed-looking Aussie. “Ask the lady. That is, if she’s gotten clearance to go over there . . . ?” Turning to the men, completely excluding him, Sydney said, “We can go over, but you can’t touch anything yet.” Off the group went. “Is the condo in the Upper West Side empty?” he asked Alek. “Yes.” “That’s where we’ll take her then.” “We? I was going home—” “No,” he said a little too quickly. He cleared his throat and glanced around. “Come with. I think you could use the company.” Alek gave him a discerning look as he withdrew his phone and hit up a number. As he put the cell to his ear, he muttered, “Pitiful to need a chaperone at your age, don’t you think? Hey, Eva,” he said when his cousin picked up. “Change of plans . . .” It was pitiful. But with the way Maks was feeling, and knowing himself as he did—he was self-indulgent to the core—he could not be alone with Sydney right now. From year fifteen on, he’d become a hedonist. A pleasuremonger. His go-to? Sex. He had it on his terms, in the way he liked, his women under his control with their heads bowed, mouths shut, ears open as they awaited his instruction. He enjoyed them. Took pride in making sure they enjoyed the hell out of him. Said good-bye. End of story. Next. That’s the way it was. No commitment. He didn’t get to know them. There was no drama. No risks. Just the sex and the power of knowing he was in control. He needed the control. And he needed the sex, he realized, his gaze once more finding Sydney. But he would not become that guy—the untrustworthy one, the disloyal one—just because his determination to honor the vow he’d made to Vasily was beginning to limp. So a chaperone it was.

Sydney’s request to get some things from the loft had been refused again, both by the police and the two workmen still jotting notes and talking about possible structural damage from the blast. She’d also just been informed that she wasn’t

allowed to open the club for at least tonight, if not longer, and she took a few minutes to call some staff members and ask them to spread the word to the others who were on the schedule. After Maksim’s workmen reassured her that they’d get a new door put on right away, she thanked them and went to join the Russians. Nerves fluttered in her belly. Not because Maksim was now taking her to a safe house but because of what she’d been mulling over in the back of her mind for the last hour. She had to tell him about Andrew. The realization had come to her when she’d been speaking to the detective and had had to interrupt him a half-dozen times so he didn’t let her and Andrew’s relationship slip out to Jeremy. She was horrified, but she left the lawyer with the impression she was cheating on Maksim. The men had continued to give her odd looks at her insistence that they refer to Andrew as simply “the other person,” but no one had pressed the issue. Maksim would have. She knew it. She also now knew he wasn’t going to run off in search of her parents and Andrew’s father to see if they might be interested in starting a custody battle with her over her son. That just wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be Maksim. After listening to him, particularly when he spoke of his friends and Vasily, she was coming to see that her Russian lived by a code of honor and loyalty so fitting in his line of work it was almost cliché. All of that aside, she simply couldn’t hide her son’s existence from him any longer because this entire thing was going much deeper and becoming much larger than the simple warning she’d naively assumed they’d give Luiz. Maksim had to be aware of the stakes. Of what she could have lost today. She looked back at her car and then to the door of her building, the debris . . . She shuddered. “Are you all right, Sydney?” She looked up into Alek’s pale-blue eyes and shook her head, shrugging, because she couldn’t give a rhetorical answer when what she really wanted to do was unload. She wanted to come clean, tell them her real story, admit she’d been supplying half-truths from moment one. She wanted to brag about her beautiful son. Instead she headed toward the mouth of the alley, not really interested if they followed or not. She’d sit on the curb and wait for them if they weren’t done here. The police had given her clearance to leave, and she wanted to take advantage of that. She also wanted to call Andrew to make sure he was okay, but that would have to wait until she was alone because she’d most likely cry if she heard his voice right then. She didn’t want to do that in front of these men.

She heard their footsteps behind her as she crossed the street to where Maksim had hurriedly—by the looks of it—parked the Hummer. Seeing him reach for the driver’s door handle, and Alek motion for her to go around and take the front passenger seat, Sydney pretended to be blind and hurriedly jumped into the backseat. She didn’t want to sit beside Maksim now. Was too afraid she might give in and crawl across the seat to curl up against him so she could draw from the abundance of power he seemed to have. She didn’t look when the doors opened and closed to see who sat where. In fact, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the seat, turning to face the window when the bump on the back of her skull protested. She knew who was beside her, though. Didn’t need to see to know it was Maksim who leaned across to pull her seat belt out of its slot and snap it into the buckle. The scent of rich dark chocolate filled her nose, and the sensations that stirred inside her hammered hard at her weakening resolve to keep her distance. A short time later they were pulling into the underground parking garage of a high-rise she could never afford to live in. The quiet elevator ride up and her first glimpse into the spacious apartment confirmed it: the Tarasov organization was a big-money operation. But she’d already guessed that. If this was a safe house, she’d bet their actual homes were pretty damned impressive. Alek entered the apartment ahead of them, traveling a short hallway that widened into an open-concept area that showed stainless-steel appliances in the bright kitchen and a comfortable-looking sectional center stage in the living area. A shadowed corridor across the way had to lead to the bedrooms. She put her hand out to stop Maksim from walking farther into the unit. “Um, is Alek staying long?” she asked quietly. That silver gaze remained straight ahead for a split second, blinking once, and then his head swiveled so he could look down at her. One brow went up. “Sorry?” Heat filled her cheeks at why he thought she was asking, and the backs of her fingers automatically connected with his forearm in a light swat usually reserved for when her son needed to remember she was his mother. “Cut it out.” She flashed a quick smile at Alek when he looked over. “I, er, need to speak with you.” She looked to that hallway and wondered if the bedrooms were far enough away so that a conversation couldn’t be overheard. “And I’d rather we were alone.” The cross on the front of Maksim’s throat rippled as he swallowed, and then his expression tightened. “Whatever you have to say can be said in front of him. He’s one of the most loyal and trustworthy men I know.” “I didn’t mean to imply he wasn’t,” she soothed, giving the forearm she’d

just smacked an apologetic squeeze. “I would just prefer you and me and no one else.” “You need to stop saying that, Australia,” she thought he grumbled before saying louder, so that Alek could also hear, “I’m going to go pick up some lunch. Be back in a few.” Before she could so much as offer a token protest, he was gone, slamming back out of the apartment as if the place were on fire. Shit. She sighed and turned toward the massive room and its one remaining occupant, who gave her a curious look before turning away. So much for trying to come clean.

CHAPTER 9

As Maksim cursed his way back to the SUV, he called Micha. “Anything?” he asked as he drove up from the garage, wondering if Sydney liked shawarma. He could have it delivered. By someone other than him. Because he needed some distance between them. A lot of distance. Goddammit. She was lucky he hadn’t dragged her into his lap in the SUV and cuddled the shit out of her. She’d looked like a lost kitten sitting there all fucking tiny and shit. “I was going to call you once I got our guests settled.” He almost sideswiped a parked Lexus. “What?” “Did some recon and found out who’s who on Morales’s team. Picked up the two responsible for planting an explosive device on a BMW that had been valeted last night at a fancy restaurant uptown.” Maks knew “did some recon” was code for picked up one of Morales’s men and did certain things to him that had made it impossible for the guy to stay silent. “You at the club?” “Yes.” “I’m on my way.” He hung up and called Alek. “Yeah.” “You’re going to have to babysit longer than expected. Micha got them.” “I don’t know why that surprises me. It’s only been, what, a few hours?” Alek kept his voice quiet. “I know. I’m coming around to admitting he’s a hair better than me. But just a hair.” “What should I do with the lady?” Maks tried not to grind his teeth and kept his voice as even as possible. “See if she plays Xbox or something. Watch a movie. There’s cable. The place is

well stocked with things to amuse yourselves. Do with her the same as you’d do with anyone in a situation like this.” Thank God it was Alek he was talking to. The huge plus in Maks’s favor was that the guy was still in love with his ex and wouldn’t be tempted even if Sydney pranced out of the bedroom naked with feathers taped to her lush ass. The guy would see it as cheating even though he and Sacha had been apart for more than a year now. Loyalty was a beautiful thing. “We should have brought her to the house,” Alek said. “I’m sure the girls would have enjoyed entertaining her.” Fuck that. Bringing Sydney home would be too much like bringing Sydney home. Introduce her to his family? No. Besides, this wasn’t personal, it was a job —see? He remembered. “Stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Before he made it to Rapture, he made a few more phone calls, one of which was to Vasily to give an update. “Are you fucking kidding me?” his Pakhan said slowly when he heard about the bomb. His incredulous tone wasn’t one Maks heard often. “I spoke to Luiz only hours ago, and he’d relented. Wished you luck, as a matter of fact, the lying cocksucker. Goddammit, why can’t these people just admit they’re pissed so we all know what fucking page we’re on?” Something slammed in the background. “The message you send that bastard better be a good one, Maks. He attempted to kill a woman he thinks you’re in love with. Do you have any idea how your life would have been affected if this thing between you and Sydney were real? Look at Sergei, at Alek. You take someone’s most loved, you take their life without even having to touch them.” Was that what had happened to Vasily last summer when a rival family had killed Kathryn Jacobs, Eva’s mother? Was Vasily speaking from experience? Or simply from watching what remained of his nephews as they tried to go on without the women most important to them? “The message I send will not be ignored,” he promised before saying good-bye. Another call was made to bring in some of the boys they referred to as shadows. He told the one in charge to make sure the area was clear and then to set up a perimeter around Pant, warning him that the cops would be doing the same. He also had a few more sent over to Morales’s restaurant. When Luiz showed, he wanted to know it. The second he got to a computer, he’d get the fucker’s home address. Multiples, no doubt. After parking behind the club, Maks entered through the back entrance and headed straight to the basement through the trapdoor that was under the roll-

away bar in the corner of his office. It had already been moved. He knew Gabriel and Vincente chose to do their dirty work in a neutral location, a warehouse in Brownsville, but Maks preferred to keep things close. If they were talking mass interrogation, Vasily usually insisted they use his place in Brighton Beach. Lifting the full-size panel, he took his coat and suit jacket off as he descended the concrete steps to enter an enormous well-lit room that had hundreds of crates filled with weaponry of all sorts taking up a good chunk of the real estate. To the right of the stairs were a couple of metal desks, the type found in any office, with rolling chairs and a half-dozen open laptops. It was the back corner Maks was interested in, though, which was decked out with links attached to the concrete walls, an industrial-size spool of chain, and an assortment of tools. Oh, and there was a drain in the floor that had come in handy when he and Caleb Paynne, Nika’s brother who was VP of the Manhattan chapter of the Obsidian Devils MC, had used the facilities to question a couple of guys on Vincente’s behalf not long ago. That hadn’t ended well for the two assholes who’d been paid to lure Nika into an alley so that her abusive husband could get at her again. Satisfaction filled him when he saw two captives bound to metal chairs. Micha stood a few feet away, leaning against an exposed support beam. Maks dropped his things on an empty metal chair and went to clap his friend on the shoulder. “You’ll be at the top of my list during Thanksgiving dinner,” he said in Russian, which he would continue to use when communicating with him during this interview. Even though these two wouldn’t make it out alive, he preferred they didn’t hear any exchanges he and Micha might have. He continued over and clamped his hand around the throat of one of their captives without slowing his progress. The effect had chair legs scraping until the metal back hit the wall, along with the guy’s head. He bent and came in close. “You almost killed a woman today who doesn’t deserve death, motherfucker. Now you’re going to pay for that.” The guy’s head bobbed for a second or two before Maks loosened his hold on his trachea so a little air could get through. “Was d-doing my job, man. Same as you.” Maks delivered one solid jab to the guy’s solar plexus and was pretty sure he felt his knuckles touch a spleen. “Don’t compare us again. Ever.” “Don’t answer him nothing, Juan,” the partner said in a voice that pegged him as a couple-of-packs-a-day smoker. “We’re done anyway.” Maks turned. When he received a glare loaded with cynicism and aggression, he released Juan and went straight over. He slid his Glock from the

holster under his arm. “Okay. Since you’ve proven you’ll be no help to me, your time is up.” He leveled his weapon at a forehead as wide as a barn door—made sure to step over so that Micha couldn’t become a secondary target—and pulled the trigger. Complete silence filled the basement after the echo of the shot faded, until dribbling sounded. Juan’s bladder gave up the fight. When Maks returned, the overpowering smell of urine coming up had his glands working overtime, but he ignored it. “Before you join your comrade, I’m going to give you the opportunity to redeem yourself in the eyes of whoever it is you’re praying to right now. If you know of Morales’s plans for the woman you missed this morning, tell me.” “Why would he let me in on his plans? I don’t know nothing, man.” True. Because someone in Morales’s position would have no reason to share with a lowly worker bee. “Micha?” “I believe him,” Micha said as he came over and passed a blade through the zip ties holding Juan’s wrists and ankles together. His assumption confirmed, Maksim snapped out his arm when his victim would have bolted. He pinned Juan to the wall so his feet dangled, his hand a manacle around the guy’s neck. With a small smile, he put his free arm behind and under his shirt to extract Angelina from the sheath strapped across his back. The sweet ring of steel coming out of its holding filled the air with a smidge of terror. “Your associate got off easy, Juan,” he said quietly. “But I’m afraid you won’t be so lucky.” Panic had the guy hyperventilating even as Maks loosened his hold and let his feet once again touch ground. “I didn’t know it was the blonde’s car. Really! I didn’t!” The monsters created in the Academy, and strengthened in that cell, swooped in to take over Maksim as the shell of Sydney’s Bimmer flashed in his crowded mind. An image of what would have been left behind had her small body taken the brunt of the blast tortured him. What would he have had left to bury? The shudder that rattled through him was violent. “If you didn’t know it was her car, how did you know she’s blonde, asshole?” With a quick grab, he pinned Juan’s arm to the wall next to his head and held it steady so Angelina could slam solid and sure through a skinny wrist, easily passing through flesh and tendon and, with a little added pressure, bone. The shrill scream that reverberated through the room covered the sound of that hand hitting the floor with a slap. Not that Maks would have noticed because he was already on to the

other arm, which got the same treatment. He kicked both appendages out of the urine and his mind calmed as swiftly as it had erupted, allowing him to see Juan’s wide-open mouth keening an agonized song that grated on the ears. He jammed his hand under the guy’s hanging jaw and cut the sound off. Could tell by the labored breath and rolling eyes that Juan was going under. Maks slapped his cheek to keep him awake as Micha slid a chair over before heading for the medical supplies and equipment sitting on a small table off to the side. “This little exercise will guarantee you don’t attempt to hand out death again, especially to someone that belongs to me. If I find you again after we release you tonight”—he brought Angelina’s tip to the guy’s groin and pressed it in until he heard a weak moan—“this will be lying on the floor during that session. I promise.” And Juan was out. Micha bypassed the chair and laid the unconscious man on the floor while Maksim washed up in the stainless-steel sink in the corner. A quick glance was given when his phone beeped, and then he was taking care of his machete—with a solution one of their boys had cooked up in a lab that would remove all traces of blood. He resheathed it before taking off and wadding up his ruined shirt. He was just pulling a clean one from the stash he had in a stand-up cabinet when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned, shrugging into the winter-white buttonup, not worried because the alert he’d just gotten had indicated a programmed card key had been used to gain entry into the club. Gabriel appeared first, Vincente—the one with the card and codes to reset the alarms—behind him. Quan Mao, G’s tight and deadly bodyguard, brought up the rear. They took in the scene with a quick glance. “Told you we should have left when we saw the door open,” Gabriel said as he went over, nodding to Micha, who looked up from his cauterizing. Quan remained on the outskirts as a show of respect. He was more than five years in with Gabriel, but the majority of that time had been spent in Seattle and not in New York with the rest of them, which meant they were still getting comfortable. But the guy was swiftly earning his place. He knew how to conduct himself, and Maks liked that. “These two have anything to do with the explosion we heard about this morning?” Gabriel asked, nodding to the bodies. He was six foot five, had shoulders like a linebacker, and could ring your bell as loudly as any UFC heavyweight fighter. Maksim’s respect for his skills was as high up there as his respect for the man’s intelligence. He wandered over, tucking in his shirt and doing up the buttons at his wrists. “They put the device on her car.”

“How is she?” Vincente asked, bending to get a closer look at the hands. “What’d you use to go through these? Clean cut.” Maks reached behind and tapped his back. “Come on. Let’s leave him to work. He doesn’t appreciate an audience.” Micha grunted in agreement and started on the other wrist so that the smell of burning flesh followed them to the stairs. Once in the club proper, Maks led them by the empty tables and booths to the bar. “Anyone thirsty?” V and Quan shook their heads, so he poured only two, sliding a Stoli on ice across the bar to Gabriel. “What dragged you two away from your warm bodies this fine Saturday afternoon?” Morning had long gone; his breakfast with Jeremy and Alek seemed as though it had been yesterday. Gabriel settled on a stool and took a long swallow before answering. “I had to meet with Mikey—sorry, Father Russo.” He pulled a face. “Can’t get used to calling him that. When I went to Seattle, he was still just Lorenzo’s little brother. Anyway, we had a sit-down about the family’s involvement in this year’s Thanksgiving drive. I think he’d have preferred to deal with Eva, but she insisted I get social with the priest she and Nika still see weekly.” Eva watching out for Gabriel’s soul. Very nice. “Your wife reminds me more of her old man every day.” He and the boys had hung out with Father Russo’s older brother, and they had been pretty close until the guy’s career choice went public. Lore was now a highly respected NYPD detective . . . who Maks had yet to shake hands with for putting that final bullet into Nika’s abusive husband’s head. He would eventually. When he could be sincere about it, and look at the guy without seeing a turncoat. He tuned in to what Gabriel was saying, mainly because he didn’t want to think about what he himself had done to Nika, or what Lore had done to them. “In the end, we decided it would be best to push everything for the drive under TarMor’s name. Keep the church legit.” TarMor, which was short for Tarasov/Moretti, was Alek and Gabriel’s project management firm. The company had a suite of offices in Manhattan, but lately they’d all been working from the house. “Makes sense,” Maks said. “Mikey doesn’t really seem to care, as long as his parish gets what they need. He said if people want to tiptoe around the Moretti name, it shouldn’t bother me.” He chuckled darkly. “ ‘They’ll eventually have to answer for their judgment, Gabriel.’ The kid doesn’t seem to get that the opinions of his herd

aren’t what keep me awake at night.” The Don of the Moretti crime family gave his head a shake and moved on. “There’ll be some overflow coming from my father-in-law that Saint Luke’s can share with others, and that seems to be making everyone happy.” “You’re beginning to remind me of another famous Don who had a close relationship to the church,” Maks needled him with a grin. “You gonna start making us kiss your ring when we see you?” “Yeah. Corleone this,” Gabriel muttered, his hand disappearing under the bar so he could presumably grab his junk. After Vincente’s snicker died off, a comfortable silence descended. Maks took a swig from his glass and then set it aside, not in the mood. He didn’t need to cloud his mind—unless shit really fell apart, as it had after he’d shot Nika. But that was one of the few times he’d wasted himself. He didn’t like when he wasn’t 100 percent functional. It made him feel . . . susceptible. Helpless. As if he could become a victim again. He leaned into a stretch, curving his back to loosen the tightness in his shoulders. He could feel Gabriel studying him. V, too. He glanced over at all that glossy black hair the Reaper insisted on keeping and unhinged his jaw. “Eva know you borrowed her hair today?” he drawled, wishing he could distract from what he knew was coming. But his boys could be merciless when they wanted to be, and Maks could tell they had something on their minds. “We all know you’re waiting for an opening. You might as well take it,” he added. “I heard from an associate about a show he saw at Apetito last night.” No hesitation on Vincente’s part. No beating around the bush. Not even with an audience, the bastard. Though to give Quan credit, he couldn’t look less interested. “Guy said someone I know nearly took a little blonde on the dance floor in front of anyone who felt the need to watch.” His dark brows rose. “Are you following protocol, Maks? Because that doesn’t sound like you’re holding off on playing until the job is done.” “Did you hold off on playing with Nika until Nollan was a corpse?” Maks said silkily, dead to rights because he knew V hadn’t. “No. And you have the face to stand there with your chin up?” he added to Gabriel, leaning in slightly. “You took my Pakhan’s daughter without his knowledge or blessing. Just because it worked out for you, that doesn’t change the fact that you did it backwards.” Gabriel had the grace to look uncomfortable. But only for a second. “Come on, Maks. You’re usually quicker than this. Why do you think we’re here?” He shifted on his stool, and it was clear by the darkness now in his eyes that the memory of how he and Eva had come together still didn’t sit well with him. “It’s

easy to give advice when the shit feeling of fucking over someone you respect is still so fresh. Believe it or not, we’re trying to save you some grief.” “No need. I haven’t crossed any lines with my Aussie. I’ve done exactly what Vasily and I agreed on.” In body, not in mind, he knew. “And think back to when you were panting after Eva—not that that’s changed. Now tell me how well you’d have listened if one of us had warned you off.” Tapping his glass on the bar, G muttered, “Touché,” before draining it and setting it aside. He sat back, done, and Maks turned to Vincente. And didn’t a zinger come. “So, you think of her as your woman?” V questioned. Fucker. Maks had to move, and he went on what Sydney would call a walkabout. He meandered his way from behind the bar and came around to stand in front of his inquisitive friend. He didn’t appreciate being grilled on rules he was goddamn well following, but he allowed it, only because he remembered busting V’s balls over Nika not that long ago. “I’m doing only what’s necessary, because once Morales is dealt with, I know I’ll have my time. That’s when I’ll hole up with her for probably a week and get her out of my system. Same as all the others. After that it’ll be business as usual.” He ran his finger along the bar top and enjoyed the squeak of clean. The mirrors behind the even rows of bottles on the glass shelves behind the bar were crystal clear, too, he noted as he saw himself on the hot seat, the darkened club behind him. V looked skeptical. “If you can’t do this job without distraction, I strongly suggest you hand it off. You don’t want to live with the regret if something gets by you because you were too busy fucking her in your head to see what was right in front of you.” “That what happen with you, V?” he ground out. “Yeah, Maks. That’s exactly what happened to me,” Vincente growled. “You don’t want to feel what I feel whenever I see that scar on Nika’s chest. You don’t.” Well, fuck. If that wasn’t a bucket of ice water in the face. Bucket and all. “Luiz Morales is a dick, but if you want my advice, you should also watch out for the brother.” They all turned to look at Quan, who’d spent the last few minutes building one fuck of a miniature castle with the old-school matchboxes Maks kept stocked for his patrons to light their stogies with. As far as diversions went, his comment was a good one. “Eberto?” Maks asked, pulling the distraction over the memory playing in his head, the pained roar that had come from Vincente when that bullet had hit

his redhead. Since Quan had been with a Triad organization before landing with Gabriel, the guy knew much about what went on in their world. Any information he supplied was usually dead-on. Maks watched, his interest piqued, as Quan nodded and carefully balanced a final box. “Our paths crossed years ago, and I doubt he’s bettered himself. There is no cure for guys like him. He was a regular in a place my former boss took over and was soon banned when it became apparent he enjoyed roughing up the little Asian girls. He wasn’t happy with his walking orders and went so far as to find one of the girls he regularly used on her off time. He beat the hell out of her, brutally raped her, and sent her back, saying that’s what happened to those who crossed a Morales. Luiz was contacted when Eberto went into hiding, and my former boss eventually, reluctantly, agreed to leave Luiz in charge of his brother’s punishment. Luiz assured him he knew best where to hit. Bottom line: Eberto Morales is a bully who violently sulks when things don’t go his way. So be warned.” A familiar comfort settled on Maksim’s shoulders at learning these details he hadn’t been previously aware of. Ah, information. It was almost like an aphrodisiac to him. His fingers were already twitching to hit the keyboard. Gabriel went over to study the matchbox castle, looking impressed. “Relaying this warning was the other reason we dropped in, Maks. Just in case you thought we were only here to bust your chops. Quan, you ever think about being an architect?” “Yeah. It’s my dream.” “Really?” Gabriel said distractedly as he bent to check out what looked to be a covered balcony on the edge of the second floor of the castle. “No.” The boss straightened with a wry grin tilting the corner of his mouth just as a cell chimed. It was Vincente’s. “Hey. You okay, babe? Again? Pain in the ass. Was it one of mine? Oh, okay then. Yeah, I’m with him now.” He put the phone to his chin and looked Maks’s way. “Charlie gnawed on one of your boots.” Though sweet and playful, the Rottweiler puppy V had given Nika really was becoming a wolf-size pain in the ass. “Tell her I’m going to barbecue him next weekend. Everyone’s invited.” “You hear him?” V chuckled at Nika’s response. “Don’t worry; he wouldn’t actually hurt Charbroil—I mean, Charlie. So what’s up . . . ?” Maksim tuned out the domesticity, but his lip twitched when V chuckled again. Good to hear him like that, so relaxed and as close to normal as the guy

would ever get. Not that he still didn’t have his days where he seemed to want to kill anyone whose lungs dared to draw his oxygen, but with Nika in his life, one look from her and the guy was a puddle of . . . well, lust. Okay, it was what they were labeling love, but Maks preferred to use the term lust since the two fucked like rabbits. Lucky they shared a wing of the house with Gabriel and Eva, because they were just as bad. Quan must hear some crazy shit considering his room was smack-dab in the middle of the two hot spots. Wonder if they all ever got together? Nah. The boys didn’t even like when the others checked out the eye candy when the girls were around the pool. No way would they voluntarily have another man in the bedroom with them. A woman, maybe? Then again, knowing the girls . . . definitely fucking not. He cringed at what an SOB his thoughts made him and gave the greeneyed monster riding his ass a right hook that laid him out flat. He wasn’t fucking jealous of what Vincente had found with Nika, or Gabriel with his pregnant Eva. He wasn’t. He was happy for them. He just hoped G’s kid didn’t eventually turn on him. Or G on the kid, he thought scathingly, his own relationship with his father never far from his thoughts. He gnashed his teeth at the nonsense his mind sometimes came up with. Seriously, he knew Gabriel well enough to know he would never treat a child of his—or any, for that matter—badly. Reaching out, he gave his friend’s hard shoulder a shot—in apology for his thoughts. “Hear anything about Stefano yet?” Gabriel’s brother, the asshole, had gone off the grid a few months ago after having put his time in terrorizing Eva, and G had been searching for him ever since. Maks was waiting to get the nod that would put him on it, but wouldn’t interfere until then. Gabriel shook his head, his brows coming down. “He must have left town,” he said as Vincente returned. “No talk of him anywhere. I’ll let you know when I’ve exhausted my resources and am in need of yours.” Another phone went off—G’s this time—and he wandered a few steps away to answer it. It was rare they were able to finish a conversation in its entirety without one of them being pulled away by his phone. “How’s Nika?” he asked Vincente, who had just pocketed his cell. “She’s perfect. She and Eva are holed up in the office at the house.” He nodded, looking satisfied by that. “She’s perfect.” “Good to hear. Not in pain anymore?” Their eyes met, and Vincente shook his head. “No, brother, she’s good. No worries, okay?” He changed the subject. “Eva texted me this morning to say she was sorry

she missed me because I’d left so early. I saved it so I could show Gabriel. She wasn’t answering a text,” he stipulated, hands out in a wait-for-it pose. “She initiated. That’ll bug him.” “You think?” Maks’s humor about the sitch grew as he took his phone out and pulled up the text. He turned it so Vincente could see the screen. “See the kissy emoticons? There’s five of them. That’s a long kiss.” V chuckled and shoved the cell back at him. “As fucked as it is, that will piss G off.” He shrugged. “Until he gets the real thing.” His phone call over, Gabriel came back looking serious, which put riding his ass about his wife on hold. After a round of fist bumps and see-yas, Maks found himself alone. But instead of beelining it to his office and researching Eberto, he was distracted by what Vincente had said about Gabriel getting the real thing. Yeah. The real thing. Every day. Every night. The comfort of loving, accepting arms wrapping around him whenever the need arose. To be greeted with smiles, kisses, and a warm body when coming home in the early hours of the morning. To share a bite to eat in the kitchen before . . . going down to his basement and binding his Aussie with one damned intricate knot so that she was completely under his— He jerked in his shoes as if he were coming awake. Was he out of his fucking head? He didn’t want that. He didn’t crave domestic bliss. He spat the words in his mind. To have all Sydney’s shit mixed up with his. To have her calling, nagging him about when he’d be home, who he was with, what he was doing. Showing up here at the club, throwing a fit because he’d been holed up alone in his office interviewing a new dancer, and getting jealous, thinking he’d fucked the kitty—which he might very well have done . . . His lip curled with distaste, and he brought a hand up to flatten the fucking thing out. He wasn’t disgusted at thoughts of fucking one of his dancers. So why wasn’t he growing hard? Why wasn’t he enthusiastically agreeing with a resounding, “Hell no, I don’t need all that bullshit”? He pictured giving it to Shayla, the new girl, as he bent her over his desk. Nothing. Behind the bar while the lighting men fixed a faulty switch on the other side of the room. Nothing. He pictured Marta, a tall, statuesque knockout with honey-colored hair and eyes like the ocean. In his mind, she was on her knees behind his desk, his cock in her mouth, smiling up at him as she got him off while one of the girls stood at

his office door complaining that she couldn’t find cheap parking. Maksim looked down to his lap to see not a twitch. Fuck-all happened to his anatomy. And that last one had been a memory! It had actually taken place . . . quite a while ago now, but it had been fucking great! He blinked, feeling kind of panicked. This had never happened to him before. Not with his dick. He quickly shoved an image of Sydney into his frontal lobe. He put her on his bed at the house—unheard of—on her hands and knees, him behind her, dwarfing her as he slowly slid in and out of her wet, welcoming body. He pictured her hair shimmering off her shoulder as she looked back at him with heated amethyst eyes, lips parting, her spine arching as she took him deeper . . . Maks sucked in a pained breath and had to adjust himself as blood flowed too swiftly to his groin, hardening him immediately. His teeth slammed together, jaws grinding. Fuck. He let his head fall back and shouted, “Fuuuck!” to the ceiling. Spinning away, he pounded out of the club and down the corridor to his office. The chair creaked and tried to roll away as he slammed his ass into it and booted up his computers. How the fuck! This was not happening to him. Thank Christ none of his dancers were here right now because he would have fucked them all just to prove that he could. His aching dick started to deflate, and he grabbed it through his expensive pants. “Are you fucking with me?” he demanded of his tool. “You’re making her a one-and-only? Really?” “Uh, I can . . . come back if you’re busy?” he heard Micha say slowly. Maks spun his chair to face the intruder, who was standing with one foot still on the stairs leading to the basement, eyebrows raised. “I was having a private moment with my cock. Do you fucking mind?” “Nope. Do it all the time, brother.” He came the rest of the way up and pulled the trapdoor closed before strolling for the door. “Our friend is sedated. Won’t be up until late evening. I’ll take care of the other one then, too. Meet you outside.” He walked out and down the hall. Maks heard the outer door slam shut, the system beeping as it reengaged. “Shit,” he said into the silence, feeling like an ass. He took his phone out and texted his whipping boy. My apologies.

A reply was almost instant. Not needed. It didn’t take long for Maksim to accept it. He’d learned long ago not to fight shit for nothing—probably why he’d excelled at the Academy. It was simply easier, and smarter, to go with the flow. Get what he could out of the done deal and bail when it was all over. Right now? With his Aussie? He was done. He wanted her. Only her. For now anyway. He was roped until he got what he needed from her. How long would it take to be satisfied? Who knew? Didn’t really care at this point. Just wanted to get there. Get this job out of the way so he could reach the place where he could show up at her club, throw open the door to her office, and yell at her for being cooped up with some bouncer she was interviewing, freaking on her beautiful ass because he was jealous, thinking she’d fucked the guy . . . His face screwed up in confusion. That had come out all wrong, but whatever. He took out his phone and requested updates from the boys stationed outside Apetito. This roadblock had to be taken care of, and then the good times would roll. The reply was frustrating. Nothing yet. His phone went off again almost immediately—a call this time—and he answered. “How’d it go?” Vasily asked. “Had to put one down in order to concentrate on the other,” he said. “I’m sending him back to his boss at nightfall.” As he talked, he typed. He needed detailed information guaranteed to wake Luiz Morales the fuck up. “Good. Alek is needed elsewhere. Are you going back to the safe house to relieve him soon?” “Yeah. In a few minutes.” “Micha’s with you?” “He’s outside waiting for me to finish up.” “Okay. Take separate vehicles. Bring a laptop and do what you have to do once there. Have Micha stop somewhere to pick up a few things for Sydney.

She’ll no doubt be wishing for a change of clothes by now.” He paused, and Maks could hear murmuring in the background. “Eva said to make sure he gets her underthings and something comfortable to sleep in,” he added dryly. Maks had to smile at the details only a woman would bother with. His humor fled when he pictured Micha standing in Victoria’s Secret choosing panties and a bra for his Aussie, wondering what would fit her tiny body, what colors would set off her tawny skin. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll let him know.” “Tell Alek to call me when he’s leaving.” “Will do.” He hung up and grabbed a laptop before leaving. Once in the alley, Micha looked at him with a small smirk playing over his features. Until Maks gave him his instructions. His detailed instructions. “Take your car and find a mall, one with a Victoria’s Secret. Get a couple of everything, all of it in white, panties, bras—garter and stockings if you want to chance a slap—yoga pants and T-shirts. Don’t forget socks and something she can sleep in. Who wears shit to bed? And grab a pair of sneakers, also in white, if they have any. Don’t go near the UGGs or I’ll beat you with them. And see if they’ll sell you a pair of those wings.” He had to raise his voice because Micha was already stalking away. “I’m sensing a theme here, you weird bastard,” he threw back as he slammed into his Aston Martin to peel out of the alley. Yeah. The theme was to make Sydney as untouchable as possible. Hence the religious undertone and virginal white he’d requested. He should have told Micha to pick up the UGGs after all. And a Snuggie. Together, the train wreck would guarantee he stayed away. He pictured Sydney cuddled into the corner of the sofa wearing the ugly items and got a hard on. Or maybe not.

CHAPTER 10

After rising from the very edge of a bloodred velour chaise longue, Sydney resumed her pacing. She was strung out, and she was pretty sure the Tylenol she’d taken shortly after arriving was wearing off already, because her temples were starting to pound in time with her heartbeat. As was her cheek and back. After Maksim had stormed out, the day had actually moved along quite pleasantly. Whereas Maksim was irreverent and antagonistic, Alek was the opposite. He was laid-back and composed, and he soon put her at ease. They’d spent some time playing on the Xbox One, and there had been only one awkward moment when he’d asked why she was so good. She’d balked and had blamed an ex-boyfriend rather than tell him about Andrew. Somehow she knew that telling Alek about her son before she told Maksim would be a big no-no. It wouldn’t be wise to offend the man saving her skin. About an hour ago, Alek had had some work delivered from his office by a relaxed-looking man he’d introduced as Markus Fane. Related to Lucian and Gheorghe? She’d wondered but hadn’t asked. More or less left to her own devices, that’s when Sydney had started to worry. She’d tried to distract herself by calling Jerome to make sure he’d gotten a hold of everyone. He had, and had then made her cringe by telling her he’d seen the story of the explosion on the news. As she’d hung up, she could have sworn she heard Emily’s voice in her mind. Publicity is publicity, her friend would have said, which made Sydney smile a little around her nausea. As the sky darkened outside the balcony doors, so did her mood. She sighed in a loud burst, glancing at Alek when he looked over. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I’m not used to doing nothing. I don’t think I’ve had nothing to do since I was seventeen years old. I’m either busy with the club or my so—” She caught herself from saying son at the last second. “Social life,” she muttered, looking away.

“Yeah. I can imagine you must have a full calendar.” She hid a grimace. Now he thought she was conceited. “You can put some music on or watch TV, if you’d like. It won’t bother me.” She began twisting her hair around her finger. “That’s okay. My bouncer said we made the news, so I’ll pass. And my choice in music right now would likely make you want to hop out the window.” He chuckled and placed his pen down on the stack of papers in front of him. “What would you choose right now?” She shrugged. “I listened to a lot of classical growing up,” she admitted. “Despite my childhood being less than stellar, it still makes me feel good to hear it. But rather than my favorites—Debussy, Bach, or Tchaikovsky—I’d go with Rachmaninoff. His pieces are very intense, and normally I find them disturbing, but I wouldn’t right now.” She chuckled. “I can’t listen to Mozart and Vivaldi without seeing Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd. That’s all my—mother allowed me to watch growing up.” Thank God she was planning on telling Maksim about Andrew, because it seemed anything she talked about she was tripping over herself not to include his name. She hadn’t realized she spoke of him so often. “Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata is my go-to when I’m crawling out of my skin.” She glanced back at the very personal revelation, and looked a little deeper into the man she’d spent the afternoon with. Aside from being David Beckham handsome, there was something about him that came across as tragically sad. “Is that often?” “You described your childhood as being ‘less than stellar’?” he said without answering her. “Nothing too tragic, I hope.” Of course he’d latched on to that. Not much got by these tight-lipped guys. “No. Just the usual rich-kid complaints.” “Your family is wealthy?” She nodded, offering nothing else. “Nice-house wealthy or something more?” Grr. “More.” “I can see that in the way you carry yourself. It might come across as snobby to someone like Maksim, but most of us would see it as good breeding. He’s a little rough around the edges, so try not to give him too hard a time, okay? Where did your family’s wealth stem from?” Despite his easy tone, Sydney couldn’t help but feel she’d been delivered a warning. “Oh, um, mining,” she answered distractedly. Why would Alek think

he needed to warn her off? He’d spoken as though Maksim were fragile when he was the dangerous one. Alek’s phone began ringing, and he gave her an apologetic look before answering it. She left him to it by grabbing her purse and making her way to the spacious sea-green-and-white bathroom. While there, she did her business, washed her face and hands, and gave in and called Andrew for the third time. She made it quick, not wanting to smother him but still needing to know he really was okay. She wanted to cry when he told her he already had a bruise on his hip, but she didn’t because he sounded proud of it. When she came back out, Alek was off the phone but engrossed in his work, so she settled into her own head again. She wondered if they had a workout room in the building. That would be one way to kill an hour—if she could move around her growing aches. Or she could take a walk to Starbucks. There had to be one around here—if she was allowed out. She looked at Alek again and knew this safe house business was going to drive her up the wall. But what choice did she have until this situation she’d created was resolved? Too young to die. And it was back. The thought she’d been trying to ignore all afternoon. A thought that had more to do with Andrew than herself. She was doing whatever she could to avoid going to jail and leaving her boy to grow up without her. But, today, Luiz Morales had nearly made it much worse. Much more permanent. At least if she were behind bars, she could still write to Andrew, see him on occasion, until she was released. Had she left the loft this morning without her son, rushing as she normally did, that steel door wouldn’t have been there to protect her from the blast. She’d have gone through it, spoken about the weather with Maksim’s guards, and then unlocked her car. And she’d be dead. Andrew alone, with no one to love and care for him. He could have ended up dead, too, had they done even one thing different. Sydney swallowed the thickness in her throat and rubbed at her temples. He should have more in his life than just her. She should have settled down. For him, she should have found a man she could get along with and married him. Had another child. That way, if something happened to her, Andrew would have a family to turn to. But here she was, trying to do it all on her own. Playing the man and woman of the house. She wilted some more. When had she cut herself off so absolutely? After Emily’s death or before? Because, as she’d thought earlier, there wouldn’t be

many people who would miss her if she died. Sure, her staff would be sad for a day or two, and Andrew’s friends’ parents would gasp and shake their heads. But aside from her son, her death wouldn’t really impact anyone. She’d left home but had taken her family’s suspicious, don’t-trust-anybody-they-only-want-you-foryour-money outlook with her. Maybe she should see a shrink. And speaking of head cases, where was Maksim? He’d been gone for hours. Had he learned anything about where and when Luiz’s men had planted the bomb in her car? The sound of the apartment door opening and then slamming shut had her whirling away from a painting depicting a Paris street in the rain that she’d ended up in front of. Alek raised his head from his paperwork. With each heavy step of a dress shoe hitting the tile, Sydney’s lower belly tightened. Until Maksim came into view, and the air released from her lungs in a hot rush. I shouldn’t feel like this when I see him. I shouldn’t. That didn’t stop her entire body from singing as she went forward to meet him. She rubbed her suddenly damp palms down the front of her jeans and tried to greet him as normally as she could. But the “hi” that was on the tip of her tongue never made it out. Not after the black glare he aimed at her as he continued on into the kitchen area. “Call your uncle,” he threw to Alek as he thumped a bag down onto the granite countertop and began taking things out of it. Fruit, cheese, those fancy thin crackers everyone loved, a container of what looked to be . . . tuna salad? She looked to Alek, but he just shrugged and shook his head as if to say “ignore him” before picking up his phone. Helpful, she thought as she inched her way to the kitchen. And impossible. She cleared her throat. She wasn’t familiar with this side of her Russian. Sulky? Brooding? And she didn’t mind admitting it made her uneasy. She preferred his irreverent come-ons to this cold shoulder. What was bothering him? “I’ll put this away, if you’d like,” she offered, shelving all thoughts of telling him about Andrew until he seemed more receptive. He stood back immediately and waved at her to have at it. O-kay. If it was that bad, he should just get it off his chest instead of acting like a child. Taking the large ball of white cheese with the tag hanging off it by a string, she opened the fridge and placed it in the middle drawer. “Everything okay?” she tried. “It’s getting there.” After the clipped answer, he remained smack-dab in the center of the kitchen so that she was forced to step around him to reach the groceries again.

And then circle him to get to the sink. She opened a couple of cupboards until she found a stainless-steel bowl she could fill with water, her nerves drawing tight at the feel of his eyes on her. After taking the grapes from their bag, she submerged them and left them to soak. Once again stepping around him, she twisted her mouth and nudged his rock-hard abs with her elbow on her way by. “Stop sulking.” He made a surprised sound deep in his throat. “What?” She gave him a look. “You’re glowering at me like I stepped on your sand castle. Snap out of it. If something’s on your mind, just say it.” “It would be very inappropriate to say what was on my mind right now, lover.” His honesty should have unnerved her, which was probably his plan. But it didn’t, because she wouldn’t let it. She took the crackers, continuing her backand-forth, and went around him to place them next to the fridge. “Never stopped you before.” Thank God Alek was too far away to hear this ridiculous conversation. “Oh? Do you miss hearing about how badly I want you under me, Australia?” he inquired as she reached for the final items. And down went the container of tuna salad. It hit the floor and twirled for a moment before coming to a stop. She squatted quickly, cursing her madly beating heart, and snatched it back up, thankful the lid had been secure and the contents hadn’t spilled. “Dream on,” she scoffed when she straightened, feeling strangely comforted by the familiarity of their banter. Was he right? Could she have actually missed this? “Oh, I do. In fact, that’s all I’ve been doing lately,” he growled, stepping toward her. She went around him. “Well, that’s not surprising. They do say opposites attract, and since I’m hot, honest, and cultured . . .” She shrugged and flashed him a saccharine smile before yanking open the fridge and placing the salad on a shelf, glad he couldn’t see the tremor in her arm. Covering her fingers on the handle, he forcefully shoved the door so he could see her again. The bottles of condiments on it rattled, but he closed it rather quietly. He seemed almost amused—almost. “I dream of what you’ll taste like. What you’ll feel like when I finally have you. If you’re wild and loud. Or quiet and affectionate. I dream about giving you orgasm after orgasm as you scream my name and tear my back to shreds with those nails.” How was she not moaning and begging him to begin?

Because I have more respect for myself than to be known as another of the Russian’s conquests. “Keep dreaming then, because that’s the only place you’re going to find out . . . those things.” Her hesitation ruined the delivery, but she didn’t care. His eyes falling to half-mast, Maksim bent slightly, tightening his hold when she tried to pull her hand free so she could bolt. His body dwarfed hers, and the scent clinging to him had her wanting to lick him like a lollipop. “I’m tired of all of this fucking around. Reassure me that we’ll happen once Morales is dealt with.” Gulping, she forced out, “No.” “Reassure me right now, Australia,” he repeated in that low, sexy voice that had her core pulsing. She shook her head, not trusting herself enough to attempt anything else. His jaw rolled beneath his precisely trimmed goatee. “No guarantees, huh? I suppose I could always have my curiosity about you assuaged by asking someone else who’s had you.” His sensuous lips turned down in a severe frown, as though the thought displeased him. She nearly laughed. “Good luck with that.” Interest piqued in his expression. “Why ‘good luck’?” “Because you’ll have a hell of time finding—” someone I’ve had sex with. Yeah, like she was really going to admit that to this man. “Anyone who’ll talk,” she finished lamely, keeping her voice quiet despite the distance between them and Alek, who was again on the phone. For spite, she added breezily, “My men have more class than that.” His eyes narrowed to slits, molten fire blazing in their depths. “Your men?” Score one for her. Didn’t feel so good to know there were many more besides him, did it? Not that three were many, but he didn’t know that. “Yes. The ones who know how vocal I am when they’re inside me.” She jerked her arm and slipped free of his hold, tacking on, “The ones who know what kind of kink I like. Alek,” she called, noting he’d hung up from his call, “are you hungry?” She tore her gaze from Maksim’s and turned to see his friend coming over. Which had been her intention. “No, I’m good. I have to go,” he said, making her stomach drop. He was leaving her alone with Maksim? But he couldn’t! Not now that she’d poked the bear! “I have to stop by the office before I meet up with Vasily.” “But don’t you want to stay for dinner?” she squeaked. “I’m actually a very good cook.” He smiled. “Sorry, Sydney. Maybe another time. Maks will have to enjoy your expertise on his own this time.”

As he walked away and began gathering his papers, she felt Maksim at her back. “See? Even Alek thinks I should enjoy your expertise.” Her eyes flared wide at the feel of what had to be his finger trailing from the top of her spine to her tailbone. There was no way he missed the shiver that rocked her. Little did he know the expertise he spoke of didn’t exist. “Relax, lover. You’re safe for a little while longer,” he whispered. And to prove that, relief arrived in the form of Micha coming in with some bags of clothing from one of her favorite stores. She disappeared into the bedroom with them and thought she might just stay in there for the duration.

A few hours later, Maks finally felt the tension in his muscles loosen. He’d had no choice but to get them the fuck out of that apartment. He’d done all he could in researching the Morales family and setting up contingency plans in the form of knowing every business they owned and any home they spent more than a few days in every year—all locations now had a Tarasov man or two on them, and he’d soon be aware of the sites most visited. Done with that, Micha had wandered off, and Maks had been left to sit at the recently cleared table—computer forgotten, leg bobbing, fingers drumming, belly full of the delicious carbonara Sydney had whipped up—watching her do the dishes. He’d pointed out the dishwasher, but she’d said she needed something to do. Then she’d put a pair of earbuds in that she’d gotten from her purse and stashed her phone in her back pocket. He’d never seen anyone so serious when doing such a menial task. The stress lines around her mouth had moved every little while as she’d either sang along to her music or talked to herself. She’d looked up at one point, and their eyes had clashed over the breakfast bar; the rush that came with that connection was as infuriating as it was invigorating. He didn’t want to feel that shit. Not where he was feeling it anyway. In his groin? Yes. In his chest? Fuck no. Didn’t want it there. Couldn’t trust it. He would not allow this woman to have that kind of effect on him. And really, the fluid movements of her body as she’d washed and dried and put away, while swiping her hair out of her eyes and rubbing her nose with her wrist and sneezing that one time, had been the most erotic foreplay Maksim had ever witnessed.

Get. Gone. Before. I. Break, his body had growled. That’s when he knew he needed to find something to occupy them, body and mind, preferably around a bunch of people. Hence the reason he was standing inside a shooting range, looking down into Sydney’s upturned face, the bruise on her cheek pissing him off as he slipped a pair of headphones over her ears. Christ, that little smirk playing over her mouth was sexy, he thought around the sound of shotguns, Glocks, and AR15 rifles going off all around them. “I can’t believe you own this place,” she said, her voice a little too loud owing to the ear coverings. Rather than place his finger on her lips, he bent and took her mouth. He could have used the excuse that someone from Morales’s camp might be watching, but in this place, that would be impossible. He kissed her because he wanted to kiss her. Needed to. He did so lightly but thoroughly, stopping only when he felt her give in and melt against him. Straightening with a crushing reluctance, he pulled one bulbous headphone from the side of her head and brought his mouth to her ear. “Voice down, lover.” Dazed, she nodded and glanced around nervously, looking for what, he didn’t know. All there was to see was their cubby in the long line of cubbies that had been built onto the rear of a gun shop in Queens he and Micha had purchased years ago. All completely legitimate, they had a handful of range masters who followed the state’s rules for this place to a fucking T because both Maks and Micha liked owning it. It was lucrative, a good cover, and just plain fun. He inclined his head to the weapon in Sydney’s hand. “Now, do you remember all I told you? Put your safety glasses on.” She did one of those ghostly expression changes that he remembered her making the first time they’d met, showing some impatience without changing the actual expression on her face. “I told you, Russia. I know how to do this. Aren’t you listening to me?” She slipped her glasses on and turned away. “Not really,” he muttered. “Like every asshole we passed on our way in here, I’m too busy staring at your ass to pay much attention to what’s coming out of your mouth.” She stepped forward, not having heard him because the noise in the place was so great. Then she proved her claim. She braced her legs apart in her new white yoga pants—that lovingly hugged those rounded globes he wanted in his hands—lifted her arms straight out in front of her, gripped the SIG Sauer like a pro, and emptied the entire magazine. She pushed the button, and the target followed the track and came to a stop within arm’s reach. She looked at him over

her shoulder and gave him the sauciest smile he’d ever seen her wear. Perfect shot. A cluster on the left side of the chest. She was proud. “Can I take her with me on my next job?” Maks didn’t even look at Micha, who had just shown after doing a perimeter check. “Only if you want to find yourself pissing your teeth out through your morning wood.” “Ouch.” Sydney skipped back over to them. “God, that felt good! I swear—” Maks reached over and took her headphones off so she’d stop yelling. “I swear,” she continued in her normal voice, “if I had this place, you’d never get me out of here. I felt so . . . so powerful. Let me do it again, please.” She handed the gun to him, barrel first, and looked up at him, amethyst eyes shining and hopeful. And right then he was incapable of telling her no. He’d have given her anything she asked for in that moment. Without hesitation. Which manifested into him reloading and waving her off so she could feel invincible for a short while longer. That short while ended after more than an hour of shooting the shit out of countless targets with every type of gun Sydney could handle. He’d seen her expression tighten the odd time and knew she must be feeling the effects of being thrown by the blast that morning. But she was a trouper. “You’ve obviously spent a great deal of time here,” she said as they got into the SUV—Micha was gracious enough to allow her the front seat, and she took it this time. “Enough.” “That was so much fun. Thank you, Maksim. I’ll have to bring—uh, my own gun next time.” She stumbled around her words, ducking her head to put her seat belt on. “You still haven’t returned it.” He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over to get it out of the glove box. “Now that I know you can handle it.” She took it and checked that the safety was on before putting it in her purse. Very hot. He started the SUV and hit a button on the dash to turn on the radio. He needed a minute to get his head on straight. Maybe if he talked himself down, his battered resolve wouldn’t turn this into the disaster he could see coming. “Why don’t you have any friends?” he found himself asking, as if he’d somehow turned into a fucking woman and couldn’t get enough girl time. “How do you know I don’t?” He glanced at her. “Do you?”

She looked away. “No.” His lips curved. “Why?” “I don’t know. My intolerance for surface chatter and small talk isn’t conducive to getting to know people, I guess.” He stayed silent, hoping she’d go on, and metaphorically hunched his back and rubbed his hands together when she did. “I’d rather my staff—who are pretty much the only people I associate with —talk to me about the personal argument they had with their mother than the funny thing they saw on their way to work. But people aren’t like that. One of my cage dancers sat next to me at the bar before open a while back. I asked him how he was, and he told me he was concerned about his boyfriend’s refusal to take things further in their relationship by moving in together.” She shifted so she was sitting almost sideways in her seat, facing him. “I invited him up to my office and we chatted about it through half of his shift—I gave one of my servers some bills to tuck into his waistband before close so he wasn’t overly short on tips. Anyway, I guess my point is, had he come back with the usual Good, you? How about that weather? I’d have zoned out and drifted away as soon as was polite. But he engaged me. He was real and showed a little depth. I like that and don’t find it often.” He liked her. More and more. “You might like it, but you’re not open to it.” She stopped playing with the ends of her hair. “What does that mean?” “You’re not approachable. You’re intimidating—from your eyes to the expressions you wear to the regal way you hold yourself. Any woman would run the other way rather than want to stand and be compared to you. Emily must have had some balls.” “Emily was . . . a beautiful, special person that could have stood next to anyone and been proud.” “I sure hope she valued you as much as you valued her.” It would be tragic if Sydney had brought Morales down on her for a friend who wouldn’t have done the same for her. “She did.” “Would you like me to try to find the daughter?” She surged toward him so fast he jumped and had to jerk hard on the wheel to avoid clipping bumpers with a passing taxi. The grip she manacled around his forearm had the strength of a small army. “How? How would you do that? Do you really think you could find her? How?” “Easy, lover.” He chuckled. Her enthusiasm was telling. She loved the girl. “I’d go into some school records and find out where she’s registered. It might take some time, though, unless you know which area of the city she might be in.

Or which city, for that matter. She is still in the US, isn’t she?” Her grip loosened as she wilted like a pricked balloon. “I don’t know. God, you don’t know how badly we’d love to see . . . uh, each other.” She released him and went back in her seat, her movements deliberate, her lithe body now stiff. She didn’t want him to question her latest slipup. So he didn’t. But he would. The minute they were behind closed doors, he was going to learn about where she’d come from. Learn what she was trying so hard to hide from him.

Nerves ate at Sydney’s stomach lining, ruining the short reprieve their trip to the shooting range had given her. The outing had been just what she’d needed. Andrew would have loved it—as she’d almost told Maksim. Ever since Daniel’s father had brought him along one day when going to a range with his friends— stating he’d rather teach his son about gun control himself than have Daniel learn about it on the streets—Andrew had periodically questioned her about taking him. He knew she’d frequented a shop in New Jersey when she’d been learning how to handle the weapon she’d purchased. She wished he’d been there tonight. Wished his existence still wasn’t a secret. She watched the numbers above the elevator climb. Micha was on her right, Maksim on her left. She’d seen the calculating light in his silver eyes in the SUV when they’d been talking about finding Eleanor. Sydney’s time was up. She’d put off telling him about Andrew over dinner and since then because she hadn’t felt comfortable, especially with Micha present, revealing a secret she’d kept for so many years. But now, after having been so transparent, stumbling over her words one too many times, she had to tell regardless of her audience. The bell dinged and they stepped out into a large foyer that had six doors in a semicircle. They went for the closest one on the left. Micha opened and went in first. She was about to follow when Maksim’s hand landed gently on her navel, holding her in place. “One minute,” he said without looking at her. After at least thirty seconds of silence, they heard a low, “All clear,” and Maksim’s warm palm was removed. Okay. Now her nerves were raw. How badly she’d wanted to cover that hand and move it up. Or down—she wasn’t fussy. She just wanted him touching

something other than her belly. Repercussions? What were those? Regrets? Never heard of them. Swallowing a groan, she practically ran inside and excused herself immediately to use the restroom. “Listen, you,” she snarled at her reflection in the mirror. She paid no attention to the mark on her cheek. “That man out there plows through women like a whale through krill. Do you really want to be another insignificant, worthless victory? Do you want him to turn his back on you after he has you, the same way Colin did?” As long as she lived, Sydney would never forget the amused, condescending look that had been on Andrew’s father’s face when she’d showed up at his door to tell him she was pregnant. Losing her steam, she drew back and sat on the closed toilet seat. How would Maksim look at her when she told him about her son? Would the respect she’d worked so hard to gain over the years dwindle in his eyes and disappear because of what some people labeled an irresponsible mistake? Would he think she’d been a slutty teenager? Would he believe her story? That she’d lost her virginity the night Andrew was conceived? Dropping her face to her hands, she sighed and wished this day would just end. What if—? Oh, shut up, head. Just shut up. Getting to her feet, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders before leaving the bathroom. If he wanted to look down on her, let him. She shouldn’t care. Yet she did. Entering the main room of the apartment, her stomach rolled as if she’d just peered over the edge of the balcony to the street fifty-one stories down. “Where’s Micha?” she asked in a strangled voice. Maksim turned from staring at the hallway that led to the exit. “He had to leave.” Her thoughts drained, save one. They were alone.

CHAPTER 11

If there’d been anyone else Maks could have trusted to get Juan up and out of the basement of Rapture, he’d have sent him. He didn’t. Micha was it. And now Maks was left to draw on his reserves until another chaperone could arrive to take the pressure off. He studied Sydney’s stricken expression. She looked . . . scared. Did she not trust herself to be alone with him? Or . . . ? He moved toward her, something pulling in his chest. “Tell me you’re not frightened of me. Of being alone with me.” She brushed by him and went to pick up the remote for the TV. “I’m not frightened of you?” His lip quirked. “That should have been a statement, lover.” The flat screen came to life, and she started burning through the channels. “It was.” “Why do you appear nervous then?” “I don’t.” Flipping faster, she dropped to the sofa, placing her phone next to her. She crossed her legs and shook her foot in a jittery movement, as if trying to dislodge a rat from the tip of her toe. “Can you take in what you’re passing by? Because nothing is registering before you move on to the next.” He saw another football game whiz by—or thought it might be football. “I thought you’d be used to that.” He turned slowly to face her, his patience stretching thin. So that’s how it was. For some reason, maybe because he was already strung as tightly as he’d ever been, her defensiveness rubbed him raw with that one barb. “The edgier you get, the higher that horse, hmm? Or do I have that wrong?” he added, realizing suddenly that she reverted to her prickly princess routine only when they were alone. “Maybe it’s the more turned on you get, the harder you try to

hide it by jamming that nose in the air. Which is it, princess?” Her mouth fell open. And then closed with a snap. Still she didn’t look at him. “Why do you insist on doing that? Seriously. Stop bringing up the sex that isn’t going to happen.” “Yes, it is. You won’t be able to help yourself when the time comes. And that burns your beautiful ass, doesn’t it?” That got her attention. She glared holy hell at him. “Ah-ah.” He interrupted, holding up a hand before she could tell him off. “Yes, it would give me a rush to hear you admit how much you want me, but I don’t actually need it. I can read it in every move you make, and that’s enough.” “You—you’re serious!” Her disbelief verged on hysteria, and Maksim knew this moment was about more than this specific conversation. It was a culmination of all that was happening. She was going to blow. “How can you even say stuff like that? With such surety. Has it ever entered your egotistical mind that you’re wrong? Aren’t you afraid, even a little bit, that you might be misreading my signals? Do you ever second-guess yourself about anything? What if I really, truly don’t want to have meaningless sex with a man whose necessary body part is about to fall off from overuse?” He held back a bark of laughter. “But you do.” “That’s not the point! Aren’t you liste—? Oh!” She sprung to her feet, her small hand slapping over her mouth. She stamped her foot in the most adorable display of anger Maks had ever seen, and he couldn’t help but grin like a motherfucker. Confirmation. Finally. Directly from her own lush mouth. He’d said he didn’t need it, but he’d lied. “Screw you!” she burst out. “Screw you to the moon and back for your arrogance, you . . . you . . .” “I think the word you’re looking for is darling,” he snuck in with some air quotes. God, her eyes were spectacular when she was riled. “No. The word I’m looking for is spoiled egomaniacal brat who doesn’t have a humble bone in his big body.” “That’s not a word.” She bared her teeth at him and stormed by but only made it a few steps before he caught her with a tight grip on her upper arm. Spinning her around, he slammed his mouth down on hers. She wanted him. He now knew it. And he wanted to sample her desire. Right. Fucking. Now. He held fast when she tried to jerk away, once more attempting to deny him. He didn’t let her. He was fed up with waiting, so finished with it. He

needed something to tide him over, needed it so badly he was freaking out. Even a small part of her for now. And she was going to goddamn well give it. In a distant part of his mind, he knew he’d deliberately stirred her up so she’d lose her composure. What he didn’t know was why. So that he wasn’t the only one agonizing over whatever the fuck this was between them? Because she was so tiny compared with him, he once again bent his knees and hefted her against him before straightening. Just as he’d done at the restaurant. He pressed her tight along the front of his aching body and ground his erection into her navel. She gasped. Around a growled apology in case the sound was caused by pain, he went for broke, plundering the moist depths of her mouth with his eager tongue. Satisfaction screamed through him when she moaned and slapped his shoulder twice before wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him as good as she was getting. “You’re terrible,” she accused him against his lips as she fed on him, grasping at his shoulders and pulling at him as though she couldn’t get him close enough. “I know, lover.” Her legs came up to circle around his hips, and she squeezed him between them. “I don’t want to want this.” That small truth from her almost distracted him. But he was too far gone. “I know,” he whispered soothingly as he turned with her and brought her over to lower her to the sofa, making her back sink deep into the cushions when he followed her down. She moaned a little but held tight, allowing no space between them, and she tipped her head back when he left her mouth to ravish her slender neck. He lapped at her skin and groaned at her essence. “I want to do this to your nipples”—he flattened his tongue and licked—“and between your legs.” He sucked, and she trembled. “I want you so worked up, so out of control, that the evidence of it flows down my throat.” She made a desperate little sound and arched into him, rolling her hips against his erection, rubbing on him, upper and lower body, her hands roaming. Knowing what she needed, and unable to curb the impulse, he lifted himself just enough to fit his hand between them so he could cup her breast. His thumb found the tight peak of her nipple, but he couldn’t enjoy it because too many layers separated them. Releasing her, pleasure spearing him when she protested with a whimper, he breached the hem of her shirt and savored her silky skin and body heat as he tunneled under, pushing her bra up so he could get . . . Fuck. Perfect. He molded her soft mound to his palm and squeezed just enough to let her know he had her before taking that rigid little point between his forefinger and middle

finger and rolling it quickly. “Oh! Shit, Maksim,” she panted, straining to meet him. She grabbed his head with both her hands and brought him to her mouth again. “I want inside you, Sydney,” he growled as he devoured her. “You can’t.” He couldn’t? Not they couldn’t? She was . . . concerned? . . . about him and his reasons for abstaining? “I know.” His agreement came out sounding almost tender because her apparent worry touched him somewhere not normally accessible. Her fingers plunged into his hair as they kissed, and then traveled down over his shoulders and under his arms to reach his back. He felt her pause when she hit the harness that held Angelina, but then she bypassed it. “I . . .” One hand stayed, pressing to the back of his lower ribs; the other came around and she slipped it between their bodies. “. . . want to feel you.” Palm up, she found his cock and ran the length of him from base to tip, driving him insane. “Mmm.” Her sound of approval was high-pitched, eyes wild as she stared up at him. She was like a teenager, he couldn’t help but think. These weren’t the moves of a woman who did this often. She wasn’t practiced and ticking her best off in her mind as she went through her repertoire. She was all natural, turned on, and her enthusiastic, random actions were making him see fucking stars. He ducked back to her neck, knowing she wouldn’t answer shit if they were face-to-face. “How many men have you been with, Sydney?” He gnashed his teeth, grinding into that palm, and bit back a string of curses when she tried to grip him through his pants. Keeping one leg wrapped around him, she dug her other foot into the cushions and used the leverage to push her hips up harder. “Three. I can’t . . . think around this. You feel . . . crazy good.” A shock wave blew through him. Three? He felt her yank his shirt from the waist of his pants. Her fingers played on his skin, singeing him, leaving her mark. Three? He grabbed her wrist just as she was about to steal inside. He was stopping her from touching him. From wrapping her fingers around his throbbing length and exploring him, possibly getting him off with a few firm jerks. He was stopping her. He let that sink in for a few heartbeats and then found himself righting her bra and coming out from under her shirt. He broke the cinch she had him in, forcibly, because she wasn’t cooperating. Her revelation rattled his bones. It made his head spin.

“What are . . . ? What are you doing?” she asked, staring up at him in confusion. Her eyes were glittering brightly, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling as quickly as his was. He brought her hand above her head and took her other one from his back to do the same, holding her like that so he could look down at her. She squirmed and rubbed on him, and he was helpless to stop from responding by shifting down and pressing into the heat between her thighs. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and stretched it out as she hissed and met his stroke. He could finish like this; he knew. And so could she. But they wouldn’t. “Three?” he questioned, belatedly denying himself the pleasure by shifting his hips away. “What?” She was distracted as she tried to follow his movements. Her leg lowered to wrap around his thigh and she smiled a little when she was successful. “That’s it.” She tried to tug her wrist free, and goddammit he was such a selfish fuck because he let her. She brought her arm down and immediately tunneled her hand into his pants to do exactly what he’d known she wanted to do. Take him beyond the point of no return. Her warm fingers clasped around his shaft, and he moaned loudly, falling to his elbow, his head landing on her shoulder. “Oh . . . so hard,” she whispered. Nothing but instinct driving him now, he copied her move by swiftly burrowing into her yoga pants and cupping her over her panties, grinding his teeth at their dampness. A distant thought told him he shouldn’t, but he did. “I’m going in,” he warned, meeting her dazed eyes. “I know,” she whispered, her legs spreading for him as she stroked him with her palm. Done. Her fingertips, those pointed nails, brushed over his balls just as he breached a lacy edge, and then he felt nothing but hot skin. “Jesus Christ, Sydney,” he groaned as he gently parted her damp lips and oh so slowly slid two fingers through her wetness. Fuck, she was so ready. What a waste. What a beautiful, tragic waste, he thought as he searched out that opening and entered her body. “So wet for me. So fucking ready.” “Oh, my God, Maksim!” she whispered hoarsely, gripping him tighter, stroking him in that perfect way as she began rolling her hips in an attempt to ride his fingers. He helped her along by withdrawing them and sinking deeper, over and over, savoring the feel of her, so responsive and innocently wanton. Her thumb

passed over the head of his cock, spreading what was already leaking, and it was all he could do not to tear his pants open and impale her. How he didn’t, he’d never know. Instead he continued to pleasure her as he was, moving his fingers in and out of her soaked body faster, praising her in Russian when she did the same to him, quickening her stroke in the confined space she had to work. With a quick, sharp move that had her yelping, he shoved the barrier of her shirt up and out of his way with his teeth and closed his mouth over the hard peak of her left breast. He was dying to bring the other one into play but didn’t have enough hands. Goddammit, she tasted sweet. He nibbled and twirled his tongue around her nipple, lapping at her. If he replaced his fingers with his cock, he could free up his other hand and make her really happy. “Maksim . . . ?” Sydney’s surprised cry ripped him from his plans and made him aware of her straining. Instinctively, he found her clit with his thumb and added a thrumming that had the silky walls of her sex instantly bearing down. Her orgasm swallowed her, causing her head to kick back, her mouth to open on a soundless moan. He pulled back far enough to watch and savor. Her sex tightened and released around his fingers as her hand squeezed him, jerking faster. Her eyes opened and clashed with his, and before he knew what happened he was joining her, climaxing with such force he lost his breath. He broke in a blinding rush, coating her hand and wrist, making her stroke slippery as she worked him through it. He could have come forever. Felt as if he did, his orgasm stretching out to match her endless release. Harsh breathing and slamming heartbeats filled the silence for long moments. Holy hell. What the fuck was that? He wondered at the power behind what had just taken place. Vasily. The sound of Maksim’s honor shattering reverberated in his head, and shame slithered to life. He’d broken his word. He’d just failed the one man he revered above all others by doing what he could have easily done in the shower all on his own. Lifting his head, his gaze was met with a sleepy look when Sydney’s lids came up. “Shit,” she whispered. She was still holding him but no longer moving. Yeah. Shit. He withdrew his fingers from her body but could not stop himself from taking the time to spread her wetness around, relishing the silkyhot feel of the most private part of her. Weakness of the flesh. Poster boy. Him. But he’d created the arousal, after all, so it was his to do with as he pleased. She let out a puff of air, and her eyes rolled a little. He brought his hand out and up to inhale the light scent before treating his digits as if they were spoons dipped in

honey. He licked each one clean. “Maksim,” she said shakily. “I told you I wanted you down my throat. Now you’re there.” Gently, knowing this wasn’t her fault, even though he wanted to blame her, he kissed her temple and welcomed the heaviness settling in his chest. Three, he thought again, preferring to deal with that than his disgrace. To his . . . How many could there possibly be? Way too fucking many. He shouldn’t have touched her. For so many reasons. Fuck. “You should shower,” he murmured, too wrapped up in his own head to see her face fall. She pulled her hand free of his waistband, and he mourned the loss of her touch. “If you’ll get off me, I will.” He focused on her and saw her cheeks were bright pink. Fuck, he’d embarrassed her. Made her think he thought she needed to shower. “No. Fuck no. I meant I’ve made you dirty.” With the legions I touched before you. “So you should clean up before bed. That’s all.” “Oh. Er, yes, okay. And since we’re handing out unnecessary advice, you should, too.” The droll note in her voice went over his head. “I can’t.” He doubted a shower would do much in the way of cleansing him. The gleam on her hand caught his eye, and he reached for the tissue box that sat on the coffee table. He pulled a few free and shuddered as he pictured her doing to her fingers what he’d just done to his. Nothing was taboo to him. He’d always seen sex as an all-in-or-don’t-bother kind of thing. If his partner was going to be squeamish or meek, then she was with the wrong guy. There was no shame in most acts, but he knew not everyone felt the same. “Thank you.” She accepted the tissues and slowly cleaned her hand and wrist, her attention on the task. Absently, as though she wasn’t aware she was doing it, she put her palm to her nose when she was done and smelled it as she talked. “I’m not sure why I lost it like that,” she said as he nearly came again. “But I don’t want you to get any ideas in that head of yours that this meant anything. It was simply a reaction to stress. That’s it.” Their eyes met, and hers skipped away before he could get a read on her. She went to move out from under him, but he pressed her deeper into the cushions to keep her where she was. He gave his head a metaphoric shake and tried to focus as she lost some of the just-had-the-best-release-ever droop from her eyes. “Maksim?”

He pushed himself up and away, taking a seat on the coffee table. He should send her to her room; he knew. She sat up and straightened her clothes before tucking herself into the corner of the sofa. Her expression was wary, but she looked more relaxed than he’d seen her in weeks. Maybe now would be a good time for him to go fishing. “Why did you leave home?” She looked taken aback by the random question and didn’t say anything for a long minute. And then, “Because my parents left me no choice.” Shocked that she’d answered, he failed to come back with a follow-up immediately. Instead, a few beats of silence passed before he posed his next question. He tread carefully. “Did they hurt you?” She shook her head. “Not physically.” Emotionally. They’d hurt her emotionally, which was most times worse. “But it was bad enough to make you leave home at seventeen.” She played with the tassel on the corner of a throw pillow. She nodded. “Why does this matter to you, Maksim?” “Because I’m a curious guy with an inquiring mind that never fucking shuts up. Humor me.” Her body lost some of its tension; her feet slid to the side so that she wasn’t curled into a tight, defensive ball anymore. “Okay. If I share something very personal with you, will you reciprocate?” Realizing what she was offering—without him having to threaten her or play the do-as-you’re-told card—knowing what her privacy meant to her, and knowing what she was expecting in return for opening herself to him, Maks felt something in his chest tighten even as it warmed. The sensation was confusing. Kind of like his panic was being smothered and calmed before it could bloom. Then he realized the good feeling that came with her trust in him was more powerful than his need to hide from her. “Was it the orgasm?” he wondered aloud. “Did it open up some sort of channel here?” He motioned between them with his thumb even though she probably had no fucking clue what he was talking about. Her lip twitched, and she tipped her head. “Are you aware you suffer from ADD?” “Yes. Vasily says it goes well with my PTSD.” “And why would you have PTSD? Don’t tell me you had a moment of altruism and risked yourself for your country.” That hurt. For some reason, her thinking he was incapable of caring enough about others to go to bat for them . . . hurt. “No,” he said, pulling on his cuff to straighten it from where it had climbed during their play. “I’m not the

self-sacrificing type, am I? My problem stems from something a little less heroic.” He was astounded to find himself stepping onto that sharing platform first. “Back in Russia, when I was fourteen, I was kidnapped and kept in a cage —cell, whatever. My old man volunteered me for the experience, and I was stuck there for almost three months. Myself and a dozen other rotating guests were treated to round after round of beatings, verbal abuse, rape. One guy was pissed on daily because they said he seemed to like it when they fucked him.” He could see out of the corner of his eye Sydney’s graceful hands cover her mouth as her expression filled with horror. She’d asked for it. But it was why he was giving it to her that was the ass-kicker. He supposed he just wanted her to understand why he was sometimes such an asshole. He wanted someone to know . . . him. To know why he was who he was. Why Sydney? That he couldn’t say. Possibly to turn her off? Make her hop on that high horse and realize she was playing with someone very much below her? “They kept us naked except for dirty underwear—the girls, too—and when they really got going, their favorite game went something like this: Pick a guy; pick a new girl. Take her aside and convince her if she fucked the guy, they’d let her go. They’d put them in front of the cells so everyone could watch—him tied up, her free. He’d get a hard-on—because the body doesn’t always follow what your head tells it, does it?—and she’d rape him in front of an audience of twelve to fourteen onlookers. You could see them both dying inside. In their eyes. You could see it.” He shook the memory from his head and pushed his elbows harder into his knees just to feel the ache it caused. Physical pain as a distraction from emotional. “When it was over, the guards would throw them both back in their cells but would join the girl in hers. The six of them would then take turns having sex with the one who’d proven herself to be such a whore. And there she’d stay, until either her ransom was paid or she killed herself. Too many times it was the latter.” And just like that, Maks felt as if his skin were crawling from his body as he spoke to someone about those black days for the first time ever. Not once had he verbalized his past in such detail. Not even with Vasily or his boys, whom he trusted with his very life. Just not with his memories. Again, why was he trusting Sydney? “Anyway,” he said roughly, holding up a hand when she dropped her legs and reached out, unshed tears shimmering on her lashes, on the verge of falling. She couldn’t touch him now, and she’d better not fucking cry. He’d probably yell at her. “It was a shit experience, and Vasily believes it contributes to my behavior. Your turn.” “Maksim . . .”

There was a world of sympathy in his name, and it made his fucking throat ache, but he swallowed the shit down and donned his mask again. For all the good it did. He jerked to his feet and got away from her. “I didn’t tell you that to make you feel sorry, so don’t,” he warned, “because it doesn’t do anyone any good. I only told you to explain my comment about Vasily thinking I suffered from the disorder. And because we were going to exchange horror stories, and I knew I’d win. But you know what? Now that we’re here, I don’t want to hear yours right now.” He heard a rustle and knew she’d gotten to her feet. Her voice at his back when she spoke proved it. “Okay. Does Vasily know what you went through?” she asked in a little more than a whisper. “Not in the way you do. I’ve never told anyone that before.” He looked at his reflection in the large window across the way and couldn’t see her because she was so fucking small and his body was blocking her from sight. His frown deepened, and his anger grew. He turned and stepped into her, bringing his hand up to clasp her throat in a loose grip. Why did I put myself on display like this? “That shit stays in your head, understand?” His weakness, his utter humiliation at the hands of mere amateurs . . . public? Fuck no. Just, no. “Because if I ever hear it from someone else, I’ll know you talked, and I’ll make you very sorry.” Furious now, his buried emotions rising, he meant every word. He felt exposed. Naked. Wide-open and vulnerable. And he didn’t like it. Sharing fucking sucked.

Sydney was trying her hardest not to cry. She blinked the burn from behind her lids, hoping the moisture she was looking through wouldn’t spill over. She gave up trying to swallow around Maksim’s hand pressed into her throat. “I would never betray you that way, Maksim,” she promised. Her hands tentatively came to rest on his waist, and she was surprised when he allowed that. There was a wild look about him that she’d never seen before. “You have my word. I’ll never repeat anything you tell me.” Some of the steel left his massive body. She’d never been more aware of his size than she was just then. He could break her in half. Yet she wasn’t afraid. Aware but not afraid. Not even of the rage simmering in the back of those beautiful silver eyes of his. What he’d been through . . . The burn came back,

and she had to shove the newfound knowledge—understanding—of him from her mind again. She intuitively knew he wouldn’t appreciate her tears, not even when they were for him. His expression darkened more, if that were possible, and she actually heard him swallow. “Everyone talks when given the right incentive. All I ask is that you do the best you can to keep my past to yourself.” His voice was so flat and emotionless it made her nape tingle. He released her. “Go to bed, Sydney.” Loath to leave him like this, she reached for his hand, but he jerked back as though she were a disease. She brushed off the hurt that poked her in the chest and clasped her hands in front of her, watching as he gave her his back and walked over to pick up the TV remote. Clicking much slower than she had earlier, he turned the volume on and repeated more firmly, “Go to your room, Sydney.” Before he said anything more, knowing some people got cruel when backed into a corner—Maksim’s shots would be brutal—she picked her phone up off the floor where it had fallen during their mind-blowing tryst and turned to leave. But not soon enough to miss his coldly added, “I’m done with you for now.” And there it was. Wincing, she left him alone and went down the hall to close herself into the beige-and-chocolate bedroom she’d been given. Leaning against the door, she imagined she wasn’t the first woman to hear those words from him. He’d probably said them too many times to count, to too many women to remember. No doubt after having had sex with them. Sex that could possibly be his outlet, his way of dealing with what had happened to him. Did he use the meaningless hookups as a way to make a connection with someone without having to actually connect? His trust issues must be monstrous. She went over and sank down onto the edge of the bed. Alone now, without him to witness her empathy . . . Within seconds, two droplets landed on the tattoo on her wrist. Her chest squeezed with both compassion and anger, making it difficult for her to breathe. Thinking of her big, powerful Russian, not much older than Andrew, locked in a cell, abandoned, abused, raped. Her hand pressed to her chest, and she bent forward as the air left her lungs in a rush of emotion. And Sydney cried. Burying her face in her hands, she sobbed for the damaged man she’d left standing alone in the living room. Why had he never told anyone about what happened to him? Vasily obviously knew a portion but not all, according to what Maksim had said. She wasn’t sure if talking about an experience so ruinous actually helped, but

wouldn’t it be worth a try? Sniffling and wiping at her face, she grabbed a tissue off the nightstand and fell sideways, landing heavily on the fluffy pillows. She wiped up and blew her nose and felt her body shutting down on her. Using her foot, she slid her phone up from the base of the bed where she’d dropped it. She hit the button to check the time. Ten o’clock. Normally she’d only now be starting her night, yet here she was, never more exhausted in her life. She dialed Andrew. “Hey, Mom.” She could hear voices and laughing in the background, and she was glad he was in that atmosphere. Her throat burned, tightening up. He didn’t deserve this. She’d put him in such danger with her stupidity. “Hey.” “Oh, come on, Mom. Don’t be upset, okay?” She could hear the background noise fading and knew he was going off for some privacy. “We’re all good. Nothing even hurts. Are you okay still?” “Yes, I’m fine.” “See? We’re good. And Daniel’s dad said the cops will find out who did it and nail them to the wall.” She was glad she hadn’t shared with him that she already knew who was responsible, in case he’d let something slip. She dragged herself up and into a sit. “I know. I just wish that you hadn’t had to go through that. God, Andrew . . .” “I’m okay. We both are. Where are you? You’re not at home, are you?” Hearing his worry, she quickly lied, “No. I’m at a hotel. A fancy one with room service like the one we stayed at in Italy last year. Remember?” They’d taken their first vacation in the spring, and it had been the best two weeks she could ever remember. “Yeah. That was awesome. Remember the cannoli? Mmm. Now I want some.” She laughed. “I’ll try to remember to pick some up tomorrow.” “Cool. What time are you coming to get me? Will the door be fixed? We’re staying overnight here and going to church in the morning.” “Are you? That’s sounds good. Um, the workers texted me earlier, and the door is fixed already so we’ll be good to go back tomorrow.” She wanted to warn him about Maksim. Tell him something about her Russian so that when they met tomorrow he’d at least be prepared. But she just couldn’t find the words right then. So, as she’d done with Maksim—and not by choice this last time— she put it off. “Text me when you’re on your way tomorrow. Okay?” “Yeah. I kinda feel bad that you’re alone.”

Her love for her darling boy surged. “I’m not. Um, a friend of mine is giving me a hand trying to figure this mess out.” “Oh. Good. Is it someone from the—?” He paused and then called, “Be right there! Mom, I gotta get back. We’re at the end of Avengers. Seen it a hundred times, but it’s still the best part. I’ll see you tomorrow?” “Yes, go. But, Andrew?” she said before he could hang up. “Yeah?” “I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you today. You’re the very best part of my life, and I love you more than you’ll ever know.” “I know that. I’m glad you weren’t hurt today, too. Love you, Mom.” “Bye, sweetie.” She hung up and slid the phone onto the nightstand before snuggling into the pillows again and pulling the blanket over her. Closing her burning eyes, she wished Emily was still there. She so badly needed to talk to someone, to ask for some guidance, for advice. Because on her own, she felt as if she was screwing up everything. How could she have lost control like that with Maksim? Hoping she had enough strength not to let it happen again, she made a small sound as she slipped away.

CHAPTER 12

Standing on the other side of Sydney’s bedroom door, Maksim felt that unfamiliar warmth that had been growing inside flash-freeze and shatter. It splintered, the shards cutting deep. It doesn’t matter. None of this matters, he tried to tell himself as pain stole his breath. How could he have been so stupid as to open himself to her? How had he forgotten what he knew to be true of people? They were selfish. They lied. And they hurt. The urge to rip the door out of his way and storm into the bedroom to demand who the fuck Andrew was rode him hard. So hard his vision spiderwebbed, and he was soon panting from the effort it took to stay in the hallway. I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to you today. You’re the very best part of my life, and I love you more than you’ll ever know. He staggered back as those quiet words reverberated through his head again. Fucking untrustworthy, selfish, self-serving, backstabbing people! How the fuck had he missed her involvement with another man? How had they all missed this? He’d had four men hanging in her club since this began, and not one of them had seen her steal a minute with this guy? His boys were there until five in the fucking morning! Maybe the fuck was married, and he and Sydney had to keep a low profile. Entirely possible. Clearly she lacked morals. One minute allowing him to maul her into an orgasm, the next professing her love to some sucker probably hiding in his backyard so his wife wouldn’t overhear him talking to his lover. Christ! Spinning away, he plowed his way to the master bedroom and went straight through to the bathroom to have the hottest shower on record. He felt . . .

betrayed. He’d just shared the deepest, darkest part of himself with her, telling her of his past . . . and within minutes she’d disregarded it as if it were nothing, had forgotten him, pushed him from her mind, and engaged the man she loved. But she’d responded to him with that beautiful abandon that had seemed so genuine. Your women can’t tell when you’re only half there either, a timid voice whispered in the back of his mind. Was this karma? Had Sydney been imagining he was Andrew during their time together? When she came for him, as she touched him, while he had his fingers inside her, had she been imagining he was another man? A man she loved with all her heart. He’d heard it in her voice. The purity of her feelings. She hadn’t hid a goddamn thing when declaring herself just now. She’d been open and honest with that guy in a way she’d never been with him. Fuck. Maks slammed the lever down to cut the water off and hung his head. Deception was such a nasty bitch. It hurt. Stung. Created such embarrassment once you found out how far off your thoughts had been from the other person’s. He’d choose to suffer the physical pain caused by a blade buried in his thigh over this shit any day. At least you could take something to dull the ache until the leg healed. With this, you just had to experience it. Getting out of the shower, he dried off and was thankful the closet was stocked with items in a variety of sizes. After donning a slate-gray suit, white shirt, and purple tie—that he didn’t particularly care for—he went back into the living room without glancing at her door on his way by. He called Vasily and pretty much demanded a replacement. Repeatedly lied, saying everything was cool and he just wanted to oversee Juan’s departure himself. Then fucked off the minute his relief arrived. As he drove out from the parking garage, he packed it all away until he felt next to nothing. His nape prickled. He ignored it. She’d be fine under the care of the two men he’d just left her with. Alone in an apartment that had been thoroughly secured and soundproofed. She couldn’t get out any more than someone could get in. She’ll be fine, he thought again around the cold sweat that popped up on his brow. As she was this morning? that timid voice piped up again. He slammed his fist into the steering wheel a half-dozen times, but he kept driving. She would probably remain in her room for the night anyway. Yeah. So she could talk to that fucker, Andrew, until dawn. What pissed him off the most? Had he done his job, had he listened to Vasily and kept this strictly professional—kept his goddamn word!—he

wouldn’t give this much of a shit right now that she belonged to someone else. Yeah. Karma could suck it. He blew into Rapture, making the girls who’d been loitering in the back corridor duck into their enormous dressing room to get out of his way as he stormed to his office. He’d put in weeks and weeks of effort, had wasted his fucking time, had actually started to like Sydney. What. A. Fucking. Chump. He dropped his ass into his chair without bothering to take off his coat and spun to face the back wall. Taking a few deep breaths, he simply stared straight ahead until the painting across the way registered. It was a Luis Royo. This entire series, which he owned every last one of, “spoke to him.” This particular one had a demonic beast bent over a curvy female’s back in a pose of total and complete possession. Yes, it showed the beast’s monstrous cock buried deep inside her, but that wasn’t what drew Maksim to it. It was the bliss on the female’s face, and the beast’s aggressive expression and body language that remained even as he loved his woman. One could almost hear the threatening rumble of his voice: I will destroy anyone who dares. I will obliterate even the memory of you if you even think to harm that which is mine. Beautiful. But not as beautiful as that bliss of hers. That expression of total surrender and complete confidence that even though he was a monster, this one was hers, and he would never harm her, not even with those powerful paws with their talons that dug into her flesh as he held her so gently. The door opened, but he didn’t turn. “Everything okay, my man?” Micha. By his tone, he knew things weren’t okay. Maks was tempted to ignore him but couldn’t. He did ignore the question. “Is Juan still with us?” “No. I sent him off about fifteen minutes ago, as per your instructions.” “Good. We should be hearing from Morales soon then. If he’s smart.” This was good. Business. He’d stick to business as he should have been doing from the start. “Judging by the stunt he pulled this morning, I’m not so sure about that. I thought he’d make better choices,” Micha said. “That seems to be the consensus. From what I’ve read about him, this hothead routine seems out of character.” Maks frowned as something made its way through the shit in his head and surfaced a little late. He spun his chair. “Do you think someone went over his head? Quan mentioned the brother being more a liability than anything. Guy has a history. Do you think rather than Luiz being pissed about Sydney, Eberto is up in arms about something else?” He pushed with his foot and brought himself over to his monitors to call up one of his more invasive research sites. In gathering information on the

Moraleses as a whole, he hadn’t bothered with Eberto as a singular threat. He typed in the name now and sifted through until he matched Eberto’s face from the pics listed . . . then took in a rap sheet from hell. Fuck. He could very possibly have been seeing the wrong brother as the main threat. Luiz was a dick for the drug trade, but Eberto was a fucking degenerate. Who has no beef with Sydney, he reminded himself. That I know of, he tacked on. Fuck. He should have kept his fucking mouth shut about himself and let her tell him of her past. Had he not put himself on the chopping block by sharing, he’d know if there was a connection between the two of them. He grabbed his phone and hit up her number, his face feeling like stone as he waited for her to pick up. She didn’t. Heart hammering, he dialed one of the guys that should be squatting in the living room of the apartment. “Yeah.” “Everything good?” he asked, listening for background noise. “Uh, yeah. Nothing’s happened in the thirty minutes since you left.” “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. Ridiculous, but he felt . . . disloyal. He scoffed quietly as he came up to the desk that had a half-dozen milling nurses behind it, Kirov’s voice ringing in his head. If the shoe fits, asshole, Maksim would say. Had they still interacted with each other, that is. Which they didn’t. There had been no way things could have stayed the same after that final summer spent hanging out around their old neighborhood in Queens. That last day they’d been sitting on the front stoop of Lore’s family’s brownstone, shooting the shit, when the mailman had come by. Lore, who’d been eighteen then, same as the others, had taken the mail out of the box and flipped through it because he’d been waiting for something. He’s been unable to hide his excitement when he saw it had arrived. What’s that? Gabriel had inquired, his big body relaxed, leg swinging over the ledge he’d been sitting on. Lore’s excitement had dimmed in the face of the announcement he knew he had to make; he’d looked around at the faces now waiting for an answer: Gabriel, Vincente, Maksim, Alek, Jak, and Tegan—the only girl privileged enough to be allowed in their group. This had been his crew for years, and now, because of an itch he couldn’t ignore, he was about to ruin his relationship with his best friends. It’ll be my acceptance into Nassau County Police Academy.

The disbelief on their faces had soon turned to shock, and then everything had gone still. Lore would have sworn betrayal had a scent, and in that moment his nose had been full of it. A glare or two had been settled on him as they stood. Not from Gabriel and Tegan—though in her case that had been because she’d been paying more attention to Jak than anything else, as was usual. Gabriel had come down a couple of steps to put them at eye level. Is this your choice, or your old man’s? he’d asked. Mine, Lore had told him. G had then put his hand out and waited until Lore took it before saying, Then congratulations. I hope you’re happy with it. He’d spooked the fuck out of Lore then by grabbing his nape and kissing both sides of his face. Stay safe, Lore, the underboss-in-training had murmured before walking away. Vincente and Jak had also shaken his hand and muttered their congratulations. Alek, too, though his had been gracious and had accompanied a sad smile. Tegan had descended the stairs and given him a hug and a wink. They’ll come around, Lore. Don’t worry. Good luck in training, she’d said before joining the boys a few yards up the sidewalk, where they were waiting for Maksim. The big guy had come down and stood there, towering over him, shaking his head. It sucks to feel like you have been fucked over by someone you trust, he’d drawled in his say-it-like-it-is way. His Russian accent had been thick back then. He’d leaned down and, in a tone reminiscent of the Hudson in February, had delivered a warning instead of congratulations. Do not come near my family when you get your shiny badge, Russo. Because I do not care who you are; I will do whatever is necessary to protect them. Slamming the trapdoor on his happy memories, Lore caught the eye of one of the male nurses. “Dr. Mancuso on tonight?” “You’ll probably find her on her way back from the cafeteria. She’ll be finishing up her four-minute break.” “Thanks, man.” He tapped the desk and walked off, heading through chaos toward the artery that would eventually branch off and get him where he needed to be. He took out his phone and looked down at his notes, scrolling through, and, yeah, this could get awkward. Did he have the skin to head to Club Pant if this didn’t pan out and play friend to his now enemies as he’d decided to do? It was the only real option he had if he wanted to help. As he put his phone away, the Australian owner of the club came to mind. Sydney Martin, possible partner to Maksim Kirov—brave girl—according to the Manhattan precinct. Lore doubted she was a dummy. Probably wouldn’t even see him if he didn’t casually drop the personal connection. He also doubted he’d be doing much but sitting there listening to a pretty mouth rattle off a whole lot of I-don’t-knows if he came across as just a concerned cop. Even if he did stress it was off the record,

he thought as he rounded a corner. “Well, they’re both in my ER, Jerry. You have the blood and pee, so forget about your break and get me—oomph!” Lore shot out a hand and grabbed the bitching doctor, who was too busy looking at a chart—while she held a phone to her ear with her shoulder—to watch where she was walking. She’d just slammed into his chest, making the scent of berries surround him as her phone clacked to the floor along with the chart in her hands. He held fast to her upper arm, saving her from falling on her ass from the impact of their collision. “I’m so sor—” Eyes as blue as the Mediterranean flashed with recognition, and the sorry that had been forming on an even prettier mouth than the Australian’s morphed into his name. “Lorenzo?” Something in his groin perked up, looking to say hello, but he willed it away. “Tegan. You okay?” “Yeah. Uh, no, actually I’m not. I’m dealing with a husband who just wrapped him and his wife around a telephone pole. He’s high; I know it but can’t yet prove it. And I’m this close to having to release him.” She put her finger and thumb an inch apart. Pretty hands, Lore noted for some odd reason. Her nails were short and neat, painted with a brown-and-orange pattern in honor of Thanksgiving, which was fast approaching. The nails on her ring fingers had white flecks added to make them look like turkey tails. Cute. “Did you call the hospital’s NYPD contact so he could go through the car?” Those blue eyes connected with his again, and one blonde brow rose with a haughtiness that had his lip quirking. “Of course,” she said as she went down. “I also remembered to make sure he was present for the urine sample.” Sarcasm. He went down with her, picking up the chart while she gingerly turned her phone over to see a screen like a spiderweb. “Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her head whipped up, and she looked at him as if she’d already forgotten he was there. Flattering. “Sorry. I mean, your brother . . . Oh, forget it.” She held her hand out for the chart, and he passed it over, but not before he saw her blinking rapidly, as if she was trying not to cry. Tegan Mancuso? Crying? Seriously? He didn’t believe it. They straightened and moved to the wall as an empty gurney was pushed by. It came to a stop, and the attendant, a big guy who reminded Lore of Barry White but meaner, looked down at Tegan. “You gonna be at the court later, T?” Fucking guy sounded like Barry White, Lore thought, not really surprised.

“Not today, Perry,” she mumbled with a shake of her head that had her golden hair shimmering in the fluorescents. “Chin up, baby.” A big hand came out to clip her gently under the chin, and she looked up, head tilted, and smiled at the goon. “The big man upstairs has a plan for all these souls you lose. They’re better off up there than we’ll ever be down here. Don’t forget that.” She nodded. “Thanks for the reminder.” As the guy left with his gurney, all four wheels of which were surprisingly steady, Tegan looked up at Lore. “Did that sound familiar to you? It should have,” she said without waiting for him to answer. “Perry and his family are in Michael’s congregation. If I’d have said you were the Father’s brother, you’d have had your ribs broken just now in a hug sent straight from heaven.” Lore’s brother had that effect on people. “Thanks for saving me the bill.” She smiled faintly. “No problem.” After a slight pause, she let him know where her head was at. “The wife was five months pregnant. We lost the little peanut.” Her patients. “I’m sorry, Tegan.” She nodded as she slipped her cracked phone into the pocket of her white lab coat and sighed long and low. Lore identified with that sound. “I hear ya. My night was the same,” he admitted before he could catch himself. She looked at him for a moment, her gaze funnily enough lingering on his mouth for a second too long. “A lot of death tonight,” she said quietly, her tone far, far beyond sad. “I hate nights like these. Two heart attacks, that little guy taken before he even had a chance, a drowning victim, and a suicide I couldn’t save. Makes me wonder why I do what I do.” Having grown up with a little sister who wore her heart on her sleeve, Lore was somewhat at ease comforting an upset female. He didn’t even think about it before reaching out and running a hand up and down Tegan’s upper arm. With Ashlyn, he’d always found that a light touch worked wonders. Most times she just wanted to talk. Get things off her chest. Staying silent and simply listening was something he’d perfected. And since he and Tegan were old pals, it felt like the right thing to do. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour for a simple drug test that should have taken twenty minutes but didn’t because some lazy ass wanted to take his allotted break early just because he can. Why are people so selfish? And now I have to leave because my shift is over. Effing chief of staff is on my ass about too many hours.” Her eyes widened, mouth forming a little O, and the front of his jacket and his gray long-sleeved tee, as well, were grabbed in a completely

unprofessional way. “You could help me. You’re still on duty, right? Go to the lab and stand over Jerry’s lazy ass and tap your watch. Wear that I’m-not-goingto-take-your-shit expression you perfected when we were fifteen, and I’ll have my screen in no time. I can’t let that asshole walk out of here, Lorenzo. He killed his child,” she finished in a hushed tone. The sight of her upset, the sudden glimmer of tears on her lashes, had him pulling her in. Again, hugging a crying female was ingrained. “If it won’t get me kicked out of here on my ass, I’ll take a walk and see what’s taking so long.” She laid her head on his pec, face in, so that her breath warmed his throat. And, uh, this didn’t feel as it did when he offered Ashlyn comfort. Not at all. “I know this is annoying to hear—because I hate when my chief says it to me—and it’s probably going to come out sounding condescending, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’re tired, and shit’s getting to you. If you go home and rest, clear your head, it’ll all come together when you get back in. The loss will be there still, but you’ll be better able to handle it.” She shook her head and looked torn between anger and sympathy. “It won’t come together for that woman staring up at her husband with a mix of love and accusation in her eyes. She knows, and I think she’s going to stand by him. As much as I get that, it still makes me furious.” She drew back with a pat to his ribs. Her fingers stayed to play with the zipper on his jacket pocket. “I’d like to give her a shake and tell her to open her eyes.” Yeah. Lorenzo understood the urge. Tegan shook her head hard, causing the scent of berries to plume again. “Know what? You’re right. I should listen to my boss and get gone.” He saw the effort she was making as she smiled up at him. And fake or not, the expression was a winner. A chuckle escaped him. If she were vomiting on his shoes, he’d consider it a win when it came to this girl. She’d always had that effect on him. All through high school he’d been attracted to her. But then Tegan Mancuso was a funny, beautiful, cheerful girl who’d attracted everyone with no effort at all—guys and girls alike. One just wanted to be around her, soak up her positive vibe, or whatever they called the good feelings she let off. Lore was finding nothing had changed in that department. Not even fifteen years later. “You’re heading home?” She nodded. “You have anyone there for you?” He seriously wasn’t digging; he was honestly concerned about her going home alone feeling as she did. One never knew when the pressure would become too much. He’d experienced overload himself a time or two and knew it wasn’t wise to be solitary when it hit. The

worst thing one could do was settle into his or her own head. She drew away from him completely, and he frowned when she fingered his badge that was clipped onto the waistband of his jeans. “I can go out to Old Westbury, but I’m not up for the drive.” Her arms fell to her sides, and she shrugged. “I’ll just use my place nearby. There’s no one there, but all I’m going to do is try to sleep anyway because I’m back on in twelve.” Fuck. That was a sound bite from his life. And no, he didn’t get a sick feeling at the Old Westbury comment. He knew whose house she was talking about. Still didn’t know whose room she slept in, though. At the reminder, he should fuck off down that hallway and not look back. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t even picked her brain about the bombing that had taken place this morning. Also, and more importantly, he found he couldn’t walk away from her when she looked as though she was taking every death she’d seen tonight as a personal failure. Her compassion as a human being was a beautiful thing. “Do you want me to drive you to your place?” he asked. She shook her head again. “It’s only a few blocks. I walk.” “Then I’ll walk with you. Go get your things, and I’ll meet you on the sidewalk outside the ER.” He turned her and gave her a nudge with his knuckles on the small of her back. “You don’t have to do that, Lorenzo.” She turned back and tried to smile again, but it came out a distracted half attempt. “You’re probably as wiped as I am.” “If you go grab your shit without another word, I’ll take a swing by the lab and light a fire under your buddy’s ass about that drug screen.” She slowly straightened her spine from its exhausted curve. “Blackmail, Detective? Really? Isn’t that against the rules?” “You’re not walking,” was all he said. She reached out, and her fingers wrapped around his forearm. So touchyfeely. Was she like that with everyone? “I know what you’re doing,” she said softly. “And it’s really sweet of you, but I’m all right.” “Go.” She nodded and gave him a real smile before heading down the hallway, shrugging out of her lab coat as she went. Lore nearly groaned out loud. Those scrubs. Fuck, there was just something about those scrubs on her that was— Yeah. And he was being an asshole. He turned away and headed for the lab to fulfill his part of the deal, embarrassed already by what he was going to have to admit to thinking about at confession next time he went.

Lore was leaning against a large tree that stood next to the emergency entrance fifteen minutes later, watching the day lighten, when Tegan came out. “I didn’t have much to do with it, but your screen was being handed to the doc who relieved you when I walked through your department on my way out here.” “I talked to him already, and I was right, unfortunately.” She winced as two uniformed officers passed them by. Lore nodded at them. “Thanks for your efforts, Lore.” He shrugged her appreciation off since he hadn’t done much to earn it. “You hungry? We can go grab a bite,” he offered. She shook her head and burrowed into her navy bomber jacket; the fur around the hood looked like a tabby was trying to strangle her with its tail. “Can’t eat after a shift. But once I wake up, watch out. I’ll take your arm off.” He’d like to see that, he realized as they headed north on Ocean Parkway. He kept the subject on long shifts and tough days for a few, wanting her comfortable before he began excavating. He stiffened for just a second when she absently took his arm and snuggled up. Relax, man, he told his libido when it came awake again with a jerk. She’s chilled; I am not. Get that she’s sharing in how fucking overheated I suddenly am. No big. I’m not going to be an ass by reading something into it. Now straight on that, he concentrated on their conversation and wasn’t surprised to find he still enjoyed talking to her as they strolled through the chilly early morning. “Your schedule sounds a lot like mine,” he admitted. “Ashlyn and Michael stopped giving me hell for canceling plans long ago. I feel like shit about that, but what can you do?” “Some would say allow someone else to pick up the slack? And by someone I mean Maksim.” She laughed, dropping the intro right into his lap. “He lectures me all the time about my hours. Says they’re worse than his.” “He still has Rapture?” “Yup.” “How’re the boys doing?” She looked up at him. “They’re good. Better than the last time we saw you. I don’t know if you heard, or care, but Nika and Vincente came together.” “Did they? Last I saw, the idiot was walking out on her.” He remembered being surprised Vincente had had it in him to leave the injured redhead after the

way he’d been with her. Tegan sighed. “Yeah. Isn’t he the sweetest thing? He was so afraid to love her. But they’re great together. She’s a doll. They both are. I mean, Nika and Gabriel’s wife. They were best friends growing up in Seattle, so now they’re like sisters-in-law or something. Cool, huh?” “That’s Vasily Tarasov’s daughter?” She nodded but didn’t volunteer anything more. “That house out there is really filling up,” he said casually. “In a good way,” she said, always seeing the positive. “Eva’s pregnant, and Gabriel’s freaking out.” That was news. Nice news. Though how they could bring an innocent child into their world was beyond him. “That’s great. Tell him congratulations for—” He paused. “That is, if you don’t mind letting him know you were talking to me.” She yanked him to a stop. “Lorenzo Anthony Russo. Do you know who you’re speaking to? You think I’m going to bullshit one of our friends and hide the fact that I saw you? Why? There is, and never really was, anything wrong with keeping in touch after you dropped your bomb about what you wanted to do for a living. I don’t know why you guys went as far as you did—well, okay, I do,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it still screwed up a good thing. For all of you. For all of us.” He had the strongest urge to pull her into his arms and hug it out, but she drew him into a walk before he could. Not that he really would have. Dr. Tegan rose-colored-glasses Mancuso. Did she really believe what she’d just said? He’d been responsible for putting away members of both the Tarasov organization and the Moretti family, for shit’s sake. He’d been one of the first to respond when Gabriel’s parents had been brutally murdered and had been on the secondary investigative team—they’d found fuck-all, natch, and the murders were to this day listed as a cold case. Who knew what really happened? Lore didn’t. But he was sure Gabriel did. “Things are as they’re meant to be,” he finally said. “Or so Michael tells me. And I have to agree. It’s good that you’re still close with them, though,” he added, skating the edge. “Yeah.” “Does their lifestyle ever bother you, Tegan?” he couldn’t help but ask. She tipped her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “How about, to save our nice stroll through the streets of Brooklyn on this lovely morning, we don’t go there. Okay? You know me, Lorenzo, and I think deep down you don’t really need me to answer that question for you.”

Fuck. He laid himself out before she shut him down completely. “Do you know anything about the car bomb that almost took out Kirov’s woman this morning behind Club Pant? Or I guess it was yesterday morning now.” Tegan stopped them again and absently indicated a door they’d already passed—they’d made a complete circle around the block. She moved him over to let a guy with five rather well-behaved dogs on leashes pass them by. “Was anyone hurt?” “Two dead.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. What happened? Was Maksim there? What woman are you talking about?” Lore honestly wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that she appeared clueless or disappointed because he’d have nothing to give his buddy at the Manhattan precinct. Relieved won. “Sydney Martin, the owner of the club. It was her car that was targeted, and it blew out in the alley behind her building. Nearly killed her and her son. The two unidentified bodies found on scene are assumed to be the incompetent bomb planters. At least until the evidence proves different.” Tegan released his arm and sat back with a bump, her bottom connecting with the iron railing belonging to a short set of stairs that led to what had to be her lower unit in the three-story brownstone. “Maks is seeing a woman who has a child? Why didn’t he tell me that? Are you sure?” she asked dubiously. “If that’s true, which I don’t believe it is, he must be freaking out. Well, Maks doesn’t freak out, but you know what I mean.” “You haven’t talked to him?” “No. I’ve been work—” Those blue eyes came up slowly, and so did she. “What brought you to my hospital tonight, Lorenzo?” she asked suddenly. “I came by to talk to you,” he said honestly, seeing no point in lying to her when she obviously had his number. Her brows pulled down in the center. “You came to me specifically to get information on our friends?” He shrugged and felt what he’d call windburn heat his cheeks. Seeing her shiver and bury her hands deeper into her pockets, he brought her down the three steps so the staircase next to them could cut the wind. “I came to see if men I once cared about were involved in something more dangerous than the shit they usually play with.” Partial truth. “I’m not even on the case.” Full truth. Her expression morphed into something he couldn’t read but that made him nervous. “You once cared about? Sounds to me as if you still might.” She winked and smiled slowly. But she sobered again while he tried not to stare. She

was stupid beautiful. “I should call Maks to make sure he’s okay. Or maybe Micha. Better yet, one of the girls might know what’s happen—” “Who do you belong to now, T?” She halted midword, her lush mouth half-open. And didn’t Lore want to slide his thumb through those parted lips and have her suck on it for a beat before he kissed the chattiness right out of her. “You spend a lot of time up at that house. Who do you spend it with?” He should shut up now. Her movements deliberate, she leaned her back into the door so that her oversize hood covered the number 4 and a peephole. One perfectly shaped brow rose as she looked up at him through her lashes. “How do you know where I spend my time, Detective?” she drawled quietly. She was baiting him with the sexy look and soft tone. Drawing him in. And he was allowing it. “You with one of them now?” A burst of wind had the dry leaves swirling around their feet; some of them became airborne. One landed on his shoulder, and Tegan’s attention was captured for a moment before it came back to him again with a new heat. “What if I’m not with anyone?” She stepped forward, which brought her flush against him because the space was so cramped, and plucked the leaf off to run it along his jaw. “Are you offering to keep me company, Lorenzo?” she whispered. His chest tightened as he struggled not to allow his breathing to go haywire. His cock filled swiftly, ready in an instant. He slid his hand into that hood and cupped the side of her face, tilting her head back so he could see her better. “Are you in need?” Something hot yet vulnerable flashed across her face as she sucked in a swift breath. “Today I am.” So was he. Which was why he found himself claiming her mouth. She opened for him without prodding and kissed him slowly and deeply, her lips soft and cool. He did the same and took his time learning her, becoming familiar with her sweet taste. He reeled at the turn of events. It had been Jak she’d wanted when they’d been younger. They’d all known it. Had he had her? Had Jakson Trisko taken Tegan before leaving to do his tour overseas? As the rattle of keys sounded, and with the feel of her curves brushing against him right then, Lore couldn’t find enough interest in the answer to dwell on it. He went in a little harder, and that changed things. She made a small sound in her throat that struck something so deep inside him that Lore felt it resonate right down to the soles of his feet. Her hand came up to slide smoothly around so she could tangle her fingers in the hair that reached the back of his neck. “You’re not going to leave, are you?” she asked as her quickened breaths

pushed warmly against his lips. He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her in tight, allowing her to feel what she was doing to him. “Not unless you tell me to.” “Oh, goodie,” she gasped as the keys jangled in her grip. The kiss turned urgent as the scrape of metal on metal sounded. And sounded. Lore reached around and took the ring that held only one key from her fumbling fingers and felt around before inserting it and turning. All the while she kissed and licked at his mouth as she burrowed into him with a desperation that seemed to match his. He didn’t delude himself into thinking this had anything to do with them as individuals—much. He figured Tegan was in a place where she needed to lose herself after the night—possibly nights, or weeks, or even months—she’d had. He’d been there way too often not to recognize it. And he wasn’t going to judge her for the ways in which she chose to silence her demons. They all had their vices, their methods of coping. And it really would be his pleasure to be used by her, for as long as she wanted him. He walked her backward into her place and kicked the door shut without breaking stride. She pulled open and pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he jerked when she delved under the hem of his shirt with her cold hands. He broke the kiss to look down at her as she scraped her nails up his abs. “You’re good with where this is going?” He had to confirm. Had to. She released him to unzip her own jacket and let it drop to the floor. The simple act was more erotic than any stripper’s routine he’d ever seen. “If that’s with us playing in our birthday suits, then yeah, I’m good with where this is going, Lore.” She smiled and reached for the hem of her faded green top. He put out a hand to stop her and pulled her in by the nape. “Leave the scrubs,” he begged as he kissed his way down her neck. Her quiet burst of laughter turned into a moan. “Ah, you’re one of those, huh?” He was one of those. And Lore proved it by taking his MD to the floor and having her right in the front entrance of her lower-level unit. He eventually lifted her boneless form and moved it into the bedroom, and it wasn’t until early afternoon that they finally got that sleep they both so desperately needed.

CHAPTER 14

The hum of voices was the first thing Maksim heard when he opened the door to come up from his lair—the basement of the sprawling house in Old Westbury. Because he was human, he’d attempted to grab a few z’s when he’d arrived home and had actually managed it. In truth, he’d fallen asleep in front of his computers and now had a crick in his neck that felt like something ROLD GOLD packaged and sold in stores all across the country. Crossing the foyer, he nodded a good morning—barely still morning, but morning just the same—to two of Gabriel’s boys stationed at the front door. What was with the in-your-face presence of the enforcers? he wondered. They were always around, but normally in a much quieter capacity. To have them on guard in such a way showed someone was concerned. Following the low murmurs and odd feminine giggle, Maks came to the entrance of the main room, where everyone seemed to congregate when home. The scene before him would have made one fucked-up Christmas card. “Would you people get the fuck away from my wife and kid,” Gabriel had just grumbled, sounding as if it hadn’t been for the first time. He’d also sounded as though he hadn’t really meant it. Eva was lying on the leather sectional—dark-blue eyes lighting up in a flattering, and completely platonic, way when she saw him—arms behind her dark head, long legs draped over her husband’s lap. Her black leggings had been pushed down, her bright-blue tank pushed up slightly to expose her small, almost five-month-old baby bump. Nika—who also gave him a pleased look—was on the floor in a similar uniform of leggings and tank. Her fiery hair all but crackled around her shoulders and down her back as she held a wandlike thing in her hand. She was pressing the base of it gently into the taut skin of her best friend’s belly. Vincente was next to his woman; Alek leaned his back on the couch beside him. Micha was in the corner, a copy of Soldier of Fortune in his grip. He took a

drink from his mug and put two fingers up in a silent wave without lifting his head. Quan was in the opposite corner next to the pool table, also with a coffee in one hand; he had an iPad in the other and a crooked smirk on his face. “I had my turn,” he said when Maks raised a brow at him. “Fascinating. Wait for it.” “Taking turns now? Shit. I have been missing out. What’s that?” he asked Nika, tipping his chin at the wand. The girls glared at him for the wisecrack, but Nika still waved him over. “Tegan brought it over the other day. Listen.” She flicked a switch on the small unit and ran it over Eva’s belly as though she were painting her skin— A quiet flutter and then a quick little thug-thug, thug-thug, thug-thug sounded in the room, and all Maksim’s amusement fell away. He looked to where Gabriel had both arms stretched over the back of the sofa, fingers nearly reaching each end. “That your kid’s heartbeat?” G nodded once, his pride palpable. “Holy shit,” he whispered, mind blown. “Put it back,” he barked at Nika when the sound disappeared. He wanted to hear more. Technology was fucking awesome. Nika giggled. “He moved. The little sneaker’s playing hide-and-seek.” She rolled the wand again, going lower, and caught the thug-thug, smiling broadly. “He?” Maksim questioned after a minute of listening to the fascinating sound. “I’m having a boy,” Gabriel bragged, offering up a fist. Instead of bumping, Maks took it and opened his friend’s hand for a heartfelt shake. “Shut the fuck up,” he said with genuine warmth. “Congratulations. Both of you,” he added. “I take it you have something to do with this?” he questioned Eva. “A little.” Gabriel ran his hand down her calf in a tender caress. “We’re having a boy,” he dutifully corrected. At least Maksim wasn’t the only one who sometimes thought the world revolved around himself. Alek, he noted, was still on the floor, studying the instrument he’d taken from Nika. “Surprised to see you here,” Gabriel said. Eva also looked curious as she fixed her clothes and sat up to cuddle into her husband’s ribs. “How’s the Australian girl?” she asked hesitantly, adding, “My dad told me about her.” “She’s good,” he said shortly, not wanting to think about “the Australian

girl” right now. He went over to the bar to pour himself a coffee from the tray their housekeeper-slash-babysitter had just set down. “Morning, Sammy.” “Mr. Maksim. Can I get you some breakfast?” “Sure. Something I can eat while I drive, if you don’t mind. Thanks.” The smiling Cambodian nodded and took a single cup over to give to Eva. “Decaf,” he said quietly before leaving amid her thanks. “Where’s Tegan?” he asked anyone who’d answer. “I haven’t seen her in days.” “She worked last night, so I’m assuming she stayed at her place in Brooklyn.” Gabriel took Eva’s steaming cup and stole a sip. “Can’t even tell. This one’s definitely better than the last.” He looked at Maks, winking as he nodded at his wife. “Miss Fussy is being a pain in the ass about being deprived of the taste of real coffee.” Eva tsked, affronted, and slapped his thigh, careful not to spill as she placed the cup down on the coffee table. “I am not. It’s just taking some getting used to. That’s all.” “I don’t blame you. If I had to drink decaf, I wouldn’t bother.” As Eva gave Gabriel a told-you-so smirk, Maks got back on topic. “Tegan was on nights last week, too. What’s up with that?” “You miss her or something?” V asked as he got up, pulling Nika with him. They settled like two opossums on the other section of the couch. How did Alek stand being around them? “Kind of. But I’m more concerned she’s staying away because you brought that asshole back with you from Seattle,” he said to Gabriel. He had a sneaking suspicion Tegan was avoiding Jak. The two had a history. Nothing too deep, but the guy had hurt her way back when, and Maksim found he was holding that against the fucker. He took G’s glare head-on as the French doors leading out to the pool opened and the clip and scrape of toenails sounded on the tile. Charlie came bounding in, going straight for Nika. He hopped up onto the sofa and nailed her hard, knocking her into Vincente, tongue dragging up her cheek as she hugged him, laughing. V grabbed the heavy dog by the scruff and pulled him off. “Settle the fuck down, boy,” he growled with little heat. “You just saw her five minutes ago.” “She doesn’t complain when you act like that—why should you berate the dog?” Maks drawled as he went over to shake Vasily’s hand. His Pakhan had followed the enthusiastic Rottweiler into the room. When he got bumped in the leg, Maks squatted and gave Charlie a good scratch under the collar before sending him on his way. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said as he came to his feet, wondering if he shouldn’t just stay on his knees and silently beg

forgiveness for what he’d done with Sydney last night. “Same.” Vasily looked at him closely, and Maks held his stare. “You didn’t go back to the safe house last night?” Who’d have known shame could manifest into an almost physical pain? His chest was aching from it. “I needed some things, and Anton said all was quiet when I spoke to him.” He went back and got his coffee, and took a big gulp before continuing on to the bar to place the half-empty cup on the tray. “As soon as Samnang gets back with my to-go, I’m heading over. You ready, Micha?” “Whenever you are,” came the reply. “Can I have a minute before you leave?” Alek asked, stepping over Gabriel’s legs. Maks nodded. “Sure, brother. What’s up?” He was patting his pockets. “Let me grab my phone,” he said, going out into the foyer. “He’s going to ask you about Sacha.” Maks turned at the quiet statement to find Vasily pouring a coffee. Gabriel chose that moment to ask Vincente about a building his construction company was breaking ground on, conveniently creating some background noise. “Be warned,” Vasily went on, keeping his tones hushed. “I didn’t wait for permission, and I’ve had zero luck locating her. But keep that on the DL. I’m afraid she may have left New York.” Playing catch-up, Maks nodded. “Here or there, I’ll find her. If that’s what he wants.” “He wants,” Vasily assured him. And then in a normal tone, “You should probably take her home today so she can get some of her own things. Do you think she’ll give you a hard time when you insist she leave her club in her staff’s care for the next few nights?” Smoothly sliding into the ruse when he saw Alek was back, Maks wanted to say Sydney easily gave him a “hard time” just by blinking, but he didn’t. Probably should have because Vasily almost expected the bullshit comments from him now. “I’m sure you’ll hear her bitching from a block away. Wait for it.” “Well, feel free to tell her the order came from me. It would take too much manpower to cover her during working hours, even if she stayed in her office.” “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 openconcept 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 wellbeing, 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. 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.” “You sure he’s your friend?” the kid questioned, peering up at him, curiosity and suspicion all the fuck over him. He had blond hair, tawny skin, and amethyst eyes just like hers. And no Australian accent. Interesting. “’Cause you sure don’t seem glad to see him. Dang. He’s frickin’ ’uge.” Maksim grinned at the honesty and put out his hand. “Good to meet you, kid.” They shook, and Maks couldn’t help but wonder where that grip had come from. Nice and solid. “So those are your guys downstairs?” Andrew asked. “My boss’s men, actually.” “But you obviously rank higher, so they’re kinda yours.” “Kinda.” Sydney stepped over her bottle of wine and motioned for her boy to do the same. Her focus stayed on Maksim even though she wasn’t talking to him. “Andrew, why don’t you go inside and get me a garbage bag and a roll of paper towels.” Andrew didn’t move. “It’s okay, Nipper. Go. We’re good.” Maks felt respect bloom for the boy at the protective gesture. “I’d be the last one to harm your mother, kid,” he offered, meaning it. Saying nothing as he slid his backpack off his shoulder, Andrew tossed it against the wall in a way that spoke of him having done the same countless times. He kept Maks in his sights until he disappeared into the loft. “Is his father in the picture?” he demanded of Sydney immediately. She glanced behind her. “No. And don’t introduce any subjects you’re not comfortable going into detail about. He’s like you in the sense that he needs to know everything.” Something warm flared in his chest at the comparison as Andrew returned, the kid eyeing him suspiciously.

“So who are you?” His voice was in that stage of changing; it wasn’t high but not deep yet either. “Andrew,” Sydney said warningly before Maks could answer. She took the roll and unraveled some, talking as she squatted and started to mop up. “Why don’t you go inside and settle in. We’ll be along in a second.” “We were only gone overnight, Mom. I’m good.” Maks opened and shrugged off his coat and jacket. He threw them onto a brown leather bench and quickly unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them back before coming down beside Sydney, holding his hand out for the roll. He figured it was the least he could do since he’d been the reason for the spill. She shook her head, causing her hair to fall forward to play mop to the wine. He shot his hand out and caught the pale mass before it touched the staining liquid, trying not to be obvious as he savored its softness. She flipped her head to pull it away and motioned him back. “I’ve got it.” He straightened halfway and reached for the garbage bag. She snapped it away. “I can do it.” Swearing in Russian, he jerked upright. “She always like this?” he asked her boy. “Yup,” he said with an involuntary smirk. “Only thing she’ll let me do for her is kill spiders.” Sydney nearly shuddered out of her boots. “Shush, Andrew.” “You’re from Australia,” Maks muttered, noting the reaction. “Don’t they have the most deadly spiders on the—” “Stop it, please!” Her voice was shrill as she tried to drown him out, her movements suddenly uncoordinated and jerky. “Ugh, you two! Now I’m going to have a nightmare.” He looked to the kid, who was no longer smiling but looking guilty. “She will. I’ve heard her scream.” All humor fled, and Maksim looked down at Sydney’s bowed head as she tossed the stained, rattling mess into the garbage bag and placed it beside the door. The very idea of her afraid, alone and shaking in the dark, made him want to fumigate the entire island of Manhattan. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a phobia.” She held her arm out, and her son shrugged out of his parka and gave it to her to hang on an elaborate coat tree in the corner. She shrugged out of an armystyle jacket and red scarf, hanging them after. “It’s not a phobia. I just don’t like them.” He didn’t believe her, but he nodded anyway; then her outfit got his attention. The worn jeans, the wedge-heeled boots, a black tee. This had been in

the other bag Micha had given her yesterday. The guy had chosen well, had gotten her size perfectly—her style, too. A new respect was born. Maybe his weapon-mongering friend knew women better than Maks had originally thought. Through the distraction her clothes presented, and the inane topic of spiders, and the clearing of the mess, one thought kept running through his head. Holy fuck, a kid.

Sydney swallowed the bile in her throat and chanced another peek at Maksim, looking for the change she knew would be there now that he knew her secret. She couldn’t get a read on him, though. His face was a mask. But she knew it was in there somewhere. Had been trying to brace herself against being bothered by it for the past few hours. Once she informed people she was a single mother, even in this day and age, the way they looked at her changed. Their treatment of her would alter. Just slightly. She hated that, but she had been dealing with it for so long that it normally didn’t bother her very much. Unless the person with the attitude meant something to her. Surreptitiously glancing between the two males on either side of her, noting Andrew grabbing at his left earlobe in that way he did when he was feeling awkward, she reached back to one of her mother’s most tedious teachings and pasted a social smile-from-hell on her face. “Well, gentlemen, I don’t know about you, but I could use a refreshment. Preferably something that has a percent sign slapped somewhere on its label. Andrew, if you insist that you need a shot, just let me know. Russia? Your choice would be vodka, correct?” With that, she clasped her hands to her chest, met neither pairs of eyes she could feel on her, and walked into the loft, leaving them to follow. “You seriously going to let me drink?” Andrew asked, his voice right behind her. She scoffed as she turned the lights on and entered the kitchen area, motioning them both to sit at the breakfast bar. Andrew did. Maksim stood at the end of the counter, looking delicious and dangerous, his brow up as though waiting to hear her answer to Andrew’s question. “No, silly. That was a joke. A bad one, considering your age. Do you want a ginger ale?” “Sure. You okay, Mom?” “Yup. Are either of you hungry?”

“I am.” She gave her son a droll look and didn’t hold his eyes when she saw the way he was studying her. “Really? That’s so surprising. Russia?” Why was she reverting to that nickname with him? Because I’m nervous! I’m nervous, and I’m losing my shit! She jerked open the fridge and grabbed the white wine from the door, so annoyed by that fact. So annoyed by all of this. Truth be told, she’d had it. She hated being stressed out. This last year had been brutal, but this past week had been the worst yet. Her anxiety was making her do things she wouldn’t normally do. I orgasmed in a man’s hand and made him do the same in mine! Her cheeks burned as she slammed the bottle onto the counter and jerked a glass out from the rack anchored beneath the cupboard. After splashing in three fingers, she chugged it and could almost hear her mother’s embarrassed gasp. She mentally flipped her the bird. Fuck it. It was what it was. She’d fucked up after Emily’s death. Fucked up with Luiz Morales. Fucked up with Maksim. And that latest fuckup was distracting her from the more important, the more dangerous, one! And it had to stop before it was too late. Even now she was more worried about what this man thought of her and her stupid morals than any new information he might have regarding the drug lord that wanted her head on a pike. She poured two more fingers and tossed it back, belatedly hoping it was a decent hour so she wasn’t coming across as a fucking alcoholic. At least her mother had known to hide her booze in a goddamn teacup! “Mom?” The curious note in her son’s voice had her plastering that smile back on as she spun around and grabbed the counter behind her. “Sorry. Thirsty. Maksim? Are you hungry?” She swallowed the hysteria from her voice and finally looked at him, and she couldn’t read him to save her life. “No, princess. I’m not hungry.” She started to shake. See? You’ve given in to another one, and he doesn’t want you anymore, her mother’s raspy voice echoed in her head. So what? So. What, she tried to tell herself. They’d played with each other’s private parts. Big deal. During the drive over, she’d explained to her son that she’d angered a dangerous man and they probably wouldn’t be remaining in their home because he might come there to harm them. Her son had told her calmly and sedately that he could stay at Daniel’s until things were back to normal. That’s what was important here! She’d wanted to wail sitting beside her twelve-year-old, who was acting more together than his thirty-year-old mother. And if Maksim had a problem with her being a mother, he could go fuck

himself. “Do you want that drink?” she practically growled at him. “No, thank you.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Excuse me.” She retreated and had never been more embarrassed by her behavior in her life.

Maksim watched Sydney disappear around a tall brick wall and heard a door slam a second later. Stress was a bitch, wasn’t it? And it had just kicked his Aussie’s ass. “My friend Heyden is starting to get hormonal, and me and my buddy Daniel bug her about it. I don’t think I’m going to do that anymore.” Maks looked at Sydney’s kid, quirked his brow, and just barely caught himself from laughing out loud. That’s all Sydney would need. Her thinking they had enjoyed that semibreakdown. “It isn’t just hormones, kid,” he said, moving farther into the kitchen. He capped the wine and put it back in the fridge, at the same time getting the boy his soda. Popping the tab, he passed it over, just as he’d do for one of his boys at the club. “I know we just met, but we’re going to get personal real quick because the circumstances here are on the extreme side. That okay with you?” Those eyes, so much like Sydney’s, studied him for a suspended moment, proving the kid had a brain. Had he agreed instantly, Maksim would have known he was simply trying to please. “This about what my mom told me? About that guy she pissed off?” “How old are you, kid?” He took his phone out and sent a text to Micha, telling him to come back. They weren’t staying here. Something wasn’t right. Or maybe he was edgy now because he’d just become responsible for this boy still staring at him. “I’ll be thirteen in June,” Andrew said, sounding proud. Holy hell. “So your mom was only a child herself when she had you,” he mused. “What, seventeen?” “She was seventeen when she got pregnant but eighteen when I was born. So, yeah, but she did great.” “Yes, she did. And what exactly did she tell you about this sitch, Andy? You mind if I call you Andy?” “Sure. Makes me think of Toy Story, but whatever. It’s cool.”

What the fuck was Toy Story? “Okay. What do you know?” “She said she pissed a guy off because of my aunt Emily’s death. Didn’t say how but said her friend—that would be you—probably wouldn’t let us stay here because it isn’t safe. I told her it wouldn’t be a big deal for me to stay at my buddy’s till it was over. I think that upset her.” He played with the tab on the top of his soda can. “Who are you, Russia? Why are you helping my mom?” The kid was forthright but not disrespectful. He didn’t even seem aware that he’d taken up Sydney’s nickname instead of addressing him as Maksim, or God fucking forbid, Mr. Kirov, something Maks would have killed immediately. “I own a club a few blocks from here and knew the man your mother bought her club from. Since we’re all in the same neighborhood, we help each other out. Your mom, being the tiny little thing she is, needs a hand. So here we are.” Andy nodded and took a drink. “That bomb yesterday scared the shit out of her. I’ve seen two people get killed. One guy got stabbed at school; another got shot coming off the subway last September. I didn’t tell my mom about them because she’d have worried, but I know what happens on the streets. The kids at school talk about everything.” Unsure if he should treat the boy as he would anybody and talk straight, or coddle him because he was Sydney’s son, Maks shrugged mentally and went with his gut. “Do you know how your aunt died?” “OD.” Maks almost rolled his eyes at the direct answer and casual reference. But not at the sadness that pulled the boy’s brows down. “Your mom tangled with some dealers to keep the drugs that killed her friend out of her club. They found out and are pissed because she was destroying their product. They’re not happy. I’ll be sticking around until the storm blows over.” “Holy shit.” Andy smiled at him. “You just told me some serious stuff. My mom would never have done that.” “You gonna freak out on me?” “No, I’m cool.” “You don’t need me to tell you this stays on the DL,” Maks warned. “No. Of course not. I won’t say anything.” They were quiet for a minute, Maks looking around, Andy looking at him. “Your tats are sick, by the way.” He looked at the ink on his fingers, hands, and forearms. “I have a good guy. Talented artist.” “My mom has some ink.” He nodded casually, recognizing a trap when he heard one. “I’ve seen the one on her wrist. It’s . . . cute.”

“Yeah. Yours remind me of a movie my mom made me watch a couple of weeks ago.” “Do they? What movie was that?” “Eastern Promises. The guy from The Lord of the Rings is in it.” An unwanted satisfaction hummed through him. A couple of weeks ago Sydney had been researching him through Netflix, hmm? Could be coincidence, but he doubted it. “I know it well.” “I figured that just by looking at you. Is that the kind of busi—” The sound of a door opening cut the kid’s question off, saving Maks from having to bullshit him. Sydney came out, looking subdued, eyes red, skin pale. She went right over and kissed her son on the crown of his head. “Why don’t you go play your games so I can talk to Maksim.” “’Kay.” Maks nodded at Andy when he looked over, and then the boy grabbed his drink and went off into the living area. He picked up the gaming controller Maks had spied earlier, turned on the TV, and was instantly lost. “So,” Sydney said as she came over and leaned her hip on the counter, arms crossed, hands grasping her biceps. She might as well have been wearing armor. “What do you want to know first?” Before he pulled up one fuck of a list in his head, he asked, “If you’re okay?” She nodded. “Sorry. I . . . had a tantrum. My mother would have been humiliated.” Not concerned? Shouldn’t her mother have been concerned to see her daughter lose it? “Ready?” he posed, needing those silent questions answered. “Yes.” “Is Sydney Martin your real name?” Her eyes flared, clashing with his. “Jeez. I think you have pieces of my jugular in your teeth.” His lip quirked, and he winked. “Go big or go home, baby.” Her eyes slid down to his groin. “Indeed,” she murmured before shaking her head and blushing like a virgin. “I was born Erica Johnson.” The announcement ripped him from his enjoyment of her reference to his . . . He tore his phone out and pulled up a search engine. Typed in Erica fucking Johnson. And soaked in all of those words and words and words. The more he read—head cheerleader, lead in the high school production of Cinderella, among others, top volunteer in a long list of causes, blah, blah, blah, and then a last article in the Sydney Morning Herald—the deeper his frown became. Glad Andy was more than thirty feet away and surrounded by the sounds

of Call of Duty: Black Ops, Maks spoke freely. “You disappeared when you were seventeen. Presumed and declared legally dead when you were twenty.” No mention of any teen pregnancy. “Yes. They wanted me to abort Andrew, and I refused. I left before my father somehow convinced me it was the right thing to do. He had a way about him that was difficult to get around once he sank his teeth into something. And with my mother behind him one hundred percent . . . I don’t know what would have happened. I couldn’t take the chance. Not with something so important.” He felt his face harden at the road she’d been forced to take in order to shelter herself, and her son, from people who were supposed to love and protect her. Man, did he feel like shit for the disparaging thoughts he’d had about her all night. “Assholes,” he muttered, including himself in the insult aimed at her parents. “What happened? From the beginning?” “What beginning?” “How did your boy come about?” She looked back to the topic of their conversation and bit her lip. “I look at him and see his size—especially those feet.” He helped her along. Giving her some place to start. “He’s impressive for a twelve-year-old. He has your eyes, but his hair is a darker blond, and you would blow away in a strong wind,” he muttered, remembering how fragile she’d felt beneath him. “His father must have been a big guy?” Her grip on her arms tightened. “Colin was a Wallaby, captain of the rugby team. He was in his third year at USYD, uh, University of Sydney, and I was, obviously, in my first. My girlfriends and I—” “You went to college? At seventeen?” he interrupted. She shrugged. “I skipped grade four because of my at-home tutoring. And then tried to go to college. Never did finish.” She was frowning now. “Anyway, my girlfriends and I—” “What did you take?” he interrupted again. “I was allowed to enroll in the bachelor of arts program. I attempted to major in linguistics and computer science.” Her wording gave him a clear picture of what life had been like under the Johnson roof. “What languages do you speak?” “Aside from English, of course, I’m fluent in German, Spanish, and French. I was also tutored in those from the time I was eight.” He nodded and tried like hell not to like her any more than he already did. Fucking intelligence in a woman was sexy as shit. “Carry on.” He heard the breath she took as she untangled her arms and grabbed a cloth. She wet it under the tap quickly before going over and rubbing at a spot

she must have seen on the range. “My girlfriends and I went to an off-campus party—the rugby team’s frat house, I later found out. I’d gotten into another argument with my mother—who was still angry that I had insisted on staying in the dorms—and I was upset. Like an idiot, I drank more than was wise because of it and felt a desperate need to act out. Colin and his friends started chatting us up, and he eventually brought me upstairs. I went with classy and lost my virginity on a bathroom counter and, to add insult to injury, the condom broke.” She’d stopped scrubbing and was now staring down at the tattoo on her wrist. He couldn’t stop himself from picturing her writhing and coming apart against a bathroom mirror. Better to see that in his mind’s eye than plan the total dismemberment of the fucker who’d taken advantage of her. The irony of his thoughts weren’t lost on him. “Go on,” he ordered. “You’re so bossy,” she muttered. “You have no idea.” “Uh, I think I do. Anyway, Colin never talked to me again. When I found out I was pregnant—as much as I didn’t want to—I went and told him, and”— she looked over her shoulder again—“he offered to pay half for his share of the mistake.” “And you went home, told your parents, they gave you their solution, and you left. Traveled across the country, changed your identity, and chose to raise your son on your own,” he finished, impressed. She nodded. “Until I met Emily. We met in the hospital. She’d just had Eleanor, and when they released us, we went to the same home for unwed mothers.” She snorted, her brow working. “That sounds so sixties. Anyway, we came together, and then I wasn’t alone anymore. Until last year.” Hearing the pain in her voice, Maks didn’t think twice about closing the distance between them and taking her into his arms. And for the second time in his life, he offered a woman simple comfort and support. Not even Tegan, who was his best female friend, had ever received much more than awkward pats on the shoulder from him during her times of need. And the best part? Or worst, depending on how one looked at it? Sydney unabashedly accepted what he offered.

CHAPTER 16

Lore settled deeper into his coat as he took a stroll down the alley behind Pant. He nodded at two men leaning on what he knew was Maksim’s Hummer and walked around as if he was supposed to be there. “Can I help you, man?” one asked, coming over. He was tall and slim and had a weak left eye. Lore took out his badge and gave it a quick flash. “Just snooping. Don’t mind me.” The guy’s face closed up, and he nodded, walking away without another word. He took his phone out, signifying the clock had just started ticking. Getting down to it, Lore studied where Sydney Martin’s car had been, the markings left behind from the blast, what remained of the outline where the bodies had ended up. He then took his notebook out to compare what he was seeing with the report he’d gotten from the Manhattan precinct . . . The motion caused a whiff of berries to come up from his clothes. The minute he caught the scent, an image of his MD lying in that squeaky contraption she’d claimed was a bed—her neighbors had to have known she was getting some—filled his mind. The sex. Holy heaven, but the sex had possibly been the best of his life. And not just the physical stuff, but the connection Tegan had made sure was there—the eye contact, the smiles throughout, the tenderness she’d shown, the cuddles afterward, the ease in which they’d parted. As if what they’d done all morning and again upon waking was just a natural thing that held no shame. Man, he was so Catholic, because Lore felt as if he’d disrespected that girl in a huge way. She deserved better than some jaded cop using her for a pleasure that had rattled his brain before giving her a kiss and a see-ya-around. Not that he’d said those exact words. She hadn’t let him. After a too-enjoyable meal in a nearby deli, he’d walked her back to the

hospital for her shift. On the sidewalk out front, she’d come up on her toes, cupped his face in her chilled hands, and kissed him. Thanks for the comfort, Detective. Be careful out there. She’d walked away without waiting for a word, no expectation of an I’ll-call-you or a when-can-I-see-you-again. The entire encounter had been effortless. And so fucking good he was already itching for more. The sound of a door opening cut into his thoughts, and he watched, groaning inside, as one big fucking body came out of the Australian’s building, two smaller ones following. The two men who’d been loitering got into an Audi and left as the door to the Hummer opened and Maksim’s right hand hopped out. Lore kept the approaching trio in his periphery and nodded at Micha Zaretsky, suddenly glad he was wearing Kevlar. He’d put it back on after leaving Tegan’s, knowing he’d be on duty by the time this stop was behind him. “Well, look who’s moving up in the world, Micha?” Maks drawled as he opened the back door of the SUV and motioned a young boy into the gas guzzler. The tiny blonde handed a bag in and followed, giving Lore a curious look before Maks closed her in. Sydney Martin and her son. “Manhattan your new beat, Lore? Or are you just here hoping to hang one of your friends?” Out of all of them, even though he’d been the last to join their group, Maksim seemed the most bothered by Lore’s defection. Vincente and Gabriel, and especially Alek, were fairly normal when he saw them. Jak he hadn’t seen in years, and if he were to see him now it would likely be a little awkward considering what Lore had been doing last night—or, more precisely, who. He swallowed the sound that swiftly traveled up his throat, the same one he always made when he walked into his mother’s kitchen and smelled fresh manicotti in the oven. “Maks. How’re things?” He leaned against the bumper. “Things are as expected, Lore. You? How’re things with you?” The hostility layered in his voice was fucking annoying, but Lore ignored it. Fifteen years and the guy was still this bitter? Boy had issues. But then, they’d all known that. His annoyance drained when he remembered what little they’d been told about Maksim Kirov when Alek had first brought him around. He answered the inquiry as if Maks were truly curious about his life. “Things are good. Mom and Pop are still busy with the deli. My sister helps out probably more than she should, which takes her away from the kids at the rehab center who really need her—though I hear they’re shutting it down so she’ll be in need of a shoulder to cry on soon. Michael, who you’d have seen not long ago when he married Gabriel and Eva, is doing better than any of us, I’m sure. I

actually talked to him on my way here. He was confirming I was free next weekend to give him a hand delivering Thanksgiving hampers. The church did well for their parishioners this year,” he added, knowing Gabriel, V, and the rest of the boys had a hand in that. He nodded and glanced up from his scuffed toes —that looked extra-scuffed next to the Russian’s polished Italian leather—and saw a reluctant smirk pull up the corner of that goateed mouth. “So, yeah, like I said, things are good.” “Have you been watching . . . Oh, I mean, have you seen any of the boys lately?” Maks drawled next. No, but I’ve seen the girl. “Not since the incident with the redhead. Things work out for her and V?” He played the clueless role for Tegan’s sake. “Yes.” He wanted to grin at the short answer. “I’m glad.” “Are you?” “Cut the shit, Kirov,” he said, pushing himself away from the front of the Hummer. “I have no beef with any of you, and you know it.” “Until you’re slapping on the cuffs and ordering us to duck.” He shook his head and started down the alley, but he paused when Maks didn’t let up. “What were you sniffing around for, Lore? My woman’s place isn’t under your jurisdiction.” “I’m here on my own free time, Maks,” he said, stretching the truth as he turned back. “Dropped a contact and was looking for it. Must have gotten picked up on a tire when your boys split.” A darkness entered his former friend’s expression, and Lore felt the hair on his nape rise when the space between them was closed in two long, deliberate strides. “Why are you here?” “I was doing a friend a favor, if you really want to know.” “What favor?” He nodded toward the SUV. “Had planned on having a chat with Ms. Martin.” “About?” “You.” “What about me?” “Was curious if she knew who you were.” “Really, Lorenzo.” Maks’s dark brows pulled together, and Lore saw the telltale sign of an on-edge Maksim when the guy settled back and slid his hands into the front pockets of his suit pants. A motion started, and Lore knew that key Maks had carried around from the time they’d first met had been palmed. “You

think I’d hide who I am from a woman I’m involved with? You think I’m ashamed or embarrassed to be honest and up front instead of deceiving and an outright liar?” Lore’s patience fucked off like a flock of birds after the first shot. “Like me, you mean, Maks? Are you implying I’m a liar? That I’m dishonest and ashamed of who I am?” Maks shrugged just as the back door of the SUV opened and a small form dropped to her feet on the pavement. “Hey. I’m not responsible for how you interpret my questions, man.” He chuckled as the click of heels came over. “What’s going on out here?” The note of anxiety in the Australian’s voice hit a nerve with Lore. Had Tegan been there, he was curious to know who would have had her concern. Him or Maks.

Remembering at the last minute to play the role of worried girlfriend—bothered because it didn’t take as much effort as it should—Sydney went right over and stepped between the two men facing off. Aggression was thick in the air, and she understood now why Micha had tapped the window and nodded for her to come out of the SUV. Her fingers tingling, she faced Maksim and placed her hands on his solid chest. She patted to get his attention off the other man’s jutting chin. “Maksim? What’s going on?” She hoped she looked convincing. In the blink of an eye the situation became real. The minute that dark head and those silver eyes came down to meet hers, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She jumped slightly when she felt his hand settle on her hips, but other than that, he didn’t do or say anything. “What’s going on?” she repeated quietly. “Is everything okay?” “Lore came to see you.” She blinked at the cool note in his voice and had to swallow because her mouth had gone dry. “What?” She went to turn to face the other man but was hampered when Maksim held her in place. “My buddy from the old neighborhood said he dropped in because he wanted to talk to you about me. He was concerned you didn’t know who I was. Thought maybe I was trying to fool you into thinking I was an accountant or an engineer or something equally boring. Do I have that right, Lore?”

“Yeah. Close enough,” came the dry response. “Tell him you know who I am, lover.” Maksim looked up at the man behind her. “And if it’s true, feel free to tell him you like me anyway.” Sydney didn’t know who the guy was behind her and had no idea what she’d walked in on, but she had every intention of playing her role to the best of her ability. Until she remembered what Maksim had told her about his childhood. And the defensive, near-cruel way he’d acted afterward. She knew something about him no one else did. As he now knew about her. She found herself going with what came naturally, rather than having to act. Keeping that warm, comforting hug he’d given her upstairs in mind, she cupped her Russian’s jaw, and, standing on her toes, she kissed him lightly on the corner of his mouth while praying Andrew still had his nose in his phone. “Despite knowing many things about you now, I like you.” She smiled. “But I do still have that one complaint.” She kissed him once more, just because she could, before grabbing his hands and turning, bringing them around her as she leaned into him. Why did he feel so tense? “He forgets I need to eat, and I’m starving all the time,” she said to the man watching them with a strange light in his eyes. “That I don’t like so much.” “We finished here, Lore? Seems I have a mouth to feed.” With a hard look at Maksim, the man nodded at her and left, walking down the alley without another word. Once he disappeared, she slipped out of Maksim’s hold and turned to face him. “Who was that?” “NYPD.” Her eyes widened, and the edges of her vision shook. Thank God she hadn’t known that a couple of seconds ago. “What? Why was he here? He’s your friend?” “Was my friend,” he said, taking her elbow to bring her back to the Hummer. “What happened?” “He left. What else?” She heard the passenger door open as Micha got into the SUV, and Maksim pulled her door open at the same time, not giving her a chance to ask what he’d meant by that.

A couple of hours later, Sydney found herself ensconced in the luxury apartment

once more, only this time with her son. And she was still thinking about what Maksim had said. And more, the tone he’d used when he’d said it. He left. What else? As if everyone would eventually leave? Was that what he’d meant? He’d been called away shortly after they’d arrived, and she’d been on pins and needles ever since. Where had he gone? Had they heard something about Luiz? Was that why he was acting so aloof with her? Because he was distracted? Or maybe his absence didn’t have anything to do with her situation. So much for those updates he’d said he’d give her. The apartment door opening had Sydney lurching up from the chair. Andrew glanced away from his game to frown at her, and she flashed him an Ididn’t-do-anything smile before ultracasually walking to the hallway where she could see down to the entrance. She froze midstep, her blood congealing in her veins when she recognized Vasily Tarasov. Knowing he was the head of a powerful crime organization lent him a truckload of intimidation. But that wasn’t what had her stomach suddenly churning. It was how he was simply standing there, just inside the entrance, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed. He was rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked dog-tired. Dejected. Almost as if he’d just lost something, or someone, important to him. The quick, horrifying flash came to her like something from an old movie. She saw Maksim being gunned down on the sidewalk outside his swank club. Blood slowly spreading around him. His life snuffed out. Those beautiful silver eyes suddenly bereft of that irreverent spirit she found so entertaining. And Sydney felt pain. Acute and real, right in the area of her heart. She pressed a hand to her chest. The ache was a familiar one. It had lived within her since the day Emily had died. It was the loss of someone she cared about. Something she’d been trying so hard to avoid feeling ever again. She moved forward, her steps silent because she’d taken off her boots. Her stomach was full of butterflies weighed down with an oily substance she recognized as dread. “Mr. Tarasov?” The change that came over the man when he heard her was swift and remarkable. He straightened to his full height, dropped his hands, and pinned her with a navy gaze so piercing she stopped dead in her tracks. Power. That was all she thought then. She was looking at a man who held power and knew how to wield it. “Ms. Martin.” She forced her chin to stay up. “I’m sorry to intrude.” His shoulders lost some of their steel as he came forward. “You’re not. I’m not sure if you remember me but I—”

Organized crime leader or not, she interrupted him by raising a hand as though she were in school. “I do remember you. Is Maksim okay?” He paused and simply looked at her long enough that her eyes actually began to sting. She brought her hand up to cover her mouth. “Maksim is just fine, Ms. Martin.” Her breath rushed out through her fingers, as did a muffled, “Oh, thank God.” She balked and scrambled to cover for the slip. “I mean, I know you two are close, and it would be upsetting for you if something were to happen to him, so I just meant I’m glad for you. You can call me Sydney, by the way.” I’m such an idiot. She forced her expression into a bland mask her mother would have been proud of and buried the embarrassment she felt at her transparency. As Maksim’s boss passed by her, he briefly touched her shoulder. “Thank you, Sydney. It’s nice to know someone else would miss Maks almost as much as I would if something were to happen to him.” She stared straight ahead at the closed door, shoving her emotions back into the box they kept escaping from. Would she miss Maksim? If she missed him, that would mean she felt something for him. She didn’t want to feel something for him. Hearing Vasily introduce himself to Andrew, she came to attention and joined them. She must be getting her period soon. That was all this was. She was stressed and hormonal. After a few minutes of social chatter that flowed rather smoothly, Andrew went back to his game, and Sydney automatically slid into hostess mode. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Tarasov? A drink? Or I can make coffee if you’d prefer something warm?” “I could use a coffee. Thank you, Sydney.” Glad for something to do, and feeling an odd sense of pride—as if she’d pleased a parent—at the approval she heard in his tone, she fled to the kitchen while he saw their afternoon guards out. “How is he holding up?” She cursed her ragged nerves when she fumbled the coffee pod she was holding a few minutes later and looked over her shoulder to see Vasily sliding onto one of the stools at the counter. His lips twitched. So nice to know she was entertaining these mobsters without much effort. “Andrew?” He nodded. “He’s doing well.” Her gaze went beyond the kitchen and dining area to where her son was hopping up and down on the couch, speaking animatedly into his headset. Thank goodness his online partners were homeschooled. Xbox was

one heck of a teacher, she thought wryly. “He’s always been one of those kids who just rolls with the punches. He doesn’t waste his time and effort going against the current.” Vasily chuckled. “Sounds like Maksim.” She ducked her head to her task again, hiding the heat she could feel stealing into her cheeks. “Yes, it does,” she murmured. “Would you like a dark roast or mild?” “Dark.” She dropped the proper pod into the machine and placed a cup under the spout before hitting the flashing blue button. Soon the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifted under her nose, making her mouth water. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Tarasov?” She needed to know. “Please, it’s Vasily.” She nodded as she brought his coffee to him. “Milk, cream, sugar?” she inquired. “Black. Thank you.” She went back to fix her own mild blend. “I asked Maksim when I first came to him with my . . . problem, what my payment to your organization would be.” She pressed the flashing button again and turned to face the head honcho. “He said he would have to talk to you about that. Has he?” After first taking a sip from his steaming cup, Vasily put it down on the gleaming counter and looked across at her. “We have yet to discuss it.” “Oh. Okay. Well, when you decide . . .” She took her own cup and carried it over, also not bothering to mask her favorite beverage with sugar or dairy. She leaned her hip on the towel she’d placed in front of the sink to allow it to dry. “Actually, can you give me an idea what is normally expected as payment for help of this nature?” Setting his cup aside, he leaned his elbows on the counter and looked at his hands as he steepled his fingers in front of him. “I was quite surprised when Maksim told me about your son a few minutes ago. How old were you when you became pregnant, Sydney?” Edginess set in at the change in subject, and the personal question. “I was seventeen.” His lips curved, and he suddenly looked as if he were far away, submerged in memories. Good ones if the softening of his stern features were any indication. “My daughter was born shortly after I turned nineteen. Her mother was eighteen. Kathryn was terrified bringing Evangeline home from the hospital, but I was . . . exuberated. It was such a fascinating thing to me that I’d created a child with her. Such a perfect little human.”

There was wonder in his voice, and her stomach rolled over on his behalf when his expression dimmed, and then went dark. “I left them, too. Just as your boy’s father did. Our world is not for the faint of heart. And for my own reasons, I spent one final night in the presence of my amazing little family, waited until my lover was asleep . . .” His brow worked, belaying the deep emotion he was feeling. Sydney felt like a voyeur and couldn’t help but wonder why he was sharing with her something so obviously painful. “I went to the crib and picked up my daughter, took a while to say good-bye . . .” He paused again. “And then I walked out of their lives.” The hair on her arms rose from the chill that passed through her when he lifted his gaze and latched on to hers. “Where is your son’s father?” he asked, his tone still quiet enough not to reach Andrew’s ears. “I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “I’ve never kept track of him. The last time I saw him was when I told him I was pregnant. I left him standing on the porch of his frat house holding the fistful of money he’d offered to help pay for the abortion I had no intention of having.” He closed his eyes with a grimace. “We’re so stupid when we’re young,” he murmured. “Have you thought about contacting him now? Do you think he might want to know his son?” With one of her greatest fears hovering on the horizon, Sydney put her cup down and leaned forward. She didn’t care who this man was or how much power he held. If he was going to attempt to pressure her into possibly losing 50 percent of her son’s life by having to shuffle him back and forth across the ocean because his father had finally grown up enough to want to accept responsibility for his actions, he needn’t waste his breath. Holding those navy eyes, she was succinct and blunt. “That boy in there is mine. Period. He belongs to me until he marries and I have no choice but to surrender him to the woman he will eventually love. His father failed, the same way my parents did, by thinking of him as an inconvenience and an embarrassment when they should have realized the gift he actually was. In effect, the three of them forfeited the pleasure of knowing him. If you, or anybody else, thinks to force me into a possible custody battle, I will sink to levels of dirty play you’ve not yet seen.” She didn’t care that her voice broke at the end as she drew back and tried to gather herself. “Forgive me if that comes across as aggressive, Vasily. I don’t mean to threaten you. But he is all I have, all I’ve ever had that I can take pride in, and I will not share him with those undeserving. I don’t care how selfish that makes me.” She dropped her eyes and waited for the shoe to fall. Was she about to get

an earful for her gall? Or would he simply walk away while putting someone on the task of finding Andrew’s sperm donor? Vasily laughed. “There is nothing more beautiful to me than loyalty—and I’m sure you understand why. But the passion a parent feels for their child is especially touching. Probably because I can identify. If someone threatened my daughter, they would suffer. Though, Gabriel normally cuts them down before I even hear of it.” He chuckled again, and Sydney had to wonder if he meant what she thought he meant. Gabriel Moretti killed those who merely threatened his wife? Wow. Talk about a supportive hubby. “Your son is very fortunate to have you, Sydney,” Vasily continued. “Your warning has been noted, and you’ll hear no more from me in regards to sharing your boy.” “Thank you.” “Though, I would like you to keep in mind that the choices we make when we’re young and scared are oftentimes ones we regret for a lifetime.” She nodded and hardened her heart to the sentiment. No matter how true it might be, she would still not share her son. “And oftentimes one should,” she returned. “God knows, even though I’m not young and foolish anymore, I will certainly regret the choices I’ve made over the past year.” But at least something good had come from the bad decision she’d made in dealing with Luiz Morales. She never would have gotten to know Maksim as she now did— Really? she questioned herself before she could finish the thought. It’s a good thing that you’re softening toward him now? Softening? Butter, meet Sydney. The apartment door being used again had her attention going to the entrance. She’d just braced herself for impact when Maksim and Micha prowled in. They both came to a sudden halt when they saw Vasily. Micha came forward to shake the leader’s hand, leaving Maksim behind to settle his suspicious silver eyes on her. His gaze moved between her and his boss, making Sydney’s hackles rise. Why was he looking at them like that? He finally gave up on whatever he was thinking and turned his attention to Andrew. “Heads up, kid,” he called, tossing something across the room as though throwing a Frisbee. Andrew caught the flat green square, and Sydney looked on with interest when her son’s eyes widened. The smile that claimed his face as he lifted his head and looked at the Russian was blinding. “Shut. Up,” he said in that way he did when he didn’t know what else to say. “Set it up, and I’ll play a few rounds with you in a minute.” In a blur of motion, Andrew tore into the cellophane around what was

clearly a game, while Maksim joined them in the kitchen. He put a hand on Vasily’s shoulder as he passed him by, the gesture surprisingly affectionate. “What did you get him?” she asked. He stopped at the end of the counter. “Something his mother doesn’t have the connections to pull off.” He was joking, but his tone was cool. Her brows went up when he told her which game he’d found—he and Andrew had talked gaming on the drive over. Maksim’s enthusiasm had made it sound for a few minutes as though he, too, were twelve. It was the latest version of one of the most popular games on the market, and she’d been keeping her eye out for weeks now. She’d hoped to find a copy to give Andrew for Christmas. “Where did you find it?” He didn’t even look at her. “If I was to tell you . . . You know the rest. Here.” He slid a small box down to her. She stopped it with her palm and looked at the little English cottage on the box. Her tea. Mr. I-See-Everything must have noticed her favorite brand when they’d been in her loft. She widened her eyes in the same way Andrew had and joked with him instead of getting all girlie and embarrassed in front of his boss and friend. “Shut. Up. Wherever did you find this?” That had him glancing at her in that arrogant way of his, and she was sure she saw his goatee twitch at the corner. “Same place I’m going to return it if you don’t show proper appreciation.” She smiled. “Fine. I just didn’t expect sweet from you, Russia. Thank you for my tea.” She brought the box over to put it with the other hot drinks, and pretended to miss the look the three men exchanged.

CHAPTER 17

After a nice meal and a quiet evening, Maks was more than relieved when Sydney announced an early turn-in for Andrew. Hopefully she’d fall asleep for the night, too, he thought, not watching as she and her son left the room. He gave them a few minutes to get settled and then called up the voice mail he’d received earlier while staring down at the row of dead birds that had been left in front of Pant. One of his boys had called after having found them during his rounds, and Maks had left Sydney and gone to check it out. Six black crows. He was pretty sure the superstition was meant to be six crows flying together, but the message was the same: a coming death. As juvenile as the gesture was, he’d been almost relieved to finally have something happen. The silence and nonreaction of Morales’s camp had been getting on his fucking nerves. Why had Luiz allowed a full twenty-four hours to pass before showing his hand again? Making plans, Maks had supposed. But after listening to the voice mail, he’d realized how wrong he’d been. Vasily and Micha both leaned in as Luiz’s voice came out clear and distinct. “Maksim. It is with a heavy heart and my pride offered that I make this call. I would have preferred to speak in person but am well aware that would be unwise at this time.” He paused. “It seems I have given my younger brother one chance too many, and he has abused my generosity. He was put into my care when our mother passed, and I’ve done all I could to carry him along, but I see now that I’ve wasted my efforts. It was he who had my men put the explosive device in Ms. Martin’s car, and I am reluctant to know what he will do next. He has disappeared, and from experience I can tell you it will not be easy to find him. But I am doing everything in my power to do just that, and I recommend you do the same before he gets to your lady. Because from the impression I

received when I last spoke with him, he’s coming for her. There is a personal connection between them that he didn’t share with me—maybe Ms. Martin can fill you in on it.” Another pause and Vasily’s eyes met Maksim’s across the table as the Mexican continued. “As I told your Pakhan, what Sydney did was simply bad business to me. I would have enjoyed her attempt to appease me but would never have gone so far as to threaten her life. Not unless she’d threatened mine or my loved ones, which she did not. I haven’t gotten to where I am today by being reckless. The warning you sent has been well received, but I’m hoping you now realize that to strike at my family, possibly my child, would be uncalled for, as I was not the one to initiate this war. For my son’s sake, I humbly request that you stand down and focus your vengeance where it belongs: on those who deserve it. If I can be of any aid, please don’t hesitate. Thank you, Maksim. Good night.” “I believe him.” He, Vasily, and Micha swung around to see Sydney sitting on the arm of the sofa, leg bobbing, fingers playing nervously with her hair. She had the hoodie Andrew had been wearing and a pair of black leggings on. On her feet were pale-skinned moccasins, and her hair was up in a knot that was already unraveling. She was sleep-mussed and fucking spectacular. “Eberto came in on the final deal I did,” she said. “He’d never shown before. It was as if he knew that would be the last time he’d have the chance. He mentioned Andrew that night. Said that he had a daughter around the same age and we should get them together.” Revulsion colored her tone. “He just kept staring at me in a way I didn’t understand. I don’t know the personal connection Luiz mentioned, but I believe there might be something there.” “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Maks asked. “I don’t know. I guess with everything else going on, I just forgot that particular fifteen minutes of time.” Vasily took up pacing, and Maks put a finger to his lips, telling Sydney not to interrupt. A solution was normally minutes into his Pakhan’s first steps. Unless one of them came up with one faster. Which wasn’t often. “Did her surveillance pick up what he was driving?” Vasily asked. “A four-door Lincoln. Last year’s model,” Maks answered. He’d gone into Pant after seeing the birds and checked out the footage from Sydney’s impressive system. “He has to know he’s not going to get anywhere near her. My guess is he’s going to try distracting us, hence the birds. But as he goes along, he’s going to get impatient and sloppy, and that’s where we’ll get him.” “What birds?” Sydney asked. “You went back to the club?” “Let’s try not to let him get that far.” Vasily took his coat from the back of

a chair and shrugged the cashmere over his navy pin-striped suit jacket. “Because along with impatient and sloppy, he’ll also get angry. From what I’ve gathered, that normally translates into violence with him. I suggest you bring her and the boy to my house. Or yours. Sorry, Sydney. You’re going to have to stay away from the club until Eberto is dealt with. If you’re not comfortable leaving your staff in charge, close up for ‘renos’ because you making a few dollars is just not worth the risk. Be comforted to know I’ll dispatch a few more people to fill up the holes so Eberto can’t get so close to your business again.” “Thank you, Vasily.” The look on Sydney’s face was one of confusion, as if she was wondering why Vasily was doing this for her. His Pakhan went for the door, nodding for Micha to follow him. Maks straightened from where he’d been sitting on the back of the sofa and walked them out. “You’re taking Micha?” “Do you need him here?” Vasily questioned with a raised brow, pausing before going down the hallway. “No need to move them until morning. The boy needs his rest, and so do you,” he said, leaning around to look at Sydney. “We’re good,” Maks assured. “I’ll expect you here in the morning. We’ll move them and then go hunting.” Micha nodded, and Maks watched them leave. Yesterday he’d have been sweating bullets at the thought of being alone with Sydney. Today he was chill. His decision to keep his hands off her had been made, and he had no trouble living with it. After returning to the main room, he went back to the table to get his phone. He made sure Luiz’s message was saved before slipping the instrument into his pocket. “You’ll like the house better than this place,” he said to fill the silence. “Andy will, too.” “He doesn’t like to be called Andy,” Sydney said absently. He glanced over to see her nibbling on her thumbnail, one arm across her middle. “I cleared it with him. He said he’s cool with it.” “You must be something special then. Last time I tried to shorten his name, he didn’t speak to me for an hour. He was five, but still.” She looked over and smiled a little. He turned his back on the beauty of her—and he wasn’t talking surface beauty for once—and planted his feet in front of the balcony doors. What had he just thought about having no trouble living with his decision to keep his hands off her? How could anyone be so tempting? Even now. Shit. He needed to get laid. He was pretty sure that had to be his problem. He’d never gone so long without before. Normally a few days would pass, and he’d get the itch. He focused on the millions of glittering lights of Manhattan. So many people struggling through life—or living, as they’d call it. And his and Sydney’s

temporary skirmish was but one miniscule crease in the fabric of the universe. It should make what was happening here seem insignificant. It didn’t. “I thought you’d be done for the night,” he said. “Me, too. I dozed off immediately, but then I had a bad dream,” Sydney replied. Something in his chest popped at the childlike response. “Really? Isn’t that what sleeping is all about?” he muttered as he went over to the bar in the corner. “Want a drink?” “No, thanks. You have bad dreams often?” “Often enough.” He dropped some ice into a glass and poured vodka over it. How could he have touched her despite Vasily’s warning? He was going to have to live with that. After he came clean with his Pakhan. Fuck. How the holy hell had Gabriel had the balls to go behind Vasily’s back and claim his daughter? Maks was having a fucking reaction here, and Sydney was simply a job. Uh-huh. A job. Right, that small voice in his head murmured as the sound of fabric shifting came from behind him. Forcing himself not to turn and stare, he wanted to yell at her to get gone. Can’t you see I’m self-loathing over here? he wanted to shout. “Maksim?” His teeth clacked together, scraping, as her voice and that accent circled his hips to wrap like a fist around his cock. How the fuck did she do that? Hating to admit it, but now realizing that she was, indeed, his biggest weakness, he said tiredly, “What is it, Sydney?” “Do you dream about . . . that place?” she asked hesitantly. He did look over his shoulder then. She was curled into the corner of the sofa, her gaze skipping around, brow furrowed. She hadn’t once complained about any soreness, but she obviously felt it. Was the bruise on her face giving her trouble? And did she have more marks on her body that he couldn’t see? The small bone of her clavicle drew his eye, giving her a dainty, fragile look that made him feel like hell for her cracks about not feeding her enough. “Yeah,” he admitted, turning away again. It was clear she needed a distraction, so, for some reason, he gave her one. “If that doesn’t come to me, shooting my best friend’s woman does. If those decide they’ve had enough fun for a while, the education my father supplied me with usually makes an appearance.” He grabbed his glass and went back to the balcony doors to look out again. “Do you mean Vincente’s redhead? What’s her name?” He nodded, appreciating the gentle note in her voice. Had she sounded careless or as though she were trying to make light of what he’d done, he’d have

walked out. “Nika. Did you meet her the night she went to your club?” He couldn’t remember. “No. I just saw her on the footage you guys requested to see the following night. Remember?” He nodded. How could he forget? “She’s a beautiful girl.” “I saw that.” “I mean inside. Like you.” Why not be honest? It wouldn’t make a difference in the long run, and she might need to hear it. “What you did for your boy deserves kudos, Sydney. Once he’s old enough to truly understand, he’ll be proud and honored to have you as his mother.” He didn’t look back when she made a small sound. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she eventually got out. “Thank you, Maksim.” He could tell by where her voice came from that she’d gotten up and was moving toward him, so he fled, heading for a refill even though he’d barely taken a sip from his glass. She didn’t follow. “Will you tell me what you meant by ‘the education’ your father supplied? Was he a teacher?” Maks barked out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. He taught me well. I’m a cold, emotionless prick, aren’t I?” “No. I don’t see you like that at all.” “Then you need to take the blinders off, princess.” He swallowed half the contents of his glass and stared at a gorgeous sculpture of Saint Basil’s Cathedral someone had brought in and placed in the middle of the bookshelves next to the TV. He found himself once again talking to his Aussie about things in his past he’d always thought he’d take to the grave. She had that effect on him, and he couldn’t imagine why. “When I was twelve, my father moved his new wife into our house and me out. My mother had been gone for four years by then—cancer—and I’d pretty much come to terms with the fact that life as I’d known it was over. But it wasn’t really over until he dropped me off at a private academy that did preliminary training with young boys who were considering a life in the military. I hadn’t been, but apparently that was an oversight on my part.” He shook his hand to make the ice in his glass rattle. “Anyway, we were meant to be the type of soldiers that didn’t make it into the papers to receive medals and kudos for bravery and honor on the battlefield. Micha is one of them—that’s where we met. He’s now a highly decorated veteran no one has ever heard about.” He couldn’t even hear Sydney breathing anymore. “They trained us to kill quickly

and surely. They also trained us in the most productive methods of torture— inflict maximum pain without causing death. When there was a lull in the transport of prisoners from Samara pen, a prison quite a trek away, we were forced to do our exercises on each other.” He finally moved. Putting his glass down, he went to where she was standing in front of the chaise longue and pulled his shirt from his pants to point at the sails of the schooner he had tattooed between his hip and ribs on his right side. “If you look in between the sails, you’ll see scars from puncture wounds where the boys inserted an ice pick. We were learning how not to hit organs.” She bent and looked closely, touching him softly as though he might still hurt. “There are dozens of them,” she whispered, abhorrence a living thing in her tone. Pulling his shirt higher, he lifted his arm over his head and, bending it at the elbow, ran his thumb over his hairless, scarred armpit, jerking when she did the same. “Razor blades,” he explained, “and then candle flames to cauterize so it could be done again and again. Hair couldn’t grow back after a while.” “That’s . . . barbaric. How can a place like that exist?” He shrugged. “You’d be surprised what exists right in your own backyard.” He righted his clothes but didn’t bother retucking his shirt. “Quite a few kids died. Most by bleeding out. Some killed themselves because they’d been forced to be there and simply couldn’t handle it—the instructors were . . . not especially nice. The rest of us got through it.” She looked up at him, blinking quickly when he glared down at her. “What?” “Don’t cry,” he warned. “I’m serious, Sydney. I’m not good with crying. You put me through that, and I’ll never share with you again. Come to think of it, why the fuck I’m telling you this shit to begin with is a mystery. I guess so you know not all parents are like you with their kids. But then, you’d already know that.” “Yes, but my story is a rained-out trip to Disneyland compared to yours. How long were you in that awful place?” she asked, moving the conversation along as a good girl should. He appreciated that. “Two years.” It sounded as if she hiccupped as she walked over to finish what he’d left in his glass. “I’m sorry, but your father was an asshole,” she rasped through the straight vodka burn, shuddering to make it clear she wasn’t used to it. He had to chuckle. “Graduation day came along, and I’d just headed out on my hike home when—”

“Your hike?” He paused, and felt the air around him crackle with sudden tension. “Yeah. I didn’t have a ride waiting for me at the gates like the others. Mine came a mile down the road. Truck pulled up, guys shot me with a tranquilizer dart, threw me into the back, and brought me to that cell I told you about before, where I spent the next three months.” She just stared at him. “I’m . . . at a loss. I don’t know what to say. What you’ve been through . . .” She shook her head. “This may come out sounding patronizing, but I’m so proud of you for overcoming such horrific experiences, Maksim. I’m also a little bit alarmed that you’ve told me about them,” she rushed on with an uneasy chuckle. “But at the same time I feel oddly privileged that you trust me not to share with anyone else. Or maybe you know I have no one to share with. No wonder you like control, huh? Wow. Um, I’ve been wondering how you got out of that place? That cell. And I never thought I’d ever say this, but I hope you killed somebody. A lot.” How was he not supposed to like this bloodthirsty little thing? “Vasily and his men had that privilege. Vasily also had my father put down for his part in it, which bothered me for some time because I never got to ask him why he’d done what he had to me.” She lifted the decanter and poured a couple of fingers of vodka. After carefully replacing the stopper, she brought it over, pressing the glass into his hand. “Maybe that’s for the best. Could be his answer would have been worse than not knowing. What if he’d had no answer?” He took a drink and turned away to contemplate that for a moment, never having taken that angle with it before. Boris always was an asshole. He remembered one of the guys who’d picked him up outside the Academy saying that. The guy had also said more throughout Maksim’s captivity that led him to believe he’d known Maksim’s father pretty well. So maybe Boris had just been an unhappy fucking asshole that never should have had kids. The lights outside glittered . . . No, Maks thought, narrowing his eyes. It was snowing. His breath jammed at the feel of Sydney’s arms coming around him. He swallowed a groan when the softness of her breasts met his back, and then her cheek cuddled in between his shoulder blades. And she held him. He watched the snow fall and allowed her to offer him comfort because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by pushing her away. But he would. Soon.

Bringing Sydney and Andy to the house the following day never did happen. Other shit did. In fact, so much of it came at the organization within that twelvehour period that Vasily had to call Gabriel in with a crew to pick up the slack. Though, to be fair, the Koreans causing all the trouble had been attempting to infiltrate many of the operations the Moretti family were burying, so they actually had somewhat of a stake in the goings-on. Maks stood in the Brighton Beach warehouse, blood dripping off Angelina’s curve. The two men in front of him had caused some grief today. They were responsible for landing one of Gabriel’s boys—a longtime enforcer— in the infirmary at Vasily’s house. Vito was being operated on by the Tarasovs’ MD, and it didn’t look good. Another enforcer had ended up in the morgue, and Gabriel was en route to inform the man’s wife and two daughters. All over some prostitution houses that were all but defunct anyway. Fuckers. “I no tell you where device is,” the guy in Maks’s grip ground out in broken English, his eyes wild. They’d admitted to having planted an explosive device in one of the run-down houses currently being shut down, but the guy had refused to give up which one or where in the house it was. “But I find your woman. I fuck her pussy till she bleed out.” He spit up into Maksim’s face, but because he was on his back, it fell onto his own as if it were raining. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anything more— there were some men who just wouldn’t break—Maks buried his blade until the concrete floor prevented him from pushing any farther. Third threat against Sydney today. Or, he corrected, against her replacement. Because she would be replaced. Soon, he vowed as he’d done the last two times this thought cycle had passed through his head. A shrill scream blocked up his ears, and he saw what looked to be a pinkie land near his shoe. He glanced over to see Micha put his ear to their other captive’s mouth, listen for a moment, and then straighten. “If I had a daughter, she’d be on her way to one deserted fucking island right now after hearing some of the shit these guys threaten. It’s always about the women.” He then rattled off the address to one of the houses in question, which happened to be in the Bronx. Vincente, who’d been silently observing from the shadows, disappeared out the door with a swish of his coat. “Wait!” Maks yelled. “Go with him,” he said to Micha. “I’ll take care of this. And goddammit—be careful disarming the fucking thing if you find one.” Casting him a droll look for the unnecessary warning, Micha followed after

V. Getting to his feet, Maks considered killing the guy now missing his teadrinking finger, but he thought better of it when he remembered the knife handle he’d seen protruding from Vito’s eye socket. Lucky the Korean hadn’t favored a longer blade; otherwise there would have been no point in attempting to save Gabriel’s enforcer at all. And speaking of tea, had Sydney drunk any of hers? He’d seen the fancy little box on the counter in her loft and another empty one on top of the blue box that had sat next to the garbage. Obviously a favorite. Was she having a cup right now? A nudge to his shoulder had him swinging around, his blade whizzing through the air before he knew what he was doing. Thank Christ Vasily’s reflexes were as well-honed as Maks’s. He hopped back as if he were a fucking cat and saved himself from receiving one hell of a boo-boo across the chest. “Maksim! For Christ’s sake, get your fucking head out of your ass!” Vasily’s fist connected, slamming hard into the right side of Maks’s chest. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Vasily. I’m—” “Distracted. I get it.” He nudged the blood-splattered toe of his shoe into the Korean’s leg, at the same time, wiping at the trickle of blood coming from his own rather crooked-looking nose. It looked as though someone had gotten close enough to deal a blow hard enough to break it. “I saw Vincente and Micha leave. They got their location?” “Yeah,” Maks answered distractedly. “Where was Dmitri when you got tagged?” he added with a mix of curiosity and anger. Vasily’s personal byki rarely allowed anyone close enough to their Pakhan to allow for an injury. “He was dealing with the other two in the quad we came up against.” Four at once and all he had was a broken nose? Nicely done, Maks thought, still shaken that he’d nearly added to Vasily’s injuries with what could have been a lethal slice. After moving over to the row of sinks that had at one time been used to wash chicken parts before packaging, he cleaned his blade; washed his face, hands, and chest; and couldn’t wait to get to either the club or the apartment to have a hot shower. An image of Sydney, naked, flawless skin gleaming as rivulets of water ran over her breasts and down her flat stomach and navel to drip between the bare lips— “. . . have to bruise your balls for you to pay attention, Maksim? Are you fucking with me here? Or are you seriously that far gone?” He met his Pakhan’s incensed stare and didn’t know what to say. Another apology? How many could he offer? “You need to take care of this, son.” Vasily winced as he tried again to

straighten his nose. “I don’t care what you do at this point. Just as long as it gets your head back in the game, I’m okay with it. Now go. Get out of here before I pistol-whip you for jeopardizing our safety by coming out in the frame of mind you’re in.” “Are you going to be—” “Go! I’ve had a broken nose before. I assure you—I’m capable of dealing with it.” It wasn’t often shit got to the man, but Maks could see Vasily had had it. He shrugged back into his shirt and left without exchanging a word with the four men lining the hallway outside the interrogation room, one of them a grimlooking Dmitri. He was still cursing when he slammed into Rapture thirty minutes later. His muscles were screaming with tension, his groin aching, his head pounding. He wanted a shower, a fuck, and some sleep. In that order. And he planned on having it all. Enough of this bullshit. Abstinence. What the fuck for? So he could be so far in his head about a woman that he’d almost knifed the man who meant the most to him? Fuck it. After showering in record time, he threw on some sweats—knowing he wasn’t going to be wearing them for long—and stepped into the club. Standing in the shadows, he looked to where his dancers usually lingered around a booth in the corner and met the eyes of four of them before deciding on one. He crooked his finger and felt jack shit in the way of anticipation when her expression brightened and she skipped over. He slipped his arm around her anyway, cupped her ass because it was expected, and disappeared into the back hallway and then his office, closing and locking the door behind them.

Sydney stood at the end of the bar and felt a chill enter her body. It wasn’t an Ineed-a-sweater type of thing. More an I-think-you-should-call-me-anambulance. Her heart felt as if it had stopped. That would explain the sensation. No more blood running through her veins. She forced herself to turn and face Thing One and saw he was tapping on his phone. Her hand came up to stop him, the appendage feeling numb. “Are yyou texting Maksim?” He nodded once. “To tell him we are here.”

She shook her head and feared she might vomit. “No. I’m suddenly feeling so ill. Please. Can we just go back to the apartment? I shouldn’t have bothered him.” She had only because she’d been getting snatches of some damn alarming conversations all day and had thought to come by to make sure everything was okay. She’d been alone since before dinner because they’d agreed that morning that Andrew, even though he’d missed school, could attend the sleepover he’d been pestering her about. She was sure it had only received a pass because the family that was hosting wouldn’t be known to anyone who might be watching them. After studying her for a moment, Thing One motioned her to the door without a word and shuffled her back into the SUV. Thing Two didn’t bat an eyelash. He just waited for them to put their seat belts on and drove away from the curb. Sydney sat there, alone in the dark backseat of the Explorer, and wondered at the power behind this thing ravaging her. She wanted to cry, vomit, scream. She wanted to unsee what she’d just seen. She wanted to go back these past weeks and not do any of what she’d done. She’d have taken back every smile, every touch, every nice word she’d wasted on the man-whore who was no doubt inside that willowy brunette right now. Loving her with his body. Murmuring dirty things to her while he pleasured her. She sat up straighter in her seat and stiffened her spine so she’d stop shaking. He doesn’t have this power over me. He doesn’t. She had no right to feel this because she’d known who he was right from the very beginning. God, she was so fucking stupid. So, so stupid. How could she have let her guard down? How could she have let him in?

CHAPTER 18

Two hours later, after having made yet another round of calls to his boys now stationed anywhere Luiz had told him Eberto might show, Maks blew into the safe house as though a gale force wind was at his fucking back. He shrugged his coat and suit jacket off—yes, he’d put on his goddamned street clothes again, and being reminded of that small fact added to his ire. “Go.” Sydney’s guards for the day grabbed their coats and fucked off so fast it would have been funny had he not been ready to tear his own skin from his body. A deep-seated yearning for relief was all he knew. No sound preceded his Aussie flying into the room, wide-eyed, silverblonde hair flying behind her. His grand entrance had obviously brought her running. She came to a screeching halt when she saw him, and the look of utter loathing that entered her eyes was as infuriating as it was confusing. “Where’s Andy?” he growled. “You said it was okay for him to go to that sleepover.” And that cool reserve was back in her tone. Her accent, as much as he fucking loved it, made it worse, made her sound austere and condescending. He wasn’t having that right now. Not one fucking bit of it. The longer he looked at her, at how utterly lovely she was, at how tiny she really was in comparison to him, the more he couldn’t deny his overpowering need to have her submit to him. He had to have her. Which was why he’d come. It swallowed everything else: his reasons for abstaining, his fear, the selfprotective laws that he lived by. His word—which Vasily had canceled out by telling him to do whatever he must to get the fuck back in his head! Humiliating. What he’d almost done to his Pakhan because of his fixation with this woman crashed through his head once more. As did Vasily’s disgusted dismissal. As Maksim started forward, he was reminded of the painting in his office.

He was the demonic beast just then. Sure felt like it by the expression that came over Sydney’s face when he drew close. She tripped over herself to move back, coming up against a low bookcase filled with old-school encyclopedias not found in homes anymore. “What are you doing? Get your hands off me!” she snapped when he laid his palms on her upper arms. He stroked her, feeling the fragility of her bones beneath her chilled skin. Christ, he would be so careful with her. More careful than he’d ever been with another. Just not tonight. Her eyes were red rimmed. “Can’t do that.” He felt completely out of control of even his own thoughts and reactions and observations. His brain activity was erratic and made no sense. “You’ve done this to me. Now you can suffer through what it’s brought to your door. My attentions.” She jerked sideways, wheeling around to face him after she’d put a few feet between them. “I don’t want your tired attentions.” Her finger came up to point in his face in that way most men hated. “How can you even do this without dying of shame? What kind of person are you? Did you honestly think I’d accept you? You were just with another woman!” That brought him up short and he faltered. The antipathy—and more interesting, the shimmer of pain—in her eyes blasted him. How the fuck did she know about his dancer? “I wasn’t with another woman,” he ground out. A harsh, biting laugh shot out through the sneer that twisted her mouth. “I watched you summon and leave with her, Russia. Your hand rushing her along by squeezing her ass. Please don’t insult me by lying about something I saw with my own eyes.” “You were at the club?” “Yes.” The word cracked out like a whip. “Why?” “None. Of your. Fucking. Business.” Rather than lose his shit in the face of her insolence and blatant disrespect, something else registered with him. She was furious. Hurt. Jealous? “I brought her into my office, attempted to do the usual, and it didn’t happen.” Saying the words brought his temper back to where it had been an hour ago when he’d had to send the brunette off without a story to share. “I couldn’t fuck her!” he shouted, startling Sydney into a jump. “You’ve made it so I can’t even get hard for another woman. I kissed her; she touched me—because I couldn’t bring myself to touch her, goddammit—and fuck-all happened. I wanted to prove to myself that this isn’t really happening, that you aren’t that

deep in my head, but it is, and you are.” He stepped forward and slammed his hand down on the bookcase, knowing that by attempting to verbalize it he still wasn’t making sense. “You’ve gotten control of what my fucking body does, and that isn’t sitting well with me, Sydney. So you know what?” He rushed her, grabbing her by the arms to pin her to the wall, pushing his hard, aching cock into her firm navel. “You’re going to take care of it now. You’re going to take me down because I can’t fucking concentrate on what I should be concentrating on because fucking is all that’s in my head. Fucking you. I nearly knifed my Pakhan tonight because of you!” She was staring at him, her lips parted slightly, eyes wider and a darker purple than he’d ever seen them. “What, no gloating? I’d have thought learning this would double the size of that fucking horse you sit on.” He knew that was unfair. Knew what he was saying and doing was unwarranted and verging on behavior he’d swiftly cut someone else down for. But he couldn’t stop. She was inside him, and he didn’t know how to deal with that. “To know you’ve done this to me. To know I have become obsessed with you, the way my goddamn kryshas recognized before I did. I laughed it off back then, thinking it was impossible.” He put his nose to the skin of her neck and inhaled deeply. His entire body strained, hungering, at the dark-forest scent that permeated and locked on to his every cell. “It wasn’t. And I am. And I fucking hate it.” He fucking hated it. He did.

Sydney’s mind reeled at what she was hearing. For hours now, she’d made herself sicker and sicker imagining what Maksim and that beautiful woman were doing. Yet now he was telling her they’d done nothing? That he’d tried, but because she wasn’t Sydney, he hadn’t been able to follow through? Hadn’t been able to touch her? He’d kissed her, though, and grabbed her ass, and that made Sydney see red. As much as she didn’t want it to, that ate at her like acid. He shouldn’t have done that. If he’d needed a release or whatever he’d been going for, he should have come to her! What? Are you crazy? Apparently she was. “I’m insane,” she whispered. And grabbing her Russian’s beautiful head between her hands, she dragged him up from where his

forehead was leaning on the wall and attacked his mouth with hers. She wanted the memory of his kiss with that other woman gone, replaced with a memory of him kissing her. Only her. His dark groan had her body liquefying. This is wrong, she thought in the back of her mind. I shouldn’t do this with him. For so many reasons, not the least of which is he could be lying! She pulled back and shivered around the rumble of warning that rose in his chest. “Are you lying to me, Maksim?” she panted. “Are you only saying these things to get to me?” He looked her right in the eye and did a damn fine job of reassuring her. The almost-adolescent description was what made her believe him. “I couldn’t touch her because something inside my goddamn chest felt off at even the thought. It was heavy and . . . tight and unfamiliar. When she kissed me and ran her hands across my stomach, I wanted to shove her away rather than bring her closer. My fucking lip curled, Sydney. Even the way she smelled was wrong. Too sweet. She was too big. Her hair too dark. Her voice and words too plain.” His hand splayed across her chest, his thumb trailing softly over her collarbone. “Everything about her was wrong because nothing about her was you. Goddammit, does that make any sense to you at all?” She melted. “Makes perfect sense.” She had no trouble remembering all the comparisons she’d made during the past months when every man she saw came up lacking next to this one. She swallowed the fear trying to climb her throat—pushed aside the you-shouldn’ts and the what-are-you-doings?—and gave in to this. She rested her forehead against his and accepted the connection he was offering. “How about I help you out with your concentration problems?” His closed fist slammed hard on the wall above her head. “Don’t fuck with me.” She licked her twitching lips. “I was sort of hoping you’d fuck with me.” Don’t be so forward, her modesty screeched. Right. She didn’t want to appear as if she were begging for sex, even though her body coming alive suddenly had her wanting to beg him for sex. “I . . . can’t hold back anymore. Are you sure you’ll be able to take it? Because I’m riding the edge here. I know I’ll regret it later, but this first time won’t be warm and gentle—not that I’ve ever done warm and gentle,” he admitted, looking confused that he might want to. “I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to own you. And it won’t be something you’d have ever shared with Emily over coffee on a Sunday morning.” His mention of Emily, recognizing that they’d been close enough to have shared sex stories, did something to Sydney’s heart. His dirty words did

something to her body. She felt a wave of pure pleasure ebb and flow between her thighs as her core readied. “After hearing that, I’m pretty sure I’m now ready enough to take just about anything,” she whispered, wondering if he would always affect her so easily. A few sweet and naughty words from him and I’m putty in his hands. His eyes blazed as he ground out some nasty-sounding curses in Russian and held her against the wall with his body while grasping the hem of the white tank she’d changed into. He yanked down the neckline, slipped his fingers into the cups of her white lacy bra, tucked them beneath her breasts to offer them up, and she was in his mouth, his fingers pinching and his tongue rolling around her nipples. All in under three seconds. Oh, shit. She was shocked, excited, and a little uneasy, all at once. Which made her giggle and gasp and squirm and moan. “That’s it, princess,” he said against her flaming skin. “If you’re feeling it, I want to hear about it. Nothing held back. Understand?” She was already having a hard time understanding anything around what he was doing to her. Her hand found the back of his head, and she held him where he was. Her own head hit the wall behind her, and her hips rolled, rubbing herself just right across the hard length of his erection. More. Something tightened inside her, coiling, waiting to go off. Further noises came from her throat that weren’t approved by her brain. How mortifying. It was as if the soundtrack from a porno was playing through her. Maksim growled, sucking hard on the underside of her left breast for a moment, making her cry out in pleasure. He turned them, and then she was falling, the long chaise longue meeting her back. He began speaking, half in Russian, half in English. “Need more . . . something-something . . . getting critical . . . somethingsomething . . . need to eat . . . something-something . . . tell me if I scare you . . . something-something-something.” He drew back and pried her legs from around his waist to jerk her leggings and socks off. Her panties were torn from her body, and then she was spread wide and her hands were reaching for an anchor. She once more cried out when his hot mouth met her throbbing core. “Fucking beautiful,” he rasped, lapping at her. He released her thighs, and she heard rather than saw him rip open his shirt. He was naked from the waist up in the next instant, and Sydney’s gaze rushed down to roam over tight muscles, gorgeous ink, and supple skin. So did her hands, anywhere she could reach, which was sadly only from his shoulders up. But the sight of his mouth on— He sank his tongue deep and then traded places with his fingers so he could

concentrate on her clit, and she practically howled. He pumped into her hard, fingers curving up, nibbling and biting her thighs and sucking at that bundle of nerves. She exploded in no time, her spine bowing, muscles clamping down as her first climax ripped through her. Maksim worked her through it, murmuring things in Russian, but gave her no time to recover before he was standing and stripping the rest of their clothes off. Dazed, she watched as he ripped open a condom he’d procured from his pocket, presumably, slid it down his beautiful form, and then reached for her. Lifting her as though she weighed nothing, he carried her over and plopped her onto her ass on the cool wood of the dining room table. “Perfect height,” he explained, gripping his shaft at the base. Dying to slow him down so she could participate, she put her palm on his tight, rolling abs and held him back. She leaned to the side so she could at least take in the perfection of his massive, deliciously naked body. “Mmm . . . this is perfect,” she praised, stealing the opportunity to slide her palm down until she could grasp that very, very special part of him. She encircled his girth and squeezed, feeling almost resentful of the latex barrier now separating their skin. She’d felt him last time they’d been together but hadn’t gotten the chance to see it. She was looking now. Her eyes flipped up to meet his when she heard a hiss. His lids were down low over molten silver, his chest pumping, his many tattoos seemingly alive as his shoulders rose and fell. His biceps bunched when he placed his hand on her ass and pulled her closer to the edge of the table, her skin squeaking across the surface. Her pulsing core bore down on his waiting shaft. He didn’t stop, but sheathed himself in one fluid pump as deep inside her as he could go. Her highpitched mewl was lost when he took her mouth. Pleasure flooded her as he stretched her. So much pleasure. “My princess . . . so hot . . . luscious . . . tight and perfect,” he said against her lips as he began moving, pulling out and sinking back in a rhythm that wasn’t the slow and steady she’d experienced before. No. Maksim gave her no time to savor, just to experience. Sensations battered her as he did what he’d said he was going to do. He fucked her. He owned her. And she loved it. “Sydney. Fuck, don’t help yet.” He gripped her hips, stilling her from keeping up with the pace he set. “I need to do this. I need it. Have to know I’m in control of it this time.” Her breath coming in little gasps as she tried to push down on the feeling once more climbing, the euphoria, that beautiful tension returning, she released his shoulders and leaned back on her hands. “Fine,” she whispered, trying not to let her eyes roll in her head. “Take what you need.”

And he did. Her powerful Russian took everything she had to give and demanded more. He took from her on the table before introducing her back to the wall again. Once he’d had enough of that, and she’d caught her breath after her second orgasm, he fell onto his broad back on the sofa and effortlessly worked her writhing form on top of him, alternating between holding her suspended over his hips so he could thrust up into her and then giving his mouth another turn, making her moan and gasp until her throat hurt. He touched her everywhere, claimed every inch of her skin, right down to her ankles, driving her on until she was utterly consumed with pleasure. They ended up back on the chaise longue, him finally settling himself on top of her, their chests meeting as he entered her again. He held her eyes. “You’re sore,” he said when she winced slightly. His voice was deliciously rough, his shoulders practically shimmering from the light sheen of perspiration covering them. Slippery from it, it was the most erotic thing to feel their bodies sliding against each other, the glide so delicious. “Sensitive,” she corrected. “Fantastic.” He slowly licked across her lips as he burrowed his fingers into her hair so that he could hold her head steady. Luckily, because she would have thrashed again when his hips went on an angle and he hit that spot deep inside that made her eyes tear up. “Agreed. This was worth making you wait.” He breathed out a deep, quiet laugh that came so easily it caused goose bumps to rise on the backs of her arms. “Brat. My sanity disagrees.” He withdrew until he was almost free of her and then slid home. She lifted her hips to meet him. “You have to admit it wouldn’t be this good if I’d given in that first night.” She shook herself free of his hold so she could stretch up and nibble on his earlobe, circling her tongue around the diamond stud in his ear. “I’ll admit nothing of the sort. It would have still been me and you, so it would have definitely been this good.” A shudder passed through him when she moved over to nip playfully at the thick corded muscle running up from his shoulder. She soothed him with another slow lick. Sydney tried as hard as she could not to let those words get to her. She couldn’t take the things he said to heart. Had to remember he’d most likely said them all before. “You hiding from me?” He spread his hand out on her throat and used his finger and thumb on her jaw to bring her face out from his neck. “Don’t. I get to see it all. Because it’s mine right now, and I’m very greedy.” He trailed his fingers down until he burrowed between them to find her swollen bundle of

nerves. The tremor that shook her nearly unseated him. “Easy, princess,” he soothed, rubbing a smooth, wet circle that guaranteed she couldn’t take it easy. “Now it’s time for you to bring me down. How hard can you take it?” Her hips rose involuntarily, and any response to the crazy question became lost in the sounds his now-thrumming fingers wrung from her. “That hard?” he chuckled. She was pretty sure she nodded enthusiastically and then climaxed with a vengeance when he gave it to her “that hard.”

The calm that settled over Maksim after finally claiming his Aussie was allencompassing. He was clear and capable again. Rooted and ready to deal. He felt as if he were an alpha who’d just reigned victorious over his chosen female. What the fuck is with you and your animal references when it comes to her? Didn’t know. Didn’t care. He was just glad he was himself again as he carried her ridiculously insubstantial weight into the bedroom she was using. He tossed her into the middle of the bed, grinning when she squeaked in surprise because she was airborne for a few seconds before hitting the soft mattress and bouncing. He followed her down, going right for those beautiful breasts. He’d just taken one between his lips when his phone went off in the other room. Fuck. Springing up, knowing now was not the time to ignore any calls, he jogged out, cupping his junk, and walked back in as he read the text, then looked at the picture. His blood ran cold, and he stopped at the foot of the bed, nodding. “Really, motherfucker?” he murmured. “Come get some.” “Um, as far as endearments go, that one needs some work,” Sydney complained as she crawled across the bed toward him, looking like a little jungle cat. The smattering of bruises on her shoulder blades and ribs caught his eye, and he felt his monsters writhe, wanting out so they could play rough with the Mexican. “But I’ll accept the invitation if you really want me to.” He snagged her wrist midair and pulled her up, because if he allowed her to start what he was pretty sure she’d been about to start, the phone would be out the window, and he’d be engaged for some time with that warm mouth of hers. “Get your things together and get dressed, lover,” he said, forcing his voice to be even. “We’re moving tonight after all.” He yanked her against him, rubbed her lithe little body across his front as though he could memorize the feel of it,

kissed her hard, and then went back out to grab his clothes. As he called in support, he made a side trip to the spare bedroom and got a new shirt. “What’s going on?” Sydney asked when she met him a few minutes later, dressed in jeans, a satiny black V-neck shirt, and knee-high boots. Her hair was in a high ponytail, and she had her leather duffel over her shoulder. Her afterglow was dazzling. “You look like a teenager.” Her brow went up. “Fantasy of yours? I have kneesocks and could braid my hair next time,” she offered with a sultry little wink. His mouth went crooked and he shook his head. “Pass. I’d rather you allow me to bind you and control your every move,” he countered. “Okay.” He groaned and forced himself to toss her jacket over. She caught it with a lazy, relaxed smile that he hated to kill but had no choice. Shrugging his coat on, he showed her the message he’d received from one of the boys he had stationed at Pant. “The photo was given to your bartender by some random who said a guy fitting Morales’s description paid him twenty bucks to deliver it.” He rolled his eyes. “An actual photograph. Who wastes their time printing photographs anymore?” Her eyes narrowed on the picture of a high-rise. “What is it?” “This building.” Her brow wrinkled, and then her head snapped up. “Eberto knows I’m here?” “He knows we’re here.” She looked toward the door as though expecting the fuck to come busting in. Maks wished. He’d smoke him and be back in bed with her within ten minutes. “Rather than wait until morning—because in all honesty, the asshole can bomb the first level of the building and cause a lot of unnecessary trouble—and since it’s not yet midnight, you’re going to piss your kid off by ruining his party. We’re picking him up on our way out to Old Westbury.” “What’s in Old Westbury?” “The most secure place in existence.” Sydney nodded and took out her phone to make the call. No questions. No hesitation. He had to give it to her; she was rocking his world.

CHAPTER 19

Sitting in the back of a luxurious black Escalade with Gabriel Moretti, of all people, who was in the passenger seat next to a handsome Asian man he’d called Quan, Sydney laughed. The sound came out quiet and tense as she put her hand over her son’s motormouth—he’d just finished describing in great detail the pros and cons of every Xbox game he and his friends had played tonight. They’d picked Andrew up from his sleepover without any fuss and were on the freeway heading to what she’d only now realized was Maksim’s home. “What did you have for a snack while playing, a bowl of refined sugar and a spoon? Take a breath, sweetie.” She kissed the top of Andrew’s head and looked over him to see Maksim watching her. “Sorry, he gets—” “Don’t,” he said, his face flashing and darkening under the passing lights. He looked amused. “Let him go. It’s good to hear normal stuff for a change.” She let the stopper out, and then sat back and tried to relax as she listened to her son’s jabber, quite a lot of which was ending with Right, Russia? Or Tell her, Russia. “You still okay with him calling you that?” she asked during a short reprieve when Andrew bent over his phone to answer a text from Daniel. Maksim put his arm across the back of the seat and tugged on a lock of her hair. “He’s fine. Stop worrying.” To Andrew he said, “Don’t get offended if I tell you to shut it, kid. It just means I’m thinking.” “No worries. Hey, do you have stars on your knees, Russia? I wanted to bet Daniel that you do but didn’t ’cause I told you I wouldn’t talk about you.” “Andrew!” Sydney gasped, hearing the two men in the front chuckle. She was tempted to quickly tell her son that, yes, there were stars on Maksim’s knees, and his shoulders, but didn’t dare. “What would you know about stars on the knees, kid?” Maksim asked, seemingly unbothered by the invasive question.

“They mean you’ll kneel to no man, right?” Her Russian’s brows came down as he studied the boy between them, but she couldn’t read his expression. “Right. How do you know that?” “Remember I told you about that movie? The guy had the stars done, and we Googled what they meant after.” “Reeeally.” Sydney felt her face burn. When the hell had Andrew squealed on her about that movie she’d conned him into watching with her a few weeks ago? She kept her head turned away and looked out the window at a semi driving next to them. If they were going to blow a tire and go off the road, now would be a good time. “So? Do you have them?” Andrew pressed. “Yes, I do. On my knees and on my shoulders. The knees you know, but having them inked on the shoulders signifies being a man of discipline and tradition. Some would say status also, but that’s not me. I also have some religious figures here and there. A mere mortal needs all the help he can get,” he chuckled. “But listen, kid.” He bumped his closed fist on Andrew’s knee. “You don’t ask my boys about their artwork. Understand? I don’t mind talking about it, but some of them might. Especially Micha. Don’t ask him about anything other than the weather.” “Gotcha. You ever been in jail?” Sydney groaned and slumped down, banging her head on the back of the seat as she covered her face with her hands. “An-dreew!” Gabriel looked back. “Don’t worry about it,” he said to her, not even trying to hide his enjoyment. “It’s karma for all the awkward questions he’s asked people over the years.” Maksim kicked the bottom of the seat. “I should have called Alek,” he drawled before answering her son as honestly as he always did. “I did some time for assault when I was nineteen and too stupid to know how to control my temper. I’ve never been back.” She blinked behind her hands and wondered how he’d handled being incarcerated considering his past. “Wow. That must have been hard to be locked up,” Andrew said. “For someone like you, I mean.” Dropping her hands, Sydney straightened and glanced over at the altered, now serious, tone of her son’s voice to see Maksim looking at her, his face hard. Did he think she’d told Andrew about his history? She could have sworn the volume on the radio also went down a notch or two. “What do you mean ‘someone like me’?”

Andrew shrugged and yanked on his left ear, finally looking a little uncomfortable. “I just meant you’re a leader. It must have sucked taking orders from the guards. Daniel’s uncle is at Rikers. He had a restaurant and he had people without their papers working for him and lied to the judge about it.” “He employed undocumented immigrants and perjured himself when he denied knowing about their status,” Sydney modified, adding under her breath, “among other things.” She’d heard through the school’s grapevine that Daniel’s uncle had also failed to pay his taxes for more than a few years. Andrew nodded. “Right. Daniel’s mom told him the guards are really mean and they sometimes hit the guys in the cells just because they can. Did they hit you, Russia?” The grin that tipped Maksim’s goatee at the corners was grim. “Negative. No one bothered me, kid.” “Didn’t think so. So, do you guys have a dog? Is your house big? You wouldn’t by any chance have an indoor pool, would you?” And so the drive continued, the conversation tapering to snatches here and there. Maksim’s phone rang just as they hit the off-ramp. “Yeah. Hey, brother. Yeah, I have time. Go ahead.” He listened for a while as Quan left the two-lane road after a short stretch to travel through a set of heavy iron gates that automatically propelled open at their approach. Sydney looked down the drive but couldn’t see any type of building, let alone a house. Not even lights in the distance. How wealthy was Maksim? She wondered for the first time. She’d assumed he had money, since the suits he wore were designer and had to cost somewhere in the thousands, but she’d never really given it much thought. As they kept driving, and driving, she was thinking about it now. And when a stunning two-story monstrosity finally came into view beyond a circular drive that had a gorgeous fountain in the center and a six-bay garage off to the side, she realized he might just be in league with her parents. Until she remembered that he shared the house with his friends. “That’s not how it works.” His deep voice pulled her attention from his residence. His brow was down low, gaze looking straight ahead. “It’s more . . . how do I put this? Okay. As the energy from the blast travels outward from the source, it diminishes. Or attenuates, if you have a dictionary handy. The farther out it goes, the affected area increases and the energy becomes widely dispersed. Basically, the amplitude of the vibration from the blast can be expected to decrease by approximately two-thirds for every doubling of the distance. So, if the building you’re targeting is far enough away from others in the immediate vicinity, they shouldn’t suffer any structural damage from the C-4. Not unless

they’re close enough for the vibration to reach them. Got it? Yeah. No problem. Later.” The SUV came to a halt, and they all climbed out—Sydney’s brain hurt from trying to understand even a portion of what had just been said. When “Bill Nye the Science Guy” sauntered up beside her with her bag slung over his shoulder, she drew him aside. “I never really thought this through,” she said, looking up at the golden glow coming from what looked like dozens of windows. “Will your friends mind us invading their space? Their women . . .” She shrugged. “Maybe you should have called ahead and warned them.” His brow went up with that arrogance she’d once thought he’d been born with. Now she knew differently. “This is my house, lover.” “But it’s theirs, too,” she argued quietly, goose bumps popping up because that title was now accurate. God, was it accurate. He’d been . . . wow. He’d been . . . “Hello?” She blinked and came back to find him looking down at her with a knowing little grin. “Where were you? Or should I ask, which part were you reliving?” Her mouth twisted by habit, and she spoke without thinking. “The part where I lifted the lid of the Dumpster and threw the bag in. I was simply remembering when I last took out the garbage.” She lifted her chin and looked anywhere but at him. “The ladies of the house . . . ?” “Liar,” he whispered. But he went on, “The girls have only recently moved in themselves and I didn’t say shit. Not that I would have, because they’re nice. So neither can they—not that they would either, because you’re nice.” He made a low, sexy sound and winked. “Very fucking nice. Now come on.” They went back to the others, and Maksim led the way, tapping something into his phone as they climbed the expansive steps to reach the oversize front door. “This is a big house. What kind of dog was it again, Russia?” Andrew asked, sounding properly awed. She hated that money impressed him, but he was still young. “Rottweiler. His name is Charlie. He’s safe, but he’s getting big, so watch he doesn’t knock you over. And he likes to eat boots,” Maksim added as he opened the door and brought them into a brightly lit foyer that was impressive but welcoming. Aside from warm honey-colored floor tile, polished mahogany furnishings, and tastefully framed art, her Russian’s influence was immediately seen by way of a life-size statue of a blonde pinup that stood to the right of the door. She was sexily attired in a short red dress and had one heck of a pout

beneath her droopy-lidded stare. She held a tray that Quan dropped his keys onto. Sydney had seen the dog butler statues before, but never one like this. “Hey,” Andrew whispered to her, laughing, “she looks like you, Mom.” All three men, and her son, looked from her to the statue with long blonde hair and abundant cleavage—which Sydney hadn’t been blessed with. She would stick with her 32-Cs and be on her way. Andrew grinned and moved on to check out some miniature Harley-Davidson models in glass cases that sat on a low table. Quan’s expression remained respectfully blank as he nodded and wandered away. Gabriel simply smiled and raised a dark brow over his ridiculously long eyelashes—his wife must be so jealous. And Maksim frowned. “She does look like you,” he muttered. “I commissioned her a few years ago from a company in Japan that I stumbled across online when . . . yeah anyway. That was unexpected.” He put a hand under her elbow and brought them across the foyer, looking into what was clearly the living room. Seeing it was empty, he kept walking toward the set of double doors that were next to a sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. “The girls must be asleep. You can meet them tomorrow. Charlie, too, because he’ll be upstairs with Nika. Night, G, thanks for the lift.” Sydney smiled at Gabriel and added her thanks—prodded Andrew to do the same—and then tried not to show a reaction when Maksim opened one of the doors and hit a switch to illuminate stairs leading down. “It’s okay, Mom.” “Shh,” Sydney widened her eyes and shook her head. But Maksim had heard. He stopped and turned. “What?” “Nothing,” she said quickly. “What?” he repeated, looking to Andrew. “The basement. Spiders live in basements,” he stage-whispered. Probably to make her laugh, which it did. Sort of. “You’re covered then.” Maksim shrugged, pulling them along. “Samnang, our boy wonder, doesn’t stand for shit like that in our place.” Sydney wasn’t convinced . . . until they descended the polished wood stairs into a gorgeous living space that didn’t seem like a basement at all. It wasn’t gloomy and damp—not that she’d expected a dungeon—but bright and warm, with its chestnut furniture and thick rugs scattered around. The bar had a mirrored back that extended the already-spacious room, and there was a large fireplace, a massive sectional, a fancier-than-average foosball table, and the requisite flat screen found in all homes. Two hallways branched off on either side, and, helping to make it seem as though they were aboveground, there were strategically spaced floating frames on the walls that were backlit with bright

images of mountain scenes and gorgeous green landscapes. They looked like windows rather than photographs. Maksim dropped her bag next to a gigantic aquarium so beautiful it made her want to go for a swim, and brought them to the left, showing them a gym the size of her loft and a room she wished he hadn’t put on the tour because it reminded Sydney of a hospital. Down the other corridor was a theater room that would seat a dozen people with no trouble at all, two spacious bedrooms, and a massive computer room that rivaled Tony Stark’s. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen in a private home. The last room they looked into was a bathroom that housed a lap pool and dry sauna. Andrew’s eyes lit up. Finally Maksim pointed to a door at the end of the corridor. “My private space. You don’t enter unless I’m with you—at least until I get all my toys put away in the gun safe. You either, Mom,” he drawled with a glint in his eye. He then excused himself, asking for an hour before disappearing into the computer room. Since it was late, Sydney wasted no time getting Andrew settled into the king-size bed in his allocated room, which was directly across from the one she’d been given. “You sure you don’t want me to stay with you?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “This bed is like a football field.” “It’s awesome. But I’m good. Why are we here, Mom? Every time I ask, you guys change the subject.” She tried not to react. “Really, sweetie, it’s just that same thing,” she said vaguely, afraid to tell him too much in case she frightened him. She got up and kissed the bruise on his forehead that made her feel awful every time she looked at it. “I love you, baby,” she whispered. “Love you, too.” “So, who are you going to watch tonight?” she asked as a distraction. She reached over and picked his phone up from the nightstand to turn it on. He took it when she handed it to him and mentioned a famous YouTuber. Each night, she allowed him to set his timer and watch twenty minutes before it was lights-out. “He’s the Swedish gamer with the pretty girlfriend?” “Yup.” She smiled. “He’s funny.” Andrew nodded and yawned as he snuggled down. “I’ll leave the door open, okay? If you need me, I’m right across the hall.” “’Kay. I can swim tomorrow?” “Yes. Right after breakfast.” “Cool. G’night, Mom.”

She’d just stepped into the hallway when Andrew asked, “Hey, who else lives here? That was a big garage.” She turned back and leaned on the doorjamb. “Um, you know what? I’m not sure. I know about Gabriel and a guy named Vincente, with their wives, but if there are others, I’m not aware.” “Do you know the wives?” “No. But as Maksim said, we’ll meet them tomorrow. Why?” He shrugged and looked at his phone. “’Cause you haven’t had a friend since Aunt Emily, and I thought it might be cool for you if you knew them.” She went back over and grabbed his face to give him a bunch of smacking kisses that he smirked at and tried to duck away from. “You’re my favorite thing in this world, you sweet boy. Good night.” She released him and headed across the hall. He really was a beautiful soul. Grabbing a change of clothes from her bag, she motioned to Andrew that she was going to shower and went down the hall. Once under the hot spray, Sydney found herself just standing there, reliving what had happened before she and Maksim had abandoned the apartment. She’d never experienced anything like it. The energy. The ferocity with which Maksim had taken her. She’d been swept away, uncaring of any consequences. As he’d predicted, she’d been helpless to resist him when it came down to it. As so many others before you? Yes. As so many others before me, she agreed with that snarky voice in her head that sounded so much like her mother. But instead of the fabulous sex they’d had making her feel as if she were now just one of the gang, she felt . . . special. Maksim had made her feel distinct. Apart from the crowd. His princess, he’d called her. She shivered despite the temperature of the water. Anticipation had her smiling. He’d clearly enjoyed his princess, and so he’d have her again, she decided. And she wasn’t going to overthink that. Women have casual sex all the time. Why shouldn’t I? Her smile faded as her brain tried to remind her of the long list of reasons she shouldn’t. She blocked them all. But one. Most women didn’t have that casual sex with Russian mobsters in charge of their safety. Her eyes popped open and stung when the water got in them. According to Maksim, he’d been ordered not to play with her. He’d gone against Vasily’s wishes. And what had he meant earlier about almost knifing his . . . What had he said? His Pakhan? What was that? Who was that? She got in gear and washed up, feeling tender in places she hadn’t felt

anything in so long. When she finished, she blew her hair out so she could sleep on it, and had yawned too many times to count before making her way back to her room. She stuck her head in on Andrew because she couldn’t see him without looking around the door and whispered another good night. He waved, droopy-eyed. She’d just snuggled—after checking for possible crawlers and finding not even a speck of dust—under the deep burgundy duvet when Maksim’s form filled the doorway. “Mmm, don’t you look cozy as hell,” he murmured, crossing the room. Without waiting for an invite, he laid out next to her, his weight dipping the mattress so that she rolled into him. He’d lost the jacket to his suit and his shirtsleeves were now rolled up, but he still had his shoes on. Craving more than his body heat, but settling for that, she cuddled into this side and laid her head on his shoulder, yawning again. “Thank you for opening your home to us, Maksim,” she said, and then before she forgot again, added, “What’s a Pakhan?” He pulled her tight against him. “A leader.” “So you were talking about Vasily earlier when you said—” He tipped her chin up and kissed her, cutting off her question. “Don’t worry about what I said earlier.” “But you said—” He kissed her again. “Not to worry about what I said. So don’t.” Okay. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. She laid her head back down and they were quiet for a few minutes. “I feel rather sorry for Luiz,” she said, thinking about the message Maksim had played earlier. “Even though he was a bastard. Eberto is his brother, and he all but gave you permission to . . . whatever.” “Kill him, Sydney,” Maksim said flat out. “We will kill Eberto. Hopefully I’ll be there to do the honors. Hiding from it isn’t going to change the outcome. When he threatened you, he opened himself up for like. He plans on taking your life; he’s given me permission to take his. That’s just the way it is.” His darkchocolate scent plumed around her when he shrugged. “You think I don’t know my end will come in a similar way to how I’ve killed? I just hope whoever takes me out isn’t as practiced at the art as I am.” Horrified by his nonchalance, she pushed herself into a sit as pain arced in her chest at the thought of him dying. He reached over and tucked the duvet around her hips. “I see skin, and this convo is over,” he muttered. “How can you be so blasé about something like that, Maksim?”

“What? At least I warned you.” She smacked his hand where it rested on her thigh over the duvet. “Not that. I mean possibly getting killed,” she whispered, conscious that her door was open and so was Andrew’s across the way. Both rooms were so large, though, Sydney suspected there was no way their conversation would be overheard unless Andrew got out of bed. And he’d been half-asleep the last time she’d peeked in. “Would you mourn me if I died, Sydney?” Maksim asked suddenly, his gaze catching hers. Because he was watching her intently, there was no way he missed the emotion she felt enter her expression. “Yes. Of course I would mourn you.” She looked away and began plucking at the duvet, letting her hair fall forward. This conversation was unsettling. And not because of the obviously morbid subject. Because it was making it next to impossible for her to deny what was happening here. “That’s pleasing to know.” He tugged her down, and she let him, but lay stiffly until she felt his long fingers tunnel into her hair. She swallowed a sigh when he began massaging her scalp. “Mmm . . .” That was all she had to give while he took his time and played heaven on her skull. The sound of his heart pounding under her ear was a soothing rhythm, and she smiled a little because his BPMs were really up there. “That’s so good,” she murmured after a while. A sigh escaped when his other hand joined the first, sifting through her hair, kneading, massaging, going all the way down to work the tightness out of her neck. “Massages are my fave. Don’t have them much,” she said drowsily. “Why is that, lover?” “Don’t like . . . a stranger’s hands . . . on me . . .” She barely felt it when Maksim’s heavy arm went down her back and pulled her farther up onto his warm body. She slid the rest of the way into sleep.

Guess I’m not a stranger, because, contrary to what you’ve led me to believe, you sure like my hands on you. Had Sydney remained awake, Maksim probably would have said that out loud. But she’d fallen into a boneless slumber on him that he found flattering. She trusted him. To protect her and her son. Her easy acquiesce regarding their

plans and picking Andy up early had proven it, and her total comfort in slipping away now reinforced it. She was slowly handing over control. Inch by inch she was letting go of the reins and allowing him to lead. The realization was pleasing, to say the least. It was also unsettling, because he had to wonder what she was going to do, how she was going to take it, when he handed them back. As he knew he would. He always did in the end. Who the hell are you? Calling it quits with a woman had never bothered him before. Never haunted him. His time with Sydney had only just begun, yet he was dreading the inevitable end. He stilled his hand, leaving his fingers tangled in her freshly washed hair. He didn’t understand that any more than he understood much else when it came to her. He was different with her, and that was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Stranger still, he was finding he didn’t want to shove his confusion away as he’d always done. He wanted to explore why she was making him act so out of character. She shifted slightly and sighed, her warm breath feathering over his throat. Apprehensively, he gave the feelings that rose up free rein, welcomed them as they bloomed in his chest, instead of smothering them as he’d been doing daily for weeks now. Unobtrusive little shoots sprouted from something already rooted in that deep, normally dark place inside. As they grew, wrapping gently around anything they could reach, their hold became unbreakable, lasting— He panicked and stomped on them. Hard. Refusing whatever the fuck that was to live. Sweat bloomed on his brow as he tightened his hold on the woman in his arms. He couldn’t handle shit like that. Not when it came across as safe and beautiful, pretending sweetness and light, before it hammered one to the ground with a crippling blow that one barely made it back from. Because, regardless of the hearts and flowers he’d seen around the house this past year, Maks knew love didn’t exist. Not really. Not between parents and kids, not between men and women, never between anyone who had the ability to make a choice. In the end, they chose for themselves. Every fucking time. Eva and Nika didn’t, that small voice in his mind reminded him. Vasily didn’t. Eva had attempted to give her life in exchange for Gabriel’s and her father’s. Nika had offered hers for her brother’s. Vasily had thrown away twentyfour years of happiness with the woman he loved and the child they’d created together in order to keep them safe from his enemies. Whatever. That was them. Unfazed by the exceptions, he still couldn’t believe. Unfortunately, he

knew something would eventually give between his friends—most likely the girls would get sick of being prisoners in their new lives and leave. As Sydney would no doubt do if he were to attempt to keep her for any length of time. People were selfish. He knew that from personal experience. He’d lived it. Had suffered because of it. How hard had he tried to reach his father? How many chances had he given that man to come around? Too many. And the scars those failings had left behind were a chasm through his fucking soul. Boris Kirov should have fought for him but had instead sent him to hell. He’d allowed his child to be beaten and raped and spit on and abused . . . all in an effort to toughen him up? The one guard Maks had hated above all of them had laughed when he’d told him that. Your old man thought you were a pussy. So now you’re our pussy. That’s what love was between a parent and child? Maybe not, he thought, picturing the way Vasily was with Eva. But that’s the way it had been for him. And he would never trust another person with himself again. He’d toughened up from his old man’s lessons. To the point where not much got through the barriers he’d erected. And that wouldn’t change for this tiny blonde. Impatience suddenly ate at him. When would he get his hands on Eberto Morales? When would the guy come out from under his rock and quit with all the games? Fucking coward. Maks wanted him dealt with so he could enjoy this limited time without distraction. Settling in, he debated sliding beneath the covers. They were still fully clothed . . . Andy. Shit. The kid might get up and come in here at some point. Maks opened his eyes, which had fallen closed at some point. He looked to the door, imagining what Andy might think if he were to see his mother in bed with a man, even in so innocent a position, dressed, bedclothes separating them. Disappointment rocked Maks, but he shifted his Aussie to the side nonetheless, as gently as he could, and rolled to his feet. He couldn’t do that to his new pal. Make him feel uncomfortable. Especially on his first night here. Something that felt strangely good flared behind his sternum, but he disregarded it as he headed for the door. No more introspection for the night. He looked back as he entered the hallway. Who’d have ever thought? Maksim Kirov denying himself what he most wanted to save the feelings of a twelve-year-old boy. He closed Sydney in and stepped in front of the door opposite, pushing it open a little wider . . .

Andy was lying on his side, face lit up from the video playing on his phone. He turned over as Maks came fully into the room. “Can’t sleep, kid?” A lock of hair flopped onto his forehead as Andy shook his head. “That an iPhone?” Maks asked as he stopped next to the empty side of the king-size bed. “You mind?” He motioned to the vacant real estate, asking to sit. “Sit.” Andy sat up and leaned on the headboard, holding the cell up. “Latest version. Bought it with my birthday money last year.” Nice. “You mind if I fiddle with it for a minute?” He copied the boy’s move, kicking his shoes off so he wouldn’t get the glaring-white duvet dirty. He tucked two pillows behind his back and sighed as he settled into them. “Long fuckin’ day—oh, sorry, kid.” Andy grinned, shrugging. “I watch TV. Heard it all before.” He ruffled his hair and held his hand out. “I’ll make it so your phone can’t be traced or your info hacked.” “Like, right now?” He nodded, and when the phone was handed over with enthusiasm, he opened it up and got to work. “Sorry we had to pull you away from your buddy’s place,” he said as he tapped, closing and deleting a few files, while opening and altering others. “No big.” “This your girlfriend?” Maks nodded at the screen saver, which was the photo of a smiling girl about Andy’s age. Her eyes were dancing and she had a tipped-up nose sprinkled with freckles. Cute, even though twelve was ridiculously young to be hooking up. “No. That’s my sister.” The bottom fell out of Maks’s stomach. “Come again?” “That’s Eleanor. My aunt Emily’s daughter. They took her away from us last year after my aunt OD’d,” Andy mumbled, eyes closing. “But she’ll always be my sister.” Vasily would have loved hearing that, Maks thought, touched by the sentiment himself as he continued to fiddle with the phone. He pulled up the kid’s messaging and texted himself the photo. Looked as though he had some work to do tonight. “What’s her full name? Do you know it?” “Eleanor Erica Grant.” He input that into his own phone. Erica? Had Emily named her after Sydney? he wondered. “Her birthday coming up soon?” he inquired casually. “Yeah. March 10.”

Sydney had said the kids were the same age, so he used Andy’s birth year and had to blink the moisture from his eyes when he yawned widely. “My mom said I could swim tomorrow. Is that okay?” Andy asked as the contagious aspect of the gesture did its thing. Maks saw molars free of fillings. He had to smile at the manners and nodded even though the kid’s eyes were closed. Done, he leaned over and put the phone on the nightstand. “Sure. Feel free to use whatever amenities you find in the house.” “Cool. Thanks, Russia,” he mumbled. “You’re welcome, kid.” As he watched the boy’s face relax, Maksim was surprised to find he meant that commonly spoken expression in a much deeper way than Andy would have heard in it.

CHAPTER 20

Maksim woke with a gasp, his arm shooting out in front of him, reaching for . . . nothing but air. He blinked, hating the distress, the helpless terror making his heart slam up into his throat. He looked around to see he’d fallen asleep in Andy’s room, and amethyst eyes were watching him closely, curiously. But they weren’t the boy’s; they were Sydney’s. Jeeeesuuuus Chrrrrrriiiist. She slowly made her way over from the wingback where she’d been sitting in the corner. “Are you okay?” she asked softly. He stared. “Maksim?” He stared some more. Sex. With her. Was the first thing that popped into his head at the sight of his little Aussie wearing nothing but that bulky gray knit sweater more suited to winters in Siberia and thigh-high leg warmers. But then he saw that her feet were bare. The tightness in his chest got worse. “Maksim? Are you awake?” she whispered with an uneasy look she tried to hide, her gaze going from him to Andy—who was snoring quietly at his elbow—as if she was suddenly afraid he might hurt the kid. He wouldn’t. Was too busy watching Sydney’s image morph into that of one of the girls who’d briefly occupied the cell next to his. She’d worn a dirty linen dress that had flowers on it, and her hair had been dark. He remembered they’d taken her clothes and shoes when she refused to have sex with them the first night they’d brought her in, vowing to return them when she gave in. Maks had been there about two months at that point and had known what would come next. He’d been helpless to stop it. 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-yearolds 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, darkblond 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 Gabriel 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 coffeecolored 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.” She shook her head and parted her lips to breathe easier. “Not that.” “Ask.” “How can you look at these every day and not be stimulated? Or are you?” “I don’t see the sexual aspect of them anymore. I see the connection between the two.” She turned and found him directly behind her. Great answer. She stood on her toes, held his jaw, and kissed him, feeling the bones shift under her palms when he opened. She wasn’t going to think about this. She was simply going to bask in it, indulge. Gather what she could to take away with her in the end. She followed Maksim’s lead by opening, and her nipples peaked from the shiver that rocked her when his tongue invaded her mouth. How did she compare as a kisser with the many women he’d had? She wondered suddenly. Their mouths parted as she bumped down, figuratively and literally when her heels hit the hardwood. His gaze narrowed on her. “What.” She studied his features, the intensity in the way he was watching her. “Yesterday it happened so fast and was so explosive. This time seems deliberate. I’m . . . nervous. There’s stuff in my head that shouldn’t be there.” She ran her fingertips over his chiseled pecs. “Sydney.” Their eyes locked. “Do not think when you’re about to have sex with me. I don’t want your best or what you hope might please me. I want you to do what you feel you must. Take from me what you need.” He ran his palms from her hips up over her ribs. “But listen, that advice, as sound as it is, doesn’t really apply right now, so put it out of your head. Because this time will be about nothing but you handing over that control you hold on to so goddamn tightly.”

She shook her head, and he stilled the motion by grasping her chin between his thumb and finger. “Take what I’m offering you. Do you know how badly you want it?” He released her and circled around, stopping behind her. “How badly you need it? Do you?” he pushed when she didn’t respond. “No,” she whispered. “Don’t tell me I’m wrong. I’ve been watching you. Every move that you make. I see the look in your eyes when I put my foot down, when I assert myself with you. I watch your body change. I see the color that comes into your cheeks, the way your breath comes faster . . . the way your nipples harden, proving it’s a sexual turn-on I’m witnessing. I see that need you feel to accept it, lover, even when you struggle with allowing me my way. You’re getting better, but there is still a ways to go. You want to give in and let me take over.” The forefinger and middle finger of one of his hands touched her temple. “The problem is in here. You’ve had to be this strong, independent woman who stands for herself, and more, for Andy. But in here”—his other hand came to rest on her quickly rising and falling chest—“deep down in that most private place, you know, or are coming to know, who you are. You know what you want. What will bring you pleasure. And you’re understandably afraid to admit it. Don’t tell me I’m wrong,” he said again. And she didn’t. Because she knew he wasn’t. “Show me,” she whispered instead.

CHAPTER 21

With a tortured groan, Maks took a moment to savor those words, and then he pulled Sydney into his arms and walked backward to the bed. He fell to his back, and smiled at the little grunt she made when she landed on top of him. He immediately rolled her over but only allowed a portion of his full weight to come down on her. When her breath released shakily and she squirmed beneath him, Maksim claimed her mouth in a scorching kiss that had her moaning her surrender down his throat within seconds. A raw cloud of desire instantly surrounded them, and he knew they weren’t going to have a problem. He lifted his head and was pleased that she appeared all-in. She leaned up to continue, but he pulled back. “Ah-ah.” If she heard his altered tone, he didn’t know, but she slowly rested her head on the bed again. And waited. No problems here at all. “From here on out, you’ll do as you’re told. You won’t touch me unless I give you permission. If I do and then say stop, you take your hands off and settle back until I tell you to go again. When I give you instruction, I don’t want hesitation—you follow immediately. Understand?” She nodded, focus darting from his eyes to his mouth and then back up again. He wasn’t sure if she was listening. But he’d soon find out. “Good girl,” he said, and then pushed himself off her to stand. Her murmur of disappointment was pleasing, to say the least. As was the hot, famished look that flew over her face when she noticed his erection straining over the band of his sweats. “Lick your lips,” he ordered, his voice already hoarse. She did. So quickly he was sure she’d been about to before he’d told her to. He removed her sneakers with no fuss and reached up to slide her yoga pants down her legs and off her feet along with a pair of wooly socks. His teeth ground together, his limbs beginning to shake at the sight of all that skin. The sugar-

skull tattoo on the front of her right thigh smirked at him. He smirked back. He needed more. So he got more. After placing kisses to the soles of her feet, lips twitching when she jerked from each, he drew her up and slowly pulled her sweater over her head. Dropping the soft, still-warm piece of clothing to his feet, he took his damn time this round, studying the colorful flowers and vines inked across her indented navel and the gorgeous copper-and-gold dragon protecting her left side, its tail wrapping all the way down to her flared hip. Sexy. As. Shit. He took a step back. “Sit up. Knees pointing at me. Ass on the soles of your feet. Hands on your thighs. Back straight. Head bowed. Eyes down.” She slowly moved into position, the graceful flow of her limbs so fucking beautiful to watch. Shit. This wasn’t going to last. He leaned forward and used a knuckle to tap the inside of her knees. “Wider.” She separated them to the perfect measurement. He relished the burn of pleasure flowing through him as he straightened and took her in for a long moment. His little Aussie. In position. Waiting to please him. Allowing him to have her on his terms. They were here. They’d made it. And still she waited. And he let her. For a full five minutes. And goddammit he needed to know what was going through her mind during those minutes. A highly unusual thing. Something he’d never needed before. “Look at me.” She slowly raised just her eyes, didn’t smile, didn’t change expression, but the fire in that stare shot a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. “I never said you had to remain silent. Tell me what you want, Sydney.” She pointed at his groin. “That.” His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a deep groan. “Where?” he rasped. “Everywhere.” His fingers curled into fists, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down the middle of his back. Not yet. But soon. As he had last time, he’d mark her, leave behind his scent. Like an animal. All the fuck over her. “Take your hair down.” She did, and the heavy waves fell from the knot she’d had it in so that the ends curled down around her narrow rib cage. Magnificent. He gestured to her black bra and panties, which had multiple straps that made it look as though she were bound in them. “Off.” She didn’t hesitate before reaching behind and quickly undoing the clasp of her bra. She slid the lace and silk down her arms and dropped it next to her on the bed. He devoured her stunning breasts, two perfect globes no paler than the

rest of her body. She went up on her knees and used her thumbs to slip the matching panties down, rolling onto her hip to slide them off her legs and drop them with the bra. She got back into position immediately, eyes down. No coy flash of pussy or leading looks. Holy Christ, it was as if she’d done this a hundred times before and already knew what he liked. What he expected of her. The fact that she hadn’t, and didn’t, but was giving him what he needed anyway, had him going wild inside. “Spread your legs as wide as they’ll go.” As her chest rose and fell swiftly, she did. Not too slowly. Not too quickly. But just right. And Maks wanted to die at the sight of that bare pussy, the inside of which glistened with moisture already. And he hadn’t even touched her yet. He’d remedy that immediately. “I’m going to touch you, and I now want you to remain quiet.” He sat on the side of the bed and reached out to feather his knuckles over that perfect little slit. Her sharply indrawn breath whistled through her lips. He took his hand back. “I’m sorry.” Whispered shakily. “I . . . couldn’t help—” She sealed her lips. “Is that remaining quiet?” Her brow furrowed for a split second before smoothing out again. She bowed her head once more, shaking it as if in apology. “Do you think you’ll please me if you don’t do as I ask?” Another shake of her head, hair shimmering in a pale curtain. She was wrong, but he didn’t tell her that. “Will you remain quiet when I touch you this time, Sydney?” He got nothing. Because it would have been a lie. She wouldn’t be able to stay quiet if he touched her, and she was admitting it in the only way she could. He found that explosive and . . . endearing. “Give me your mouth. Open and ready.” She came forward and placed her parted lips on his, tongue smoothly joining his to roll around and play for a moment. He groaned and sucked on her bottom lip, biting down hard enough to have her gasping, but not hard enough that she would feel actual pain. Releasing it, he watched her tongue pass over it slowly, as though soothing herself. “Hurt?” She shook her head, and he found he needed her voice. “Tell me. Did that hurt?” “No,” she reassured him. “You didn’t hurt me.” Better. “Turn around.” Anticipation at what he was about to see made him shudder right down to his toes. “On your hands and knees,” he stipulated as he

got to his feet again and lost sight of her face. She rose up and her gorgeous ass and shadowed sex were revealed as she obeyed. He leaned in, resting against his knees on the mattress behind her, knocking back the immediate instinct to drive his tongue into her. Fucking hell. She’d never looked more beautiful to him than she did right then, in her capitulation, especially as her head lifted slightly, causing her heavy hair to feather off her rigid back as she waited for his next instruction. He yanked his sweatshirt off, totally overheated already. “Open yourself for me.” She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then her long ringless fingers came from underneath to spread her lips to show him the soft pink folds he was nearly insane to get into. Her labored breaths registered, and he tore his gaze away from her secret treasure to see . . . He couldn’t. “Let me see your face, lover,” he said, the bite mysteriously now missing from his voice. This wasn’t the way of things. Why wasn’t he able to see her as just a body that was going to get him off in a few minutes? She looked back, looking almost feverish in her excitement, her eyes glowing with an inferno from their very mild game. This was his fantasy. The one he’d had in his office that day. He practically felt her touch as she stared at his bared upper body. Stared and coveted, by the looks of it. He felt his brows pull down in the center, and he straightened, his intention only to take off his damned constricting sweatpants. The instant disappointment on her face because she thought he was quitting was staggering. “Move your hand away.” She did. “Very good,” he praised. “You’re going to be very, very good. Aren’t you, Sydney?” Realizing she’d been wrong and they were continuing, she perked up again and nodded, and when he looked down at her sex, he could see the outer muscles flexing as if she were on the verge of climaxing. He felt his erection throb and knew he wasn’t far from his own. He pushed his sweats and boxers down and kicked them away. “I want to touch you, Maksim.” He closed his eyes at the husky request. “Not yet.” If she touched him, they’d be done. “Now open yourself for me again, and this time I want you to touch yourself with only one of your fingers.” Her hand came between her legs immediately, and a rumble erupted from his chest as he watched her separate herself with her forefinger and ring finger and then use her middle finger to slide through her wetness. “Give it to me,” he rasped as he leaned over her shoulder to suck the offered finger into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around it, the sweet, erotic flavor of her sending him into a

tailspin. He let her digit slide out of his mouth with a soft pop and pushed away to get to his feet. “Stand up and put your hands against the wall, Sydney.” She moved off the bed and stepped beyond the nightstand to brace herself with her palms flat on the wall, her hips jutting out behind her to give him full access. Nothing could have proven her trust as clearly as the offering of her body. And what a fucking body it is, he thought as he swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth. He caressed everywhere he looked, firmly and with ownership. She was his. Only his. For now, he forced himself to add. With a light glancing smack to her right ass cheek that had her jumping and looking back at him with an expression he had to wonder about, he stepped over and opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand to take something out. He ripped the tags off, as he’d yet to use them. He felt tangled. Weirdly so, hence the lovetap. Coming up behind her, he drew one of her arms back and gave her a low, “Shh, it’s okay,” when she started. He attached the wide leather cuffs just above her elbows. “These aren’t serious arm binders—I find those too bulky and timeconsuming—but they will limit your movement while opening you up for me.” He proved the latter by tightening the connector, which brought her arms back, elbows close together, and he looked over her shoulder . . . Oh, fuck. He slowly turned her to face him so he could get an unimpeded view of her flawless breasts raised as though in offering, nipples tight and that perfect shade of darker pink few women were blessed with. Her stomach was firm, showing just the right amount of definition. He cursed in Russian and told her she really was the most beautiful he’d ever had. “Thank you, I think,” she said with a shaky smile that was sexy and hot and slightly uneasy at the same time. “Sorry, you just wiped my knowledge of English. You’re fucking gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous,” he repeated against her flesh as he cupped and tasted what now belonged to him, savoring her soft gasp. After too little attention paid to her upper half—but with a vow to return— Maks turned her away and dropped to his knees behind her, where he felt he belonged, and with a firm hand, he pushed between her shoulder blades until her breasts were against the wall, then he spread her open and dove into that secret place, devouring her with calculated thrusts and well-timed flicks. “Maksim! Oh . . . God!” Sydney’s cries of pleasure rocked into him like a tidal wave as she gave him her first orgasm, her muscles flexing around his buried tongue, her thighs trembling as he elicited every last spasm from her. So responsive.

Getting to his feet, staying behind her, he quickly donned a condom from the box he’d dropped into the drawer that morning and grabbed her hips to pull her into the cradle of his pelvis. She shifted like liquid, and he had to work like hell on his control as he slid himself through her wetness. “Bring me home,” he commanded tightly. “I’m . . . my arms—” “Your hands are in perfect placement. Do it.” And they were, because she was easily able to reach, and she gently gripped his cock and brought the tip of him to her entrance. He covered her hand and squeezed. “Tighter. Hold me like I’m about to walk away from you.” He removed his hand and sucked in a breath when she slowly tightened her fist, stroking him once, and then twice. “Oh, fuck yes,” he rasped. “Don’t let me leave you. Show me where you need me.” She attempted to push back, to impale herself on him, but he held her off with the grip he had on her hips, keeping just the tip of himself nestled. He was on fucking fire. Her whimper of frustration caused him to smile, and he couldn’t help but wonder at the amazing creature he held in his hands. He burrowed into her, pressing her against the wall with his chest on her back, and spoke quietly into her ear. “Do you think you were a good enough girl for me to give you what you want?” He moved her hair aside and kissed down the side of her neck to her shoulder, nipping her there lightly. “I d-don’t know.” His smile widened. “You were so worth the wait, princess. And I feel honored to be having you.” “Stop that,” she chastised. “I want to know what you’re saying.” Too bad. He spoke again, keeping to his native tongue. “You’re confusing and special and you’ve made me question things I shouldn’t. You’ve made me regret things I shouldn’t. And look forward to things I absolutely know I shouldn’t. I hate that as much as I like it. I’m second-guessing myself minute by minute with you.” “Maksim, please.” She pressed into him so that he wasn’t sure if she was complaining about the Russian or the fact that he’d paused the action. “Do you think you were a good enough girl for me to give you what you want?” he repeated, coming back to English. “Yes. Yes, I was. I am.” She squirmed, hitting him just right. “Yes, you most definitely are. Say my name.” “Maksim,” she whispered. “Again, lover.” He cupped her breasts and rolled her nipples. “Maksim, please.”

He grabbed the base of his cock and entered her in slow increments, with a gentleness that wasn’t part of the game. She mewled like a kitten once he was seated to the hilt, but he could barely enjoy it. Because she finished what she’d started last time. He felt as though he were burning alive; she was branding him, putting her mark on him, destroying his chance at pleasure with any other but her. That made anger rise in him. Made him feel trapped. As though she was doing this, limiting him, bringing him under her control, on purpose. As though that had been her plan all along. Everything about her, from her size, her looks, her attitude, her strength, her vulnerability, all of it, even her being a mother. Right from the beginning, she’d done nothing but draw him in. It was as if she’d been designed to ruin him, because the more he saw, the more he wanted. The more he knew of her, the more he wanted to know. Even the fucking wasn’t “fucking” because it was just too goddamn sublime. She’d completed the capture. He was under her spell. His choice taken from him, the deal done. That knowledge made him harsh and not very nice. “You little witch,” he growled. In a sharp movement, he jerked her head to his shoulder with a firm grip on her jaw, and her tight pussy onto his cock with a hand pressed across her abdomen. He pumped hard into her only a handful of times, and she was crying out, her fingers curling into claws on his stomach, her nails sinking in as she came again, giving him number two. “I . . . Oh my . . . fuck . . . I can’t . . .” Her voice cracked as her body bowed, her inner muscles pulled at his length, tightening and releasing. Maksim frowned and drew back. Slowly he closed that distance again and rubbed his jaw on her temple. It came away wet. With her tears. And his helpless anger disappeared. Just that quickly. He slowed his thrusts, gentled his hold on her, and relaxed the grip he had around her waist, all without any thought but soothing her. “What is it, Sydney?” “No, please don’t,” she pleaded as a tear rolled off her chin to splash on his forearm. “Hold me tight. Like you were. Hold me together.” She grasped at his hips, trying to pull him tighter into her back in an effort to show him what she wanted. “I can’t . . . handle you without that. You’re just too much. Please don’t stop. Don’t stop what you’re doing to me. I need more from you.” Her body rippled in a stunning wave, and she was suddenly riding him, sliding backward and forward in a quick stroke that nearly brought him to his knees. “Yes. Please, Maksim. This. I need what you’re doing.” Clenching his teeth through the sheer bliss of her movements, he blocked that something in his chest that was trying its damnedest to burst free. This wasn’t fucking at all; he knew then. Not when he could see the trust laid bare in

her eyes when she looked up at him, the eagerness, the sheer pleasure. “Okay, lover,” he couldn’t help but whisper into her hair as he took over. “I’ll give you what you need.” His touch on her was still firm and sure but deferential now as he pushed her forward to run his hand up her arched back. He pressed the release on each cuff, and they fell away as he sent his fingers up to rub her shoulders. She groaned quietly, and he traveled around to the front of her body to cup and knead her breasts, pinching her nipples between finger and thumb as he moved in and out of her. All the while he held her snug against his chest and between his biceps. One of her hands slapped on the wall, the other encircled his waist, and the sounds she made as she used the leverage to take him deep became quiet wails of enjoyment. She was vocal and incredible. The thought had him moving even slower, and with each fluid thrust he fell deeper and deeper into this woman, into her body and her spirit. “It’s okay to touch you?” She looked up at him over her shoulder, biting her lip. “I’m sorry—I didn’t wait.” “Touch me anywhere you want. Right fucking now.” Her nails sunk into his hip, and at the same time she brought her other hand between their legs to trail her fingertips up his inner thigh so she could gently cup his testicles. Game over. He swiftly separated them and flipped her onto the bed, her hair flying all around them for a split second. She landed on her back with a surprised little squeal, and before he could fully enjoy the smile that flashed on her face, he was on her, devouring her mouth as he connected their bodies again. He lifted her into him with a hand between her shoulder blades, flexing his arm until not a breath could come between them. He pumped inside her, reveling in the feeling of her legs wrapping tightly around his waist, her hips rolling in perfect time with his, taking everything he was giving. She brought their foreheads together and pulled her mouth away from his so she could breathe. Their gazes locked and stayed as she held him tightly around his neck, fingers gripping his hair. When she inadvertently pulled, a growl came from his chest, sounding like an animal was in the room with them. “Maksim . . . ?” “Right here, lover. We’re golden.” His name came from her again as she cried out. She moaned, head falling back, lids sliding closed to break that connection between them. Pride was a living thing inside him that it was he who was giving Sydney this pleasure. What was happening here wasn’t shrouded in titles and rules and limits. He was getting off on loving her just as he was, without the inflexible regimens he normally held on to for dear life in the bedroom. It was normally much more

distanced than this. What he and Sydney were doing wasn’t. This was warm. Hot. Hot and goddamn beautiful. Her eyes opened as he lowered her back to the bed, reducing the speed of his thrusts. His elbows sank into the mattress on either side of her, and, with his thumbs, he wiped at the moisture at her temples. Expression dazed, she left a trail of fire down his ribs, bringing her hands around his back to make his dreams come true. Scraaatttccchhh. “Nearly had my fill,” he murmured as he came down to taste the drop of moisture pooling in the indent at the base of her throat. So sweet, her taste. “But I’m sensing number three, and that’s always been a lucky number for me.” She laughed, and he did get that third out of her before he was through, joining her in that final climax, spinning through a too-powerful vortex of sensation. Even his orgasm was different. Crippling. Frenzied. Almost damaging to the soul. Or was that repairing? He was too lost to know for sure. They collapsed onto his tangled sheets, limbs slippery and weak, and Maksim knew he was well and truly fucked. And he wasn’t talking about the sex.

CHAPTER 22

After a surprisingly intimate and unexpected cuddle, Sydney watched Maksim disappear into the bathroom. She pulled the duvet up to her chin and moaned quietly. The second she’d looked over her shoulder and seen him standing behind her, ravenously staring at her on her hands and knees, her trust given, Sydney had gotten a sinking feeling deep in her heart. Now she knew, was absolutely positive, she’d made an enormous mistake. The principal one in her life to date. She should have listened to herself and stayed away from this Russian. She should have covered her ears when he’d told her of his past, and remained ignorant of any understanding of his promiscuous behavior that had so bothered her. She should have held on to her antipathy—arrogant or not. Instead, I fell in love. She moaned again, a sound of fear. How could this be? She couldn’t love him. You won’t touch me unless I give you permission. If I do and then say stop, you take your hands off and settle back until I tell you to go again. When he’d said that to her in the beginning, it was all she could do to hide the fact that she’d wanted to burst into tears and just smother him with the love that had blazed in her chest. Was he aware how transparent his need to protect himself was? Did he know it shadowed almost everything he did? As she was only now coming to see. She bit her thumbnail. Knowing she loved Maksim didn’t really change anything. It wasn’t as if there was a happily ever after for her and a Russian mobster. So she’d keep it simple. Enjoy the explosive, incredible sex. Mmm . . . And do the best she could when their time came to an end. Swallowing the lump that rose in her throat, Sydney slipped out of the bed, knowing Andrew would be back soon. Dwelling on another screwup on her part

wouldn’t change anything, so after gathering her clothes, she carefully opened the bedroom door. When she saw the coast was clear, she tiptoed down the hall and ducked into the bathroom to clean up. Ten minutes later, she heard Maksim fly by and bound up the stairs. Alarmed, she smoothed her hair one last time and followed.

Maksim pushed the lever to cut the water and stepped out of the shower. His back was stinging in a few places, and every time it registered, it gave him a rush. Drying off, he grabbed his phone as it rang, his lip curving when he saw the number that flashed. “Hey. You’ve all but disappeared lately. What’s with that?” “Maksim.” The urge to smile fled when he heard the coarse sound to Tegan’s normally playful voice. “T? What’s wrong?” “Eberto . . .” The bathroom mirror reflected the alarm that slammed into his expression. “Eberto what? Where are you? Did he hurt you?” Oh, no. No, no, no. “He was in my car when I got out of work. He said he’d be back. He wants Sydney.” She sniffled, proving she was crying, and that was more alarming than her words. Tegan wasn’t a crier. She was tough. A survivor. “Where are you, T?” he demanded as he threw on his clothes. “Are you at your place?” “It sounded like he was leaving town,” she said without answering him. “I found a paper in my car after he left that he must have dropped, and it has flight information that I’ll text to you. Maksim?” He stilled with his hand on the doorknob. “What?” “I don’t want to see you for a while. Okay? Please don’t come here.” He stood there for a long moment, his skin shrinking. He didn’t know what to do with that. “T, I can’t not come to you.” “Don’t. Please.” “Tell me what he did to you.” “He didn’t hurt me. The knife he held to my throat left a small cut, but . . .” His eyes closed, and his forehead hit the door. “I just don’t want to see you. Please tell the others to stay away, too. Okay?

I . . . shouldn’t have been involved in this.” He agreed. He agreed so hard his knees weakened. “I’m so sorry, Tegan. I don’t know how he found out about our connection. We’re all so careful to keep you separate from . . . this.” “Yeah, well. I’ll call you when I’m not so upset. Bye, Maks.” The silence in his ear filled him with horror. Tegan was one of the best friends he’d ever had. The thought that she’d suffered an attack had rage blowing a hole through his control. What had that fucker done to her? A vicious sound rose in his throat as he banged his way out of his room and raced up the stairs. The main bathroom door had been shut, signifying where Sydney had ended up. He found Gabriel and Eva in the kitchen with Vasily and Alek, all of them standing around the island snacking from a tray of sandwiches and veggies Samnang had left out. The boys were eating; Eva was fussing over her father’s face. It looked as if the guy had gouged two fingers of eye black and smeared it down from the inside corners of his eyes. “Eberto went after Tegan,” Maks snarled. The boys’ reactions matched his, and the tension in the air hit critical in one breath. “What did he do?” Alek demanded, normally unflappable expression instantly vicious. Maks relayed the conversation he’d just had and then backhanded a gourd that sat on the counter, sending it flying across the room to splatter on the cupboards next to the fridge. “Let’s go,” Gabriel said, grabbing Eva’s arm. Maks shook his head and stepped in front of them. “She specifically said she doesn’t want to see any of us. She asked me to tell all of you not to go by— me included. Said she shouldn’t have been involved in this. Holy fuck!” he shouted. “How the fuck did he know she was connected to us?” “Presumably, the same way the Baikovs found out about Kathryn,” Vasily said. “The same way too much of our information is showing up where it shouldn’t be.” Maks pushed his knuckles into the counter and leaned on them until they cracked. “When I find that snitch, I’m going to rip his fucking head off with my bare hands. I don’t care who he is.” “Get in line, son,” his Pakhan murmured as he waved someone forward. Maks turned to see Sydney, pale as a ghost, standing in the doorway. Guilt emanated from her.

Doing his best to calm the subtle vibration that had been buzzing along his nerve endings for the past fifteen minutes, Lore knocked again. Why wasn’t Tegan answering the door? She fell asleep, he tried to tell himself again. But he knew she hadn’t. She’d told him she’d be staying up because her shifts were changing and she’d be reverting back to days. He knew what a bitch it was to flop back and forth. He looked at his watch. Besides, she was expecting him. In the shower? That was why he’d sat and waited for eight of the fifteen minutes without knocking again. If she’d been showering, she’d be out by now. He took his phone out and texted her. The new phone he’d picked up for her was a light weight in his pocket. He’d figured since he’d been responsible for hers breaking, the least he could do was replace it. Everything okay? The muffled sound of her chime came through the door. She was home. He knew it. Why the fuck wasn’t she answering then? He’d spoken to her not even two hours ago, and she’d been fine with him. Had even sounded as though she were as anxious to see him as he was to see her. A minute later, he’d received no response to the text. What. The. Fuck. He banged loudly on the door, not caring if the neighbors heard now. In that moment, he became who he was, an NYPD detective right to the fucking bone. “Tegan? Are you in there? Are you okay?” “Please go home, Lore.” A tremor started up in his lower belly and spread outward. Her voice. Oh no. He knew damn well what that note in a woman’s voice meant. He’d heard it enough to pick it off in two syllables. The cowed, fearful, despondent tone was unmistakable. “T? Open the door for me.” Nothing. “I’m going to drive your neighbors nuts and probably bring them out to yell at me until I see for myself that you’re okay,” he warned.

It took a few moments, but the sound of the chain sliding off had him stepping back. Now was not a good time to appear aggressive. Alarm nailed him, because the woman who opened the door to him was not the woman he’d left the other morning on the sidewalk out in front of the hospital. She wasn’t the one he’d called earlier because he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He came forward, and she stepped back, and he was convinced then that someone had indeed done something to his little ray of sunshine. He forced himself to take another step even though it pained him to see her retreat again. He closed the door behind him. “Please tell me who did this to you, T.” Her bruised-looking, red-rimmed eyes flashed up. “Did what?” she asked hoarsely. “Hurt you. I can see that you’re hurt. Tell me what happened.” She shuddered and wrapped the oversize robe she was wearing over her clothes tighter around her torso. Lore wanted to tear the fucking place apart until he found a clue as to what had happened to her. “He didn’t hurt me,” she said as she went and sat on the edge of the sofa. “Who?” He followed, making sure to move slowly, and took the chair, knowing she’d want distance right now. Her hair fell forward to hide her face. Hated that. And it was wet, which meant she’d showered. What had she been trying to wash away? The possibilities skewered him, and for the first time in Lorenzo’s life, he regretted the restraints being a cop put on him. If Tegan had been sexually assaulted—as every indicator was pointing toward—and he had to go to some doctor’s home and arrest him in front of his plastic wife and two-point-five kids . . . and then learn the fucker’s attorney had gotten him off because of a technicality and Tegan would be forced to see the bastard at work every day, a man who’d forced himself on her . . . Taking a breath around the fireworks going off in his periphery, Lore slowed his roll around a startling realization. If she gave him a name and confirmed his suspicions right then, he wouldn’t be calling this one in. Dishonor rose up in him, making his temples pound at what he knew he would be doing. At who he knew he would be calling. “He didn’t hurt me,” she repeated, sounding as though she was trying to convince herself of that. “He may not have hurt you physically, but your light is out, sweetheart, and I need to know who has to pay for making that happen.” Her head came up, her blue eyes becoming luminescent as they filled and

then overflowed. “Oh, Lore,” she whispered, her chin trembling. “I have no one to blame but myself.” Spoken like a true victim, he thought as he inched his way onto the sofa and put his hand, palm up, on the cushion between them. Take it, he willed her. It took her more than a minute of quiet tears trailing down her smooth cheeks, but she eventually placed hers in it, and that was all he could ask of her for now.

It was late afternoon when the main door slamming had everyone’s head swinging toward the sound. Vasily had been called away, so it was Maks comforting a guilt-ridden Sydney while Eva and Gabriel sat on the other sofa talking quietly. Nika was now standing in V’s regular spot over by the French doors, playing with her hair with one hand and petting Charlie’s head with the other. She and Vincente had returned earlier, telling Sydney that Jak had asked if he could partner up with Andy for a roam through the woods since they were already out. Maks had actually texted Jak and asked him to keep the kid occupied because the atmosphere in the house was tenebrous. Especially after Maks received Tegan’s text outlining Eberto’s fleeing of the goddamned country. The spineless fuck had bailed and would be in Mexico by tomorrow morning, according to the flight information. But, going by what Tegan had said, Eberto had threatened to return. So it looked as though they’d have to keep their guard up until then. Maks wouldn’t rest until a connection of theirs confirmed Eberto got off the plane in Mexico. If he did, their man had instructions to nab the fucker and get him back over the border in any way he could. Obviously sensing a mood, Charlie squeezed behind Nika’s legs just before V blew into the room. The second he’d been filled in on the sitch, the Reaper had bailed, face thunderous. Not even Nika’s calls had slowed him. He’d obviously gone to Tegan’s, and must have flown there and back because he’d done the sixty-mile round-trip in less than two hours. “Lorenzo’s with her.” Maks surged to his feet. “What?” he burst out. “Yeah. I saw him through the window. They were on the couch. Not a good view.” “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means T was sitting in the corner looking like a victim and Lore was sitting a good stretch away from her looking like a cop,” Vincente growled, leveling him with a glare that told him to cut the shit. “So you still don’t know what happened to her.” V shook his head. “I’m gonna call him once I can think up a plausible excuse for how I knew he was there.” “Tell him I stopped by and saw them.” Nika came over. “I’ve seen him at the church with his brother, so it isn’t strange that I’d know who he is. Say I went to see her because I was worried . . . ? I didn’t want to interrupt?” She looked hopeful. Obviously planning on running with the suggestion, V kissed her on the mouth before walking out with his phone pressed to his ear. “Why the fuck is Lore showing up everywhere all of a sudden?” Maks demanded. “First with Nika, then sniffing around Pant the other day, now hanging around T. Is he on an investigative team we’re not aware of?” “Get off his dick, Maks,” Gabriel muttered. He was sitting forward on the sofa, hand passing roughly over his tightly set jaw. “He’s not as bad as you’ve painted him to be. And stop shouting—we’re right in front of you.” Maks dropped his voice to a low growl. “He fucked over his family.” “I don’t think he ever saw us the way you do,” Alek said as he came into the room with three steaming mugs that had little tags hanging off the sides. “I also don’t think he had fucking us over in mind when he enrolled at the police academy.” Each female was presented with a hot drink and a small smile. “It was a personal choice he made, and you should respect that.” It was Maksim’s turn to glare, his sights set on Mr. Fucking Reasonable. “His intent doesn’t matter. The result does.” Alek glanced at Sydney’s bowed head and then back to Maks. “Really?” Put. In. My. Place. He grudgingly nodded once to acknowledge what Alek had just implied. Sydney’s intent when starting this snowball had been honorable in the way that she’d gotten into it with Morales because of her friend’s tragic death. The things that had happened after, the most recent being Tegan’s brush with Eberto, “the results,” really weren’t all that mattered. There was something called “collateral damage.” Sydney couldn’t be held responsible for every decision every other person had made since this had begun, so . . . Maks got his phone out and sent a text to a fucking NYPD detective, offering any aid he, or Teagan, might need.

The following morning, Andrew Martin didn’t want to admit it, but he was glad to be leaving the heavy atmosphere that had descended over Russia’s house. Booting through the bush yesterday on the ATVs had been fun. But seeing his mom when they walked in the door later, feeling her shaking when she hugged him, hadn’t been. Ever since his aunt Emily had died, she’d been different. He hated that. Though . . . He looked over at Russia, where the ginormous guy stood watching his mom come down the stairs. She was different around him. He could tell she liked him. Could see Russia liked her, too. Or he hoped that was why he looked at her like that. “Did you say your good-byes and unnecessary thank-yous to the girls?” Russia asked her. She smiled, and Andrew looked away before she caught him watching. “They were in the nursery,” he heard her say, talking about the pregnant lady and the other one with the red hair. “It looks like it’s going to be lovely. Are you ready, Andrew?” He picked up his backpack, which he never went anywhere without, and loped over. “The guys are going to be jealous that I missed first period,” he said, trying to talk about normal stuff to get that worried look out of her eyes. “Thanks for letting me go, Mom. And thanks for talking her into it, Russia.” Russia held up a giant mitt. “Wasn’t me, kid. She decided it all on her own when I told her our threat bailed. For now,” he stressed, meeting each of their eyes. He and his mom both nodded, and then they were being brought out to a sweet Hummer. He got into the back with Micha. The trip into Manhattan took a bit, but soon they were pulling up in front of his school. He saw his mom turn and open her mouth. “I know,” he said, before she could say anything. “No leaving the grounds to grab pizza at lunch. Stay inside for recess. You’re picking me up yourself after last bell. I got it, Mom.” “Okay.” She smiled, and he finally saw her relax. “Okay,” she repeated, motioning him forward so she could kiss him on the forehead. He looked at Russia and then Micha. “Call of Duty later?” he confirmed. Both men nodded. “Sweet. See you after school!” he called, jumping from the SUV. The front passenger door opened. “Mom . . .” He glanced behind him to make sure none of the kids were hanging outside. “I’m going straight in. It’s cool.” She sat back again, even though he could tell she didn’t want to. “Okay. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” He heard the door slam as he went up the walkway and turned to wave because he knew she’d still be watching. He got it, though. Because she was like that. Fussed over him even though he was old enough not to need it. He thought about his sister as he did a lot—even though she was gone now, Eleanor would always be his sister, as he’d said to Russia last night—and stuck his head out the closing door of the school to wave that extra time just because he knew it would make his mom smile. At least, unlike Eleanor, he still had a mom to worry about him. He thought about his aunt Emily as the door slammed shut, and he turned to start down the hallway toward the office. Eleanor must really miss— He smacked right into someone. Definitely a teacher by the size of him. He looked up, ready to apologize to either the principal or gym teacher, because they were the biggest guys, and felt his heart slam into his ribs. The man staring down at him through dirty black hair definitely didn’t work here. Andrew sucked in a breath, ready to shout for help if he needed to; then he felt something sharp poke into his side. “You make one sound, and I’ll text my men, the ones who’ve just taken care of the Russians. One of them will take a knife just like this one”—he pressed harder, and Andrew felt a sharp sting above the waistband of his jeans —“and slice your pretty mother’s throat wide-open. You keep your mouth shut, and you’ll see her in a few minutes. You’re going in separate vehicles, but you’re gonna end up at the same place. You gonna cooperate, boy?” Clicking heels sounded from the end of the empty hall, and Andrew glanced past the man. He saw the secretary carrying some bright-red folders, attendance folders, he knew, and wanted so badly to get her attention. But his mom. He couldn’t let this guy or his men hurt his mom. “Okay.” “Look outside and tell me if my boys have driven the Russian’s truck away yet.” Andrew stepped back and pushed at the door. “Andrew?” he heard the secretary call as he looked out and saw the Hummer was gone. “They’re gone,” he said. He barely got the words out before he was shoved outside. His arm was grabbed, and he was pulled roughly along in a half run. “How do I know you’re not bullshitting me?” he asked, his heart slamming into his ribs. This had to be the Eberto dude he’d heard everyone talking about. What if he was lying? What if his mom and Russia had simply driven away

already? Eberto took out his cell and dialed, cursing worse than Russia had when he’d found a shoe chewed almost beyond recognition on their way up from the basement that morning. They reached a dark-blue Lincoln, and Eberto pulled open the driver’s door and tried to push Andrew in. Screw that. He put his arms on the frame and resisted. “She cooperating?” Eberto asked whoever had answered. “Did you have to kill them?” At the same time, the front door of the school opened, and Andrew saw his principal stick his head out. Eberto laughed and nodded at Andrew, a freaky smile on his face. “The Russians are down. And your mother’s on her own with my guy. Not a safe one for her to be with, boy. He said the driver went down easy, and Kirov, too, because he was distracted.” As he watched his principal start toward them, frowning and calling his name, all Andrew could see in his head was the way Russia had looked at his mom when she’d been coming down the stairs. As if there was nothing else going on anywhere. As if she was all there was. If he was distracted, could he have been overpowered? “Mom,” he whispered. “Get in the fucking car, boy, or I tell him to open her up.” Andrew gave up and allowed himself to be shoved hard into the vehicle. He scrambled over the driver’s seat and fell awkwardly into the passenger side, hearing his name. As they sped away from the curb, he saw his principal yanking out his cell phone. They drove in silence for a while, and he remembered a movie he’d watched with Daniel where a guy had been kidnapped. Once the guy had escaped, he’d kicked himself in the ass for not having paid attention to where he’d been taken and had been recaptured because he’d done nothing but go around in circles. Eberto took his phone out again. “Hey. You almost there? Okay. I got the kid. See you in twenty.” Knowing this part of the city pretty well, Andrew was stoked when he recognized where they were going. But it didn’t last. Not once they crossed the East River and ended up in Brooklyn. He saw a sign and a few stores with Bushwick something-or-other on them, so he assumed they were in Bushwick. He’d been continuously toeing his backpack closer, but his chance to contact anyone fled when Eberto leaned over and snatched it, throwing it—and his cell —into the backseat.

Trying not to freak out, he watched as they passed a Costco and a big park and then drove alongside a huge cemetery before pulling into a driveway directly across from all the mausoleums. They passed through an open gate made out of the same wood as the fence around the yard, and Eberto stopped the car between an old house and a cube van that had its hood up. “My mom’s here?” “What do you think’s inside the back of the van? Can’t leave the Hummer in plain view, huh, stupid?” What would this guy do to them? Had they really killed Russia? Andrew swallowed as his stomach turned over. The feeling made him think of when his mom had woken him up that morning last year and told him about Aunt Emily. “Get out. She’s probably having a fit inside.” He climbed out of the passenger side and considered running for it. But what if he couldn’t find help? And his mom was here and she’d just watched Russia get killed—there was no way he could leave her. Eberto unlocked a side door and shoved him into the house, nodding for him to go right down into the basement rather than left up the two steps that led to a clean-looking kitchen. The place smelled like grilled cheese and air freshener. “Dad?” The muffled voice came from the second story of the house, but Andrew couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl who’d called out. Whoever it was, he felt sorry for him or her, having this guy for a father. One thing he did know—the voice hadn’t been a man’s. So it couldn’t be the guy bringing his mom here. “Stay there. I’ll be right up,” Eberto yelled as he grabbed a hunk of Andrew’s hair and yanked him into motion down the remaining steps. There was something now stuck into his back, something hard, and the sudden violence of Eberto’s actions had Andrew’s breath coming faster. They crossed a small living room and went through a door that looked too heavy to be a bedroom or anything, and before Andrew knew what was happening, he was being thrown into what looked to be a jail cell. He went in so hard he hit the wall on the opposite side, his eyes instantly stinging because he hit nose-first. Scrambling to spin around, he lurched for the door, but Eberto slammed it shut before he reached it. “Hey! Where’s my mom?” he shouted, blinking away the water that came from a shot to the beak. He felt a warm trickle come down onto his top lip and hated that he was bleeding. “Probably getting laid, sucker.” Eberto stood there, chuckling quietly to himself as he tucked a gun into the waistband at the back of his jeans.

Oh no. Fear nearly made Andrew choke. He’d fucked up. He shouldn’t have believed this guy’s story. He stumbled back from the unnerving look he was receiving and swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. It had all been lies! The phone calls, the Hummer being in the van, Russia being dead. He felt relief regarding that last one, but that didn’t stop him from being scared. “What do you want? Why am I here?” he asked. “Don’t worry. When your mother gets here to save you, I won’t have any need to keep you anymore, and that’s when I’ll kill you. And she’s gonna watch. That’ll teach her one of a few lessons. Her education will be extensive by the time I’m done with her.” As the mean-looking bastard turned away, he unscrewed the top off a vial he’d taken out of his pocket and snorted what had to be coke. He did both nostrils as he walked out, slamming that thick, heavy door behind him. “Hey! Come back! Hey!” Andrew couldn’t hear a thing. Not even the echo of his own voice. He looked around frantically and stepped closer to the bars; then he noticed the thick gray sponge on the walls. He started to shake. Soundproofed. Daniel’s cousin in New Jersey had done his garage with the same stuff so his band could practice without pissing off the neighbors. Realizing what it was, Andrew knew no one would hear him no matter how loudly he shouted. He turned around in a full circle and felt the warmth of his blood drip down over his lips to his chin when he didn’t wipe it. The room was windowless and had just a small table and a single metal bed. Real tears burned his eyes. He was trapped and had no way of warning his mom what was waiting for her.

CHAPTER 23

Maks tapped his thumb on the wheel and looked over to check out the shoes his Aussie was wearing. Again. Fuck he loved heels on a woman. Especially this woman. He hadn’t seen her wear them in a week, whereas before he’d never seen her without the added four inches. Same with makeup. She was done up today. He eyed the double-breasted three-quarter-length black trench coat. When he’d seen her walk out of her bedroom, he’d been captivated. Her sleeveless lime-green dress had reached that perfect length at the knee and had a patentleather belt cinched at her tiny waist. Belt matched the strappy heels; dress matched the green Coach bag now sitting at her feet. Great sense of style. “Where did you get the clothes?” He cleared his throat. She looked over at him, leg bobbing. “Bottom of my bag. Why?” “You packed work clothes?” She shrugged and offered him a smile. “Pays to be prepared. Now I don’t have to have lunch dressed in yoga pants or leggings.” Eva was meeting her father for lunch and had invited Sydney and Maksim to join them at a new Chinese restaurant not far from TarMor’s head office. When Maks had seen those amethyst eyes light up, there had been no way he could have refused. He remembered Sydney mentioning a craving for Chinese the night they’d gone to Apetito, and he’d never gotten it for her. He was remedying that today. And giving her a shot of normal while he was at it. And giving her some good news. Judging by the way she kept nibbling on the corner of her lip, she needed it. “Don’t get too excited,” he said, “But I found an address last night.” “For what?” “Eleanor Erica Grant, grade seven student at—” She grabbed his thigh. “No! You did not,” her voice was instantly all about emotion. “You did not. Really? You found her?”

“I said not to get excited. I have to confirm it’s her, but unless there are two twelve-year-olds with the same name and they look remarkably alike, then, yes, I found her. It wasn’t hard once I had her photo and date of birth.” “Where did you get those?” She was blinking rapidly as she dug out her phone and pulled up a photo of Eleanor and Andy together, flashing it at him as though he needed it to confirm. He nodded. “Andy gave me the info. So, what’s your plan? You going to go to the house to see her or to her school?” He rushed on with the question so he wouldn’t have to admit to having stolen information from her kid’s phone. “I don’t know.” She sat back, smiling, eyes shimmering. “I never thought this far ahead. I didn’t expect . . . Thank you, Maksim.” She leaned over and kissed the edge of his jaw. Twice. “Thank you so much for this. Andrew is going to go crazy.” He allowed her to settle into some happy thoughts as he drove and avoided Micha’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Rather, his gaze went back to her shoes once he stopped at another red light. Because he was who he was, he took his phone out and texted, since he wouldn’t disrespect either of his passengers by voicing what was on his mind. “It’s so fluffy—I’m gonna die!” Micha jerked upright in the backseat, his head coming into view between them. “What the fuck is that?” he demanded. Sydney laughed and turned back to wave her phone. “Text tone. Despicable Me. Have you seen it?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek. “Buddy’s life story?” the idiot questioned, nodding at Maks as he disappeared again. “No. Can’t say that I have.” “Just for that, I’m going to make you watch it,” Sydney muttered under her breath as she opened the text Maks had sent. I want you in nothing but the shoes. Her lips curved, and she lifted a leg to twirl her slim ankle, showing off the strappy black heel. “I like them, too. Oh! Can you pull over, please?” She pointed to the Starbucks just ahead. “I never did grab the gift cards I need.” He slowed, giving her a strange look. “Gift cards for who?” “You and all your friends. For helping me,” she said dryly. “For Andrew’s teachers, silly. Look. It even has a walk-up window. I won’t even have to go in.” After swinging out of traffic, he pulled up so that all she had to do was get

out and walk across the sidewalk. There were two people ahead of her. One guy, one girl. The guy did a double take that Sydney didn’t even notice because she was digging her wallet out of her bag. “Gift cards for teachers and finding long-lost loved ones? You’re one scary motherfucker,” Micha drawled. Maks ignored him and looked at Sydney’s phone as it started to ring. She’d left it in the console. Seeing the name of Andy’s school on the display, figuring the kid had forgotten something, he overstepped and answered. “Hey, kid, what do you need?” “Oh, um, I think I must have the wrong number.” “No,” Maks said quickly before the guy could hang up. A guy that wasn’t Andy. “Who’s this?” He gave his name and identified himself as the principal of the school. “And you are?” Maks ignored the question. “Are you calling about Andy? Andrew,” he corrected, doubting the faculty would shorten the kids’ names. “Is Sydney with you?” Getting annoyed and concerned, Maks snapped, “Yes. She is. Where is Andrew? Is he okay?” “I need to speak with her immediately, sir. Time is of the essence.” Those words hammered at him, and, seeing Sydney crossing the sidewalk, he told the guy on the phone to hold tight. Before she made it to the door, he quickly reached out and snapped open the glove box to grab a small black bag that he threw into the backseat. “Get one ready,” he told Micha, who cursed the minute he recognized what had come flying at him. The second she hopped into the SUV, he handed Sydney her phone and then gunned the engine so he could pull farther up the sidewalk, away from a newly forming line for coffee. His jerky actions as he threw it into Park and the expression on his face killed her smile. “What?” She all but tossed her purse at her feet. “Something’s happened,” he said, covering the mouthpiece. “Be careful what you say. It’s Andy’s principal.” She pushed the phone to her ear. “Dale? It’s Sydney. Is Andrew okay? What? When? Who was he?” Her expression was suddenly wild, her chest pumping up and down alarmingly fast, her face chalk white. “Tell him to hold on. Tell him!” Maks whispered fiercely. “Just a s-second, Dale.” He reached over himself and muted her phone. “What is it?” “A m-man in a blue Lincoln t-took Andrew. Longish b-b-black hair, olive

skin tone. Maksim? My son, Maksim,” she choked out. “Ready, Micha?” he aimed behind him before grabbing Sydney by the shoulders and giving her a slight shake to jar her into paying attention. “You have to tell Dale that it was Andy’s uncle and you forgot he was coming for him.” “But I wouldn’t forget something like that.” Jesus Christ. “I know, baby. But you have to pretend. They can’t involve the cops. We’re fucked if they involve the cops. It was Andy’s uncle, and you forgot he was coming for him.” “But we don’t have anyone,” she said, shaking now. “No uncles. The school knows we’re alone. It’s just me and Andrew.” Having to clear the thickness that jammed in his throat at that, he forced his voice to whip out like a slap. “Sydney! Listen to me! You were supposed to call the school but forgot. Are you hearing me? Tell Dale you arranged for your boyfriend to pick Andy up to go to a ball game. Tell him the kid will be taking the day tomorrow, as well, but don’t say why. Be vague and get it done.” He cupped her cheek and held her steady, his stare boring into her overflowing eyes. He hardened his breaking fucking heart and repeated what she had to say a few more times before hitting the button so the principal could hear her again. Maks helped her put the phone to her ear, holding it when she couldn’t, and mouthed the words once more. “Dale? I’m sorry. I’m so f-forgetful lately. I meant to call and let you know about the pickup. My b-boyfriend wanted to take Andrew to a ball game and the s-soonest one was during school hours. Sorry for that. Yes. Dark hair, falling in his eyes, right?” she all but wailed, making Maksim grind his teeth. She was no actress. “I’m fine. You caught me during my morning run through the park and I just got hit by a sprinkler. Sorry. We’re all good. They’ll no doubt get in late so I’m going to keep Andrew home tomorrow. We’ll see you Wednesday, Dale. Have a good day.” Maksim hung up the phone and had never felt as helpless as he did watching her fall apart quietly rather than losing her shit. She wrapped her arms around her middle. “Not my baby,” she whispered through chattering teeth as she rocked back and forth. He placed his hand on her back, patting lightly in an attempt to gain her attention. “Sydney.” She didn’t give it. “We’ll get him back,” he said anyway, as he glanced at his phone when it rang. Vasily. He’d get back to him. She didn’t seem to hear him. “Please. Not my boy. I need my boy. It’s just us. It’s always been just us. I can’t be without him.” “Micha.”

She didn’t even flinch when Micha pushed the needle into her upper arm right through her thin coat and depressed the plunger to administer the sedative. “I can’t lose my Andrew,” she whimpered as she pushed her knuckles to her mouth. “Oh, God, baby, what have I done to you?” She mumbled a few more unintelligible things while she weaved, and Maks caught her when she went under. He helped Micha get her into the backseat. As his friend strapped her in, Maks’s purpose became fixed. His heart rate settled, emotions leveled off, and cold as ice was all he knew. His breathing became nice and calm and he dialed his Pakhan. “Eberto wasn’t on the flight,” Vasily said on answering. “He has Andy.” “Oh, fuck no,” Vasily whispered after a heavy pause. “Oh, fuck.” Maks knew what was going through his head. The same thing that had gone through his own a few seconds ago. Those packages. The ones a member of the Baikov family had unceremoniously dropped at the foot of Sergei’s driveway last year. He and the boys had opened them, and found but parts that would have made up Sergei’s wife and fifteen-year-old boy, had they been able to reassemble them. “Where’s Sydney?” Vasily asked carefully. “Sedated. I’m dropping her at her club because it’s closest and then heading out. Are you around? Will you come sit with her so she’s not alone when she comes to? She needs someone familiar.” “Of course. We’ll meet you there.” Maks hung up and put the SUV into gear. As he drove, he refused to think of anything but an acceptable conclusion to this development. Last night, tucked into the corner of the sofa in the basement, watching TV with Sydney pressed against his ribs, she’d mentioned how much Andrew would love to see the shooting range. Knowing it was smart for a kid to learn about guns in a controlled forum, Maks had promised to take them this weekend. So now he pictured Sydney and Andy standing in front of him. Both of them wearing headphones and safety glasses. Both wearing smiles. Both of them with their arms straight out in front of them, doing what he’d promised they’d do. He kept that image in his mind’s eye until he pulled up in the alley behind Sydney’s club and saw a couple of vehicles already there. Everyone who’d been planning on joining them for lunch had gathered to offer their support. Looked like his Aussie wasn’t alone, after all, he thought as he got out of the Hummer.

They walked into Apetito in a V formation. Maksim led, then Micha and Alek, then Vincente and Jak. All of them knew where their attention should be, and it never wavered, guaranteeing every back was covered. Quan could be seen ghosting up the far side of the room. Six more Tarasov soldiers would be gaining control of any heavies stationed in the back of the restaurant at that moment. Pausing, and paying little attention to the diners enjoying their lunch, or the few already scrambling for the door, Maks met and held Morales’s eyes where he sat with two men at a large booth. Micha checked his phone that had just gone off. “All clear out back,” he murmured in Russian. Perfect. Maks continued forward, keeping to his course. He halted at the table Luiz was now standing beside. They were both fully aware there were probably a handful of iPhones pointed their way and recording in that moment. “Lead the way to somewhere very private, or I’ll give the word to have the apartment you’ve stashed your wife and son in breeched. You have one chance.” He held up his phone and didn’t have to wait even a moment before Morales was striding for an exit. Their group followed and went through the steamy kitchen, which held more than a dozen fearful staff members. They came to a large prep area that cleared of workers within seconds. The minute they were alone, Maksim acted. He grabbed Luiz by his pricey Armani lapels and swung him around to slam the guy’s back twice into a board filled with schedules, and then a third time, wishing he could rip the fucker’s throat out like the crazed dog he felt like right then. “Where’s the kid?” His voice was eerily calm. “Kirov, explain. What’s happened? I don’t know what this is about,” Luiz choked out. “What has Eberto done?” “Where. Is. Her. Kid?” Luiz shook his head in confusion. Impatience ripped through Maks, and he wanted to roar in frustration. So he did. Right into Morales’s ear. “Your brother took Sydney’s boy! Where would he be?” Luiz tried to cough, his face puce. He forced something out in Spanish that had the word God in it and then reverted to English. “I don’t know . . .” He tried to cough again and motioned with a wave of his hand to two of his men who’d

followed them from the dining room. Micha stepped in, shaking his head. In his hands were two Glocks that had come out from under his black suit jacket so quickly even Maksim had missed it. The barrels were now pointed at each man’s forehead. “It’ll be over before you twitch.” Luiz gained Maksim’s attention by shoving at his fists, which were still full of Armani and jammed tight into his neck, cutting off his blood supply with every second that passed. “They’re”—cough—“Eberto’s”—cough—“men. He’s been with”—cough—“my brother for over a decade.” He pointed at the one with the small mustache. Maks released him instantly and turned away, leaving Vincente, who’d sidled up, to stand guard. More coughing sounded as Maks pulled out his own Glock and jammed it so far under Mustache’s chin he was sure he touched the roof of the guy’s mouth. “My patience is gone. Where will I find him?” “They’ve given me all of Eberto’s hideouts already,” Luiz wheezed. “And I’ve given them to you. So that question won’t help.” “His women. Where does he fuck?” “Whorehouses,” Mustache gasped, giving him a few addresses. Vincente cursed when two of them just so happened to be the ones where the Koreans had caused the disturbances the other day. No doubt at Eberto’s request. Maks released him also and felt his monsters thrashing to break free. “We’re wasting time here,” he growled. “The guy doesn’t have one regular pussy he fucks? I can’t believe that.” Mustache scrambled back, moving closer to Luiz. “I swear he doesn’t. Not since Emily.” “Then where—” Maks had been in the process of wheeling away so he wouldn’t shoot the fucker, but he stopped and swiveled his head back as if he were an owl. “What did you say?” Eyes widening, Mustache rambled. “It was a long time ago, but Emily was the only girl I ever saw him spend any time on. He was nice to her for a while. But then she fucked off. Completely disappeared. Eberto lost his head and kept searching for her until he found her working at a club in Hell’s Kitchen last year. By then he hated her. Had one of our guys sell her some bad shit that killed her. Ever since, if he leaves his new place at all, he fucks mainly Vietnamese girls who like it rough.” By the end of the story, the pieces had fallen into place. “Eleanor is Eberto’s daughter,” he said to Micha in Russian. Then to the guy, “Which address was his new place?”

“None of us have it. He wouldn’t tell us.” Maks didn’t need to be told. He’d found it himself through Eleanor’s school records. “So he’ll be there on his own?” Mustache nodded, but Maks was already rushing for the door. He stalled and pointed to two men who carried the title of boyevik, or soldier, in the Tarasov organization. Two of their best, actually, which was why they were here. “You and the others bring these four”—he pointed to Luiz and the men he had with him—“to the club. Put them in the basement.” He looked Luiz in the eyes and went on in English. “If that boy is in any way damaged, I will keep you in that room under my club for months and months. And no matter what I do to you, I will not let you die. Do you hear me?” He met four other pairs of eyes that couldn’t hide the anxiety of the owners. “And believe me—you will wish for death with every breath I allow you.” Back to Luiz he went, coming right in close. “And if the boy is dead? You will be set aside, and your family will take your place on my wall. Not your son,” he stipulated, “because I’m no monster. But anyone else I parade by you; if anything that even resembles affection flashes in your eyes for them, they will suffer.” Drawing his arm back, he gave the Mexican a right hook that had to have rattled the guy’s brain. “That’s for putting your hands on Sydney before you came to Rapture that night.” Another hit landed, and some blood sprayed. “And that’s for telling her to get used to being on her knees in front of you. You’re lucky I don’t end you for that.” In minutes, they were back in the two vehicles and speeding through the city streets. Maks programmed their destination into Google Maps on his phone and prayed the NYPD weren’t going to bother them. He kept to a reasonable number on the speedometer just in case. “Explain the connection you made back there,” Alek said from the back. “Emily was Sydney’s best friend. She OD’d last year, which is the reason Sydney began doing all of this. She has no clue Eberto is Emily’s ex or the father of her daughter. Sure as fuck has no idea Emily was deliberately killed. Shit. There’s that personal connection between them. Never thought it would be something like this.” “And you know where we’re going how?” Alek pressed. Maks shook his head in disbelief at how some shit just worked out. “Sydney said the state had taken Eleanor away the day after her mother died. Wasn’t the state—it was Eberto. Fucking guy didn’t even bring the girl to her mother’s goddamned funeral. There’s a scar for you.” “Anyway, my Aussie really seemed to miss the girl, so I asked her if she wanted me to try to find her. Last night, thinking Eberto had left town and I had

some spare time, I went on a search to see if Eleanor had stayed in New York. Found her listed as a student at a school in Bushwick, home addy and everything.” “Does Sydney know that?” Alek asked. “I told her earlier. Before the call about Andy came in.” “So, we’re, uh, likely to find both kids at this place?” The hesitation in Alek’s voice had Maksim’s skin shredding. He blocked it. He just couldn’t go there. “I can’t even imagine what a year living with Eberto Morales has done to the young girl. I can’t fucking wait to end this guy.” For the rest of the drive, aside from asking one of the boys to pass him this so he could slip it in his pocket or hand him that so he could tuck it up his sleeve, Maks was silent. They all were—Micha beside him, Alek in the back. They slowed around the corner of their destination not long after, and Maks pulled into the driveway of a cemetery, parking behind the main office, which was closed. They got out and met up behind the Hummer with V, Quan, and Jak. First thing Maks did was designate drivers. “You and you”—he pointed at Alek and Jak—“might as well get back in the trucks because you don’t need to hear this.” Alek, whose eyes were smudged with fatigue as it was, thankfully didn’t put up a fight and walked away. The truck shook as he got behind the wheel. Jak looked to V, his superior when Gabriel wasn’t around. “Either of you know this area?” Vincente asked him and Quan. Quan shook his head. Jak, with a resigned twist of his mouth that pulled at the scar on his face, held out his hand. Quan dropped the key into it, and off he went back to the Kombat. While that was being settled, Maks had pulled up one of his favorite toys that showed the street view of pretty much any street, road, lane, avenue, and so on, in the world. They made their plan and were off. He and Micha wandered slowly down the street, close enough together that people seeing them would get that uncomfortable uh-oh-don’t-look-at-the-gays and avert their eyes. Fucking idiots. V and Quan circled the long way and would meet them around back. “Fucking takedown in broad daylight,” Micha muttered. “Look at the neighborhood. No one will care.” “I almost made out with a guy once,” came a casual announcement that shocked the fuck out of Maks. Thank Christ he knew Micha was attempting a distraction and wasn’t considering making things awkward between them. “He was a Hungarian colonel who’d stolen a chip filled with information that could have done some real damage had it made it to those who knew what to do with

it. He carried it around with him, in a small locket around his skinny neck. Had to get close enough to snag it without him knowing. Luckily, my dirty talk was distraction enough and I didn’t have to lock lips with him.” They were twenty yards from the driveway. The blue Lincoln could be seen behind the closed wooden gate. “What was it like being in that type of sitch with another guy?” Maks asked curiously. Again, not much was taboo to him when it came to sex. Certainly not experimenting. He hadn’t ever had the urge, but he sure as fuck didn’t judge anybody who did. Not after some of the stuff he had done. “Bony. And I knew without having to sample that I’d prefer fuller lips. And two sets.” Maks’s mouth turned up, and then his mind was wiped of everything but what they were doing because they’d arrived. In the next blink, they’d both hopped the fence with sideways leaps and were crouching, Glocks at their thighs as they duck-walked alongside a cube van. “Cover me,” Maks mouthed, pointing to his eyes and then the first-level windows. Micha’s lips thinned, and he slipped ahead so that he was the one doing the checking. What the fuck? He usually allowed Maks to call the shots. While Micha peeked into the three windows, two light thumps sounded near the rear of the yard, which was less than twenty feet away. Maks looked over to see V and Quan squatting behind an abandoned torn patio umbrella that was lying on its side, ratty tassels flapping in the cold breeze. V gestured that he had a door in his sights and they were heading toward it. Maks nodded and looked back to Micha, who motioned like a girl pulling her pigtails under her chin and then someone doing dishes. Eleanor must be in the kitchen. Fuck. Unable to wait, Maks went for the door anyway, even though he could tell just by looking that when he entered she’d be able to see him. Unless he lucked out and there was an inside door leading into the kitchen. If it was closed, he’d be hidden. Yanking a mini-can of WD-40 from his pocket, he sprayed the top and bottom hinges, waited a ten-count to make sure it had enough time to seep in, and then opened the screen door—not a squeak to be heard. Checking the handle, he was aware in his periphery of Micha at his right and Quan at his left. He looked to Quan, who nodded, meaning V must be set to enter the house. Nice. Taking out his trusty tension wrench—rather than draw attention by smashing one of the small square glass panes—he inserted it into the lock, swiftly set the pins, and torqued the wrench. Voila. Snick. The door opened. He

nodded to Quan, who nodded to V, and silently entered the small house. Just as he looked up to his left, Eleanor looked down. Her eyes widened, but, possibly used to strange men visiting her father, she didn’t open her mouth to scream. Until she saw V. Then the poor little peanut widened that yap, took a breath, and her warning was cut off by Vincente’s wide palm. Maks could see V speaking into her ear, and when Eleanor’s gaze went straight to the basement, he moved. There was no door to breach down there, so when he appeared before the small living area, Eberto got a full-on view of him. The ending to what the bastard had been saying into the phone at his ear never made it out. “I have your kid, you cunt. If you want him—” Eberto dropped the phone, eyes all spooked horse, as Maks lunged for him. Since no weapon was out, Maks dropped his. “I want him,” he snarled as he latched on to the skin of the guy’s jaw and viciously smashed the back of his head into the wall. Plaster cracked and broke, and Eberto had somewhat of a fit. There was no control or structure to his attack, just pure desperation. So it was a piece of cake for Maksim to do what he had to do. Because he suddenly felt as relaxed as if he were sitting on a sandy beach drinking a margarita. He started with the legs. Getting Eberto in a reverse headlock, he swiftly jerked Angelina from her sheath to run that glinting blade across the backs of the guy’s knees, severing the tendons so the ability to walk was taken. The sharp scream that filled the room closed up Maks’s ears but he ignored it and kept going. As much as he wanted to linger and cause the guy as much pain as he could withstand, Maksim also just wanted to kill him and get the fuck to wherever he’d stashed Andy. Had the sedative Micha given Sydney worn off yet? he wondered as he felt a weak right connect with his cheek—guy fought like a girl. The burn that came with being cut registered on his ribs, and it took nothing to chop into that forearm and send the blade Eberto had palmed flying. Uncaring that he’d gotten clipped, and tired of the feeble hits, Maks put Angelina to use again on the tendons at the inner elbow, rendering both of the Mexican’s arms useless. “There. Now you’re as helpless to me as that young boy was to you,” he growled over the agonized howls. Clamping a hand over Eberto’s gaping mouth, he came in close. “So many fatal mistakes were made on your part, Morales. How many was your brother really in on? Will I be going to him when I’m through with you? Or are you going to absolve the man who clearly covered your ass your whole life?” The memory of Sydney rocking back and forth in the front seat of the Hummer came to mind. Then the scars two twelve-year-old kids would now have to live with. And then came the remembered sound of Tegan’s hoarse

voice. “What did you do to the doctor, you cocksucker?” he demanded. “Nice . . . tits,” Eberto slurred as he curled his upper lip in the spookiest smile Maks had ever seen. His fist hammered into the Mexican’s face with a series of punches. The last sent Eberto’s eyes rolling, and with no regret or hesitation, Maks grasped both sides of his head and twisted hard, snapping the Mexican’s neck to end the morbid, one-sided altercation. A gunshot might have made a nosey neighbor suspicious, so he’d chosen the silent alternative. As Maks shoved himself off the body and got to his feet to look around, he deliberately wiped his mind. He couldn’t let himself think about what Tegan might have gone through yet. There was only one other door down here, and it had a small window at eye level, as a cell door would. And fuck if that didn’t bring back some pleasant shit. Putting his back to the wall, not 100 percent trusting in Eberto being on his own, Maks ducked forward and back in front of the small opening as if he were a seagull in a McDonald’s parking lot. Nothing came at him, so he took a longer gander, and what he saw ripped the scars off the wounds of his past and made him bleed rivers. He struggled for breath, his airways instantly sealing, and tore that door out of his way so fast it slammed against the wall like a clap of thunder —didn’t even think booby trap, but dimly noted a slug never entered his chest. All he really had in his head was the need to get Sydney’s boy out of that fucking cell! Andy jumped to his feet from where he’d been sitting on a small cot, a hoarse shout coming from his throat. Then he blinked those amethyst eyes so like his mother’s. Maks felt as if a knife were twisting in his gut as he watched that handsome young face with dried blood under his nose and on his chin crumple. “Russia?” Holy fuck. Maks looked around and spotted the goddamned key hanging on a nail just near the door. Prime strategy to torment victims. Let them see their freedom was just out of their reach. He grabbed it and hustled over to unlock the cell door. The kid was still by the cot, but when Maks pushed that barred door in, Andy came to him as if released from a cannon. Their bodies hit, and Maks had to say he was glad the boy had taken the initiative, because it would have taken more than he had in him in that moment to step one foot inside that cell. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Andy whispered, his voice cracking. “Of course I’m here, kid. Where else would I be?” He put his cheek to the top of his blond head and held him tight. And for the first time since Maks left

that cell in Russia and pledged his loyalty to Vasily, he thanked God. And it was no learned prayer for one of his men. No. He deliberately and concisely sent his own personal, heartfelt words up to heaven and thanked their creator for the gift he’d just given them in the form of this boy’s safety. “I can’t believe you’re here,” Andy repeated. A constant tremble was branching out from the boy’s body, so strong it was shaking Maks in his shoes. “Come here.” He brought him out into the living room, keeping Andy’s head turned away from where the Mexican’s body lay. “Sit.” They went down to the sofa. Andy didn’t let go. Maks didn’t either. He held Sydney’s son in the same way he’d craved his own father’s arms around him when he’d lain in that cell; his grip tight around Andy’s broadening back, the other clasping the boy’s head to his chest. “I’ve got you, buddy. There was no way I wasn’t coming for you. No fucking way.” He paused for a few breaths. “I’ve been here before, kid, and I understand the fear.” He gripped Andy’s jaw and brought his head up to hold his gaze. “It’s totally acceptable that you were scared. Don’t be embarrassed by that. It just means you’re smart. Only stupid people ignore their instincts, and fear is one of the best we’ve got.” The kid nodded. “You mean when you were in jail?” “No. Another time. But that’s a story for another day.” “My mom must be freaking out. Eberto said he had her and that his men had killed you and Micha. That’s why I went with him.” “If you knew me and Micha better, you’d have known immediately he was fucking lying,” Maks muttered. “And your mother did freak out, and she will again if we don’t get you back to her. We sedated her to save her sanity, but she’ll be waking soon.” “No kidding. Good thinking,” Andy murmured, sounding relieved. “How did you know where to find me?” “Yeah, about that. I got some good news for you.” “I thought you were my good news,” Andy said around a strained chuckle that made his cheeks go ruddy. He finally pulled away. Feeling a goddamn blush hit his own face, Maks ruffled the kid’s alreadymussed hair. But Andy’s attention was gone. He’d spotted Eberto. “You . . . did that?” Knowing this could get tricky, but also knowing he had to be honest, Maks nodded and looked over. The Mexican’s limbs were splayed and small pools of blood were forming around him. His head placement was way off and his eyes were wide open. “Yes. I did.” “’Cause of me and my mom? Or did you have a beef with him before?” “I’d never dealt with him before your mother came to me.”

There was a new wariness in the kid’s gaze that hadn’t been there before when he looked at Maks. There was also gratitude. “Even though I’m kinda freaked out by that, thanks, Russia. Uh, so what’s the news?” Keeping a smile hidden, Maks got them up and urged him toward the stairs. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He went up first and saw V sitting in an awkward position at a small dinette. It was clear the Reaper was trying to put off an I’m-just-a-harmless-guyno-worries-here vibe. His dark gaze was on the girl, memories of his own little sister no doubt crowding him. Eleanor’s narrow shoulders were bowed right along with her head, fingernails being furiously picked at. She looked as though she was waiting to get into trouble. “This who you were hoping to see again?” Maks asked Andy as the boy entered the kitchen on his heels. It was impossible to say whose eyes bugged more. “Elli?” “Andy?” Their disbelieving whispers overlapped, and in the next instant, they met in the middle of the room and were clinging to each other in a hug too fierce for mere children. V jerked to his feet and slammed out into the backyard, coughing. Maks watched the interaction. The careful affection and quiet, comforting whispers Sydney’s son bestowed on this cowed girl was something that would stay with him forever. The boy had just found a place in his heart.

CHAPTER 24

Sydney surfaced from the darkness, already knowing something was wrong. She forced her heavy lids up and tried to focus on the wavering faces above her. Vasily and his daughter, Eva. “Easy.” Her sluggish gaze swung to the side to see Gabriel crouched next to her. She was dizzy, and her head felt thick, but the choking pressure in her chest, the awareness that something horrible had happened lived. Vasily ran his hand over her hair in a paternal way as she looked around for Maksim and An— Andrew! A stream of terror poured into her veins. “Where is he? Is he here?” She jerked upright so fast Eva jumped up from where she’d been sitting next to her to avoid a collision. The new position had Sydney’s vision warping, her brain feeling as if it were floating without an anchor. She shook her head to try to fix it and vaguely noted they were on the sofa in her loft. She didn’t care to question how they’d gotten here. “Maksim’s last message said he’s close.” Vasily’s calm voice should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. “Close? Where? Where is my son? That monster took my baby!” she screamed. Her boy. Her precious, precious boy. Gone. “Vasily.” She grasped the front of his jacket and jerked him. “My baby,” she wailed. “Do you understand that? He has my baby!” She didn’t know how long she railed—stating the obvious and looking for someone to blame but knowing she only had herself—but by the time she slumped into an exhausted heap, her forehead was on Vasily’s broad shoulder and she’d pretty much destroyed his pressed suit jacket with her tears and grasping hands. She didn’t care. A cup of tea was placed in front of her, but she couldn’t lift her head to even thank who she knew was Eva by the onyx nail

polish. “. . . stay positive. Can you do that for me?” Vasily was saying. Sydney moved back and focused on his taught, stern features and was aware enough to appreciate his support. But that was it. She remained perched on her knees on the very edge of the cushions and dropped her eyes to stare down at her clasped hands as they trembled in her lap, wishing for her son with everything in her. Never had she thought she could love someone so much. She swallowed her rising emotions, her panic, her horror, and her fear. What was Eberto doing to him? Her fault. Her fault. Her fault. “It makes no difference whose fault this is, Sydney. That ceased being an issue long ago.” Gabriel’s murmur told her she’d been speaking out loud. “Where is Maksim?” she rasped. Another one. He was out there searching. What if she lost both—? Vasily’s pat to her shoulder interrupted the panicked thought. “I’m sure he’ll be getting in touch any time now.” If he can. She dropped her head into her hands. What if the worst happened? What will I do? How will I survive? I did this to them. How will I go on without my child? Without Maksim? Her boys. Her men. Both of them gone. She whimpered as her brain squeezed in a vice and then she jerked upright when her wrists were clasped, her arms brought down. “You can’t think like that, Sydney,” Vasily ordered. He’d slid from the cushion and had come down on his haunches in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed. “You can’t underestimate Maksim. The guy is a survivor, and he’s more possessive of what he thinks belongs to him than any of us. Whether he’s accepted it or not, he considers you—and subsequently, Andy—his, which means he will tear this city apart to get to your son. As I’ve told my daughter a time or two, have some faith in your man.” “I am his,” she admitted, needing to tell someone. “And he’s mine. I was scared and didn’t want it to happen, but it did, it really did, and now he’s mine. Him and Andrew. And I never told him. I didn’t tell him I loved him.” Her voice wavered in its high pitch. “I never told Andrew enough either. What if I don’t get the chance—?” Vasily’s phone going off had black spots dancing in her vision, and she held her breath as he whipped it from his pocket. His shoulders slumped forward and her heart stopped. Until he announced, “They got him. Maks found him, and your boy is fine.”

Sydney broke.

With guilt and remorse piercing his heart, Maks sent the text he’d just typed out and regretted like hell not being able to call Tegan, or better yet, go see her personally. But even though he didn’t want to, he knew he had to respect her wishes. If what Eberto had said . . . Jesus Christ. What had that fucker done to her? How far had he gone? Maks wasn’t sure he wanted to know, because with the Mexican already dead, he’d have no one to make pay for the sins against his best friend if he knew details of them. Putting his phone away when a reply wasn’t forthcoming, he figured he could do nothing but attempt patience. He’d give Tegan the time she’d asked for. But it wouldn’t last forever. He couldn’t let her leave his life. Leave their lives. She was too much a part of them. Having left a cleanup crew at the house, Maks sat in the backseat of the Hummer, the kids at his side. He liked the way they kept looking at each other, as if to reassure themselves they weren’t seeing things. Their hands never separated. “You got skinny,” Andrew said as he cleared off the smear of dried blood from his lips and chin with a wet wipe Alek had given him. Maks caught Micha’s eye in the rearview mirror. They both raised their brows in a that’s-not-gonna-go-over-well way. But Eleanor just scoffed so quietly it was barely audible. “You’re bigger. Bet that makes you feel special.” “That’s ’cause I am special. Didn’t I tell you that before?” “Only a hundred times.” “Guess you forgot.” Eleanor lost the crooked smirk and became serious. “No. I never forgot anything.” Alek’s head bobbed, his profile showing he was smiling from where he’d taken the passenger seat up front. He’d handed the wheel over to Micha because the guy preferred to be doing something even as mundane as driving to sitting idle. “Why were you there? I don’t understand how you’re even sitting here.” Andy laughed as he tucked the dirty wipe into a pocket on the side of his backpack. Kid was clearly still struggling. “The lady who took me after my mom left said my father wanted me.”

Her wording made Maks wince. Her mom “left”? Abandonment issues, say hello to Eleanor. He continued to blatantly eavesdrop as she went on. “She brought me to that house, and I had to stay with him.” “Why didn’t you ever call? You knew our number. I waited forever.” If Eleanor heard the mild accusation in Andy’s voice, she gave no indication. “He wouldn’t let me. He wouldn’t let me leave or anything. I was gonna run away at first, and he caught me sneaking out because the gate creaked. He said . . .” She rubbed at the tip of her pinkie when her nail picking caused the cuticle to bleed. “He hated Auntie Sydney. He said she talked my mom into hiding from him, hiding me from him, and then he said he’d hurt her if I tried to leave or ever see you guys. He said I was his now, and he’d know if I tried anything. He said he’d hurt you, too.” She shook her head fiercely. “I wasn’t gonna do anything to make him do that. I figured I’d wait till I was older and he couldn’t do anything about it. Then I’d come and find you.” Andrew hugged her hard, looking too sad and too old for his age. “Did he hurt you?” he questioned hesitantly. She shrugged and scraped at something on the knee of her jeans with her thumbnail. “Yeah. But I didn’t care.” Brave words. Fuck. Maks looked out the window to see they were crossing back into Manhattan. He wanted to go back and kill that fucker all over again. Why hadn’t he held off and brought Eberto to the club? He could have kept the pariah on the wall and fucked him up every time someone revealed another wrongdoing. “He’s gone now, Elli.” Andy sounded pretty damned satisfied about that. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Russia made sure of it. Your dad can’t hurt any of us.” “Okay. But if he’s gone, and my mom’s gone, where will I go now?” Hearing the kids shift, Maks brought his gaze back into the SUV to see them looking at him. So much hope and fear and pain stared at him. “We’ll do our best to fix it so you don’t have to go anywhere you don’t want to, sweetheart,” he promised, even though he knew he shouldn’t. “Don’t worry about that right now. Okay?” He wanted to pat her somewhere in reassurance but didn’t dare. “You’re the best, Russia,” Andy said gravely. “Now I know why my mom likes you so much,” he added before settling back into the seat beside him, finally relaxing. Eleanor did the same, tucked up close to her brother. “Who are these guys?” Maks then heard her whisper. “My mom’s friends. Russia’s her boyfriend, though.”

Eleanor leaned over to look at him, hazel eyes wide in her drawn face. Couldn’t have been any wider than Maks’s after having heard that title. As nonchalantly as he could, he slipped his hand into the front pocket of his pants and grabbed for his key, rubbing it so hard the metal teeth scraped at the pads of his finger and thumb. His increased heart rate immediately began to slow. He drew in a few tight breaths and brought Sydney’s image to mind. His beautiful little Aussie. Boyfriend? Once again, he cautiously attempted to allow what he was coming to feel for her to fill him out. And it did, bringing with it a longing he didn’t understand. But it was hampered from taking over completely by fear. So much fear, and that damn pain just waiting to consume him. Because he knew, without having to be told, that their time had come to an end. And not just because the job was done. But because what woman would choose to stay with a man who lived his life as Maksim did? The world he lived in was brutal. Period. And now Sydney knew it firsthand. Yes, this particular situation had come about because of something she’d done, and it had worked out in the end, but maybe the next one wouldn’t. Look at what Sergei’s life had become. Maks had a strong feeling his Aussie wouldn’t take that chance. Not with her boy. And if all went according to plan, once Maks spoke with Jeremy, their attorney, a young girl to raise, as well. He disconnected from the quiet conversation still going on next to him and watched his city go by. His only option was to let her go. The thought had his fists curling, his key cutting into his palm as a possessive fury swooped in to trample the altruistic thought. She was his, though. He couldn’t let her go. But he couldn’t keep her if she didn’t want to stay. What if she did? And what if he began to feel what Vincente and Gabriel felt for their women? He couldn’t love her. She’d have the power to destroy him if he allowed that. He should just keep her for sex . . . But it wasn’t about sex anymore. It hadn’t been for some time, despite him craving it with her as any addict with their drug of choice. He frowned when he realized that. The sex was way down on the list now. This was all about her. About how he felt when he was with her. Was he fucking nuts? He couldn’t be considering keeping her and these two kids. Kids? Children he’d be responsible for? Children who might one day want to emulate him? He’d be a fucking role model. He’d eventually be called upon to solve their shit and help them with other shit and talk to them about more shit, all in order to make their lives a little less confusing. Why was that tempting to him? What if he screwed them up? Made mistakes? Like every parent.

Jesus . . . The fact that Andy might need him because his own father was absent . . . Or Eleanor. After Maks’s upbringing, he might have a lesson or two for her on how to deal with the trauma an asshole father left behind . . . Holy shit. Could he possibly be useful to these kids? The very thought was staggeringly attractive. But at the same time, not. He couldn’t help wanting them all the fuck out of his life so he could go back to not giving a damn about anyone but himself and his friends. Dammit, putting yourself out there is a hell of a lot harder than Gabriel and V make it look. What a head fuck. And a pointless one, because, as he’d thought earlier, Sydney was probably going to leave his ass anyway. That would just make it easier, take the decision away from him. He’d let her and Andy and Eleanor go and be thankful it was over. Be relieved that they couldn’t do this to him anymore. Problem solved. Right? Maks finally closed his eyes against everything in him that was refuting that argument and continued to sift through his mangled emotions for the remainder of the drive.

Still pacing, her entire body aching from the tension seizing her muscles even though she knew Andrew and Maksim were safe, Sydney whirled around when she heard the loft door bang open. “Mom!” Her knees nearly gave out when her son appeared in the entrance, blond hair a mess, face flushed. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, so he came running to her. His smile was blinding. He slammed into her, knocking her back a couple of steps, and she held him so tightly, burying her face in his neck. She’d thought the reservoir had run dry, but more tears seeped from between her swollen lids. “It’s okay, Mom. It’s so okay.” She tightened her arms around the boy who’d been the light of her life from the moment she’d learned of his existence. He’d given her more reason to smile and laugh and live and love than anything . . . until Maksim. Pulling back, she cupped his face and simply took him in. “Are you okay?” she whispered. “I’m great. Really great.” Perplexed by his enthusiasm, she gave him a watery laugh.

“Wanna know why?” “Aside from the obvious?” She hugged him once more. “Okay.” “Look.” He pointed to where Alek was standing at the door. He waved someone forward, an encouraging smile on his face. And Sydney’s knees did indeed give out then. She grasped Andrew in order to stay upright and stared in shocked disbelief at Emily’s baby girl. “Elli,” she whispered as the girl scampered across to them and practically burrowed under the skin of Sydney’s torso. “Auntie.” The overwhelming appreciation and love that filled her for the man who’d made this possible was difficult to take. It was too much. He was too much, just as she’d told him the other day. How had he done this? Questions tumbled from her aching throat, and her son filled her in. When he was finished, her mind reeled at all she’d been unaware of. Eberto was Eleanor’s father? He’d been the man Emily had spoken of, the monster she’d been terrified would find her? The one she’d run from after he’d beaten her up because she’d felt too ill to attend a party with him? Neither had known the illness had been a morning sickness that would plague Emily throughout her entire pregnancy. “Where is he now?” she asked. “Uh, Russia . . . well, Russia kind of took care of him,” Andrew said, his concerned gaze on Eleanor. Sydney couldn’t see if Elli returned it because she’d yet to loosen the tight hold she had around Sydney’s waist. God, she’d missed this cheerful, entertaining little thing. Though, Elli certainly didn’t seem cheerful right then, understandably, or in the mood to make anyone laugh as she’d forever done with her mother and Sydney. Sadness tried to break through her euphoria, but Sydney didn’t allow it entry. Not today. She looked across the room to where Alek and Eva were talking. She gave Alek an inquiring look when he met her eye. Where’s Maksim? it said. He nodded toward the stairs. Separating herself from the kids, she promised to only be a few minutes and headed down. She had to see him. Make sure he was okay. Had to thank him for saving her life, by saving her son’s and possibly Eleanor’s. Now that she’d been given an opportunity she’d thought lost to her, she also had to tell him how she felt. Even if he didn’t want to hear it.

Maksim held his Pakhan’s eyes as Vasily crossed over to where Maks was leaning against the bumper of the Hummer. “Needed a break from all the syrup and honey?” Vasily smiled, his shiners curving. “I like the syrup and honey. There isn’t enough of it, if you ask me.” “Yeah.” Maks brought his attention back to the toe of his Ferragamo. “I’m on overload,” he offered by way of explanation as to why he was out here by himself. Well, Micha was hanging by the door leading up to Sydney’s loft, but that was normal, and he was unobtrusive enough that Maks didn’t resent his presence. “What the fuck is wrong with my head, Vasily?” he asked, needing another opinion. “Why can’t I accept this? I’m actually afraid to let her in. And the kid, don’t even get me started. What if . . . Fuck. I’m getting beaten down by what-ifs here.” “There’s nothing wrong with you, Maksim,” Vasily assured him. “You’re stubborn and arrogant, and sometimes a real pain in the ass. But you’re also a beautiful, loyal person who simply has a hard time accepting the love people want to give you. The problem is, you just can’t trust it, and that’s a roadblock that’s been there since the day I met you. Which is understandable. I’d assumed Sydney had slipped through and made it in. But you’re still fighting it?” “What I feel for her is overwhelming and too strong for me to unleash. I want to own her. I want her under me. And not just sexually anymore. I want to surround her and protect her and love her and keep her all for myself. But at the same time I want her to stay the fuck away from me.” He shrugged, shaking his head, and made a sound that was embarrassingly helpless. “I wouldn’t know how to cherish her as Gabriel does Eva. To allow her the freedom and independence Vincente allows Nika. To worship her the way Alek used to worship Sacha. I wouldn’t know how to do those things without . . . without dominating her to the point of captivity. Especially because she’d be in our world. They would be. The three of them. What if I begin to hate her son for his presence? Or Eleanor for hers? What if I resent them for the time they take from me and Sydney? There’s no denying I’m fucking selfish.” His brows came down. “I hadn’t thought of that until just now. Neither of those kids deserve that. Anyway, I’m fucking myself in the head, and it’s probably for nothing. I have a feeling she’s going to thank me and then tell me never to come near her again.” Vasily chuckled, sounding as if he knew something Maks didn’t. “I think it’s normal for a parent to feel a small amount of resentment toward their children—though many wouldn’t admit to it. After all, kids take over our lives. They come first for a lot of years. But because you love them, it becomes acceptable and normal. And those overly possessive feelings you have for

Sydney are based more on you not being sure of her feelings than anything else. If you were as secure in her love as the boys are with their women, that would most likely settle into something bearable. Love is a fucking bitch, Maks. It consumes you. And because you are who you are, it’s a disturbing, frightening thing. No doubt it’s getting to you like this because you’ve never allowed for it before.” “That’s not true,” Maks murmured, lifting and holding his Pakhan’s gaze. “I love you. I love my boys and Tegan. I would kill for any one of you.” “I hear you say that, I hear the truth in it, and it makes me glad I trusted my instincts the day I saw you sitting in that cell.” Maks frowned. It wasn’t often Vasily brought up the day they met. “And what did your instincts tell you?” His Pakhan pulled a De Niro face as he shrugged. “It’s not something I can explain. I’ve only experienced it twice. Once when I met Dmitri, and again when I met you. There was just something that wouldn’t let me walk away. And the closer I’ve gotten to you boys, every time you prove yourselves to me, I feel grateful that I was given the intuitiveness to recognize exceptional men when I saw them.” He reached out and clasped Maks’s shoulder. “But back to your fear that you’re going to suffocate Sydney with your feelings. You can’t.” Swiftly trying to recover from being told his mentor, one he so admired, considered him an exceptional man, Maks struggled to get back on track. He did only because he didn’t want to make Vasily regret sharing. “I don’t want to go up there and have her tell me it’s over. If they walk away from me? All of this shit building inside me will manifest into something black, and that scares the fuck out of me. How would I come back from that, Vasily?” He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed roughly before answering his own question. “I wouldn’t.” “Judging by the look on her face—and some information I, for once, received before you did—I don’t think that’s something you’re going to have to worry about, son.” Vasily clapped him on the shoulder and walked off as Maksim met those amethyst eyes that never failed to give him a jolt. His exquisite little Aussie stood there, holding the door to the loft open, still wearing her lime-green dress and sexy shoes. She looked worn-out but still more beautiful to him than anything he’d ever seen. Needing her so fucking badly, he lifted his hand with his usual arrogance and waved her over by crooking three fingers. Letting the door close, she moved that sweet little body his way and came right into his open arms. He lifted her against him, and she wrapped him in an embrace that was heaven-sent, cradling his head as she buried her face in his neck.

“Thank God you’re okay,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” She kissed his cool skin and then blew him away. “I love you. I don’t care if that’s not a part of this game and you can’t give that back to me, but I need you to know that I love you so much and I’m glad you are who you are.” Thank fuck he was leaning against his SUV because he was sure they’d have ended up on the ground had he not had the support. Flabbergasted, he braced himself before shoving off and moving them over so the Hummer would allow them some privacy. He pressed her back into the brick wall of the building next to hers and gently grabbed a hunk of her hair, exerting enough pressure to tip her head back so that she had no choice but to look him in the eye. “Repeat that,” he commanded, using his thumb to swipe at a smudge of mascara under her right eye. “I love you, Maksim. I love everything about you from your big, giant feet to the pewter ring around your gorgeous eyes. From your massive ego and lack of filter to your sense of loyalty and honor. I love how you make me laugh, how you make me want to cry sometimes, how you make me feel protected and special and wanted.” She pulled out of the hold he had on her hair and kissed him softly on the cheekbone. It felt sensitive, so it must have been where Eberto had landed one of his punches. “I love you for what you’ve given me in returning those kids upstairs.” His confusion at what he was hearing dissipated. “Ah, I get it. This is appreciation morphing into—” “No. No it isn’t,” she said quickly as he lowered her to her feet. “I am in love with you because I am in love with you. Period. I’m grateful to you for saving my son’s life and for bringing me Elli. But there’s a distinction.” Madness. “That just doesn’t compute, princess. Are you sure?” His question was dead serious. How the fuck could she love him? “How can you love me? I’m not good for you. I’m not good . . . enough . . . for you. You deserve so much better than what I could possibly bring into this. Someone . . .” He thought of the boy his mother had raised. The one he’d wished to find again after his time at the Academy. When had he stopped searching for him? “You deserve someone loving and respectful and good.” “But that’s what I’ve found,” she said softly. “You don’t see yourself as I see you. I understand you have to be a certain way in your line of work—and I’m thankful for that today, and every other day that it keeps you safe—but it’s who you are in here”—she stroked her palm across his chest and smiled—“that captured me. That’s who I want. That thoughtful, generous man who found a little girl for me just because I missed her. That respectful man who wouldn’t

take me against the wall in a public restroom because he considers me a lady. That good man that couldn’t stray because he felt committed to us even before we were committed.” Her bottom lip quivered, and she tightened her mouth to stop it. There was a sadness in her eyes that he had a feeling was for him rather than anything she was feeling personally. “I also very badly want that man who was so intuitive, the one who looked so deeply into me, that he saw something I wasn’t even aware of until he coaxed it out of me. I want you to coax me again and again and again.” His brain fried at the memory of her in his bed. “But my life,” he tried, not convinced. “Being with me is dangerous. You should have picked up on that over the past couple of months.” “I did. And . . .” A wrinkle formed in her brow, and he could see she was thinking hard. Then she met his eyes and looked determined. “Vasily told me to have faith in you, and so I will. Or, I should say, I will continue to have faith in you. It might be selfish and irresponsible of me, but I just can’t let you go. I will continue to trust you not to involve me or the kids in any situations you might think harmful.” She stoked his jaw. “And before you try again, just know I will argue every point you make. Nothing you say will change anything. Certainly not how I feel. Please accept that. Accept me. Don’t shut me out, Russia. Not now that you’ve made me love you.” She waited. And waited. While he processed. “I never thought to have this,” he eventually said. “What?” “Feeling as I do makes me vulnerable. You’ve given me an Achilles’. Aside from my boys, which is a different thing altogether, I’ve never had one. Now I have two. Possibly three.” “Me?” she whispered hopefully. He nodded. Silly girl. “And . . . the kids?” He nodded again. If he was responsible for them, they could be used against him. She cupped his cheeks. “Please, Maksim, don’t look like that,” she implored. He obviously appeared as reticent as he felt. She smiled suddenly and gave him a playful look from beneath her lashes. “Trust me. I have it on good authority that this”—she motioned between them with a finger—“will be very, very good.” He’d said that exact thing to her in this very spot the night she’d come to him for help. That zapped some of his tension, and, rolling his eyes, he came in and kissed the beautiful mouth he wasn’t sure he could live without. Very slowly,

very carefully, he lowered his guard and allowed his love for her to live. He loved her. Couldn’t deny it any longer. “I’ve been telling you that for how long now?” he whispered against her lips. “Sorry, I’ve been too distracted to take in much of what you’ve said to me. We’ve had a lot of sex in my head, though.” He laughed around his trepidation. Knew he’d had her. Even back then. “Brat.” Her next kiss was a little more passionate. He tried to pull back, but she refused. “Let me,” she demanded against his lips. And just like that, any lightness that had been in the air disappeared. He growled low in his throat, and his monsters took over. Only this time they were bent on nothing more than pleasing, protecting, and honoring this woman that now controlled them. Maksim dominated the kiss, and when he knew Sydney had become oblivious to everything but them, he pulled back. “I’m going to say this one time; so listen well. You make me lose control, only you, only ever you. Of my body and my emotions. No matter what I’ve said or say in the future, you control me. You own me.” He cursed at the excitement that entered her eyes and took her face between his palms. “You love me?” She nodded. “Then I’m keeping you forever. You and those kids belong to me now, belong with me, as I belong to you. I vow to love you, to fight for you, to protect all of you, and to always be grateful that you accept me despite me being me.” He lowered his voice and held her close, aware they were going to be interrupted soon. Though public displays of affection would be the norm, so everyone better get used to it now. “I know you’ll always have the right, but please don’t change your mind, princess. Christ, I thought you were going to leave me,” he admitted hoarsely. “I couldn’t. I can’t. Not even when you try to push me away,” she said with a smile in her voice. “I will love you, always, even at your darkest.” As vows went, that was the most incredible he’d ever heard. And it might take him a while, but he hoped to eventually trust it. “Mom?” Sydney’s head went back so fast she bumped it into the bricks. She clearly hadn’t noticed their company approaching. “Hey, sorry. We’re just . . .” Maksim went to release her, but she wouldn’t let him. Good girl. She kept her arm snug around his waist and smiled at her son while she rubbed at the back of her head and then at the tears on her cheeks. Eleanor trailed close behind Andy. The boy looked at Sydney and then Maks. “Everything cool?” he asked hesitantly. Maksim took a moment to take in the three of them. Is this my new family?

A new branch he was sure would be welcomed and drawn into the fold of his current one with no issues. Doing what felt right, he reached out and pulled the boy in with a hand on the back of his head. Eleanor came, too, and was snuggled protectively against Sydney’s breast. With a kiss pressed to Andrew’s head, Maks whispered the truth. “We’re good, kid. This is really, really good.”

EPILOGUE

Amid Christmas decorations and colorful Chinese lanterns, Alek sat back in his chair at the long table and looked around at his celebrating friends. Three of them were wrapped protectively around their women, their contentment making everyone in close proximity want to kill themselves. Or maybe that was just him. He drained his third brandy and caught the sparkle of one spectacular rock taking up space on Sydney’s ring finger. Maks had given it to her last week after a loud and boisterous Thanksgiving dinner at the house. Actually, he’d had Andrew and Eleanor do the honors by—of all things—pretending to see a spider. “Holy crap, Mom!” Andrew had burst out, waving Sydney over to the foosball table a few of them had gathered around in the basement, doing their best to stave off a tryptophan-induced coma. “I know you hate them, but look at this thing. Swear to God it has three eyes. Look.” Eleanor had peered into the shallow depths of the table, freckled nose wrinkled, but otherwise calm. Eva had stood there, too, eyes wide, Gabriel next to her, his attention on his phone. Skeptical, because Samnang was usually more diligent, Alek had left his squat on the stairs. When he’d gotten close enough to see the little blue box with the amethyst stone glittering on what looked to be a platinum band, he’d cursed out loud, but for reasons other than the apparent carat size. Happiness was blooming everywhere while he withered and died inside. “Kill it!” Sydney had screeched, stumbling back until she fell into the corner of the sofa. “Please!” “Not till you see it, Mom,” Andrew had insisted. “They’re really not as bad as you make them out to be.” “Come here, Auntie. You’ll like this one,” Eleanor had offered in her soft, please-don’t-pay-attention-to-me voice.

It had taken another minute of cajoling before Sydney, shaking like a leaf by then, had inched over. She’d craned her neck, ready to bolt . . . and had gasped, hands flying to her mouth, gaze panning and stilling when she found Maks leaning against the doorjamb of computer central. “Wanna be mine?” he’d inquired with a crooked smirk. Fucking guy didn’t have a traditional bone in his body, Alek had thought, shaking his head. Sydney had flown to him, practically hovering inches off the ground— without bothering to get the ring first. Maks had been smothered with yeses and kisses and so much love Alek had been unable to do anything but watch with a sickening envy until they disappeared into the room behind them with Maks calling out, “You’re on babysitting duty, dyadya.” The “uncle” in Russian had given Alek a good feeling, and he, Eva, and a still-distracted Gabriel had ushered the kids—who were old enough not to need a sitter—upstairs so the newly engaged couple could celebrate in private. And now in public, he thought, wondering at their choice of venue. A small Chinese restaurant in lower Manhattan. Great food, but Alek would have expected something bigger from Maks. Wind chimes tinkled, signifying the door was being used, and Alek glanced over. It was ingrained to always be conscious of who was coming and going— The sound of rushing water filled his head. Or was that blood? Because every time this happened lately and he snapped back to reality to find himself staring at a stranger, he bled. How often had he seen her across a busy restaurant? On the street? In a passing vehicle? In his fucking dreams? Too many times to count. Are you really seeing this? his brain asked calmly, forcing him to blink his burning eyes. Or have you manifested her because you need the visual so damned badly? It would be you manifesting, you bastard, Alek silently replied, his heart beating faster and faster. Doing this to me again. Why the fuck do you keep doing this to me? You’re only driving yourself crazy. His head was silent for a few seconds. And then the positive identification came, his mind whispering two beautiful words. Reverently. In a stunning relief. It’s her. Sacha. His angel. Please be real. He’d been searching for more than a year for this one he’d pushed away so callously. Would have searched until the end of time. Because it had been proven that he simply could not live without her. Even though he could barely grasp what this meant, everything in him

once again centered, focusing on the woman he was meant to share his life with — The woman who’d just turned her head, as if in slow motion, to face a man who’d come up behind her. A man who placed his hands on her upper arms. A man who then bent forward to drop an intimate kiss to her temple. The roar that sounded off in Alek’s head was tortured and enraged. Without even being aware of it, he surged to his feet, his hand already closing around the 9 mm under his jacket. A chair scraped, falling back to land on the tile, and before he could aim and take out the dreaded competition, his uncle was in front of him, blocking him from view of the other patrons eating their dim sum. “Put that goddamn gun away!” Vasily whispered furiously in Russian. But Alek wasn’t listening. Because Sacha had glanced over at the commotion and was now staring right into his eyes with an expression of such shock, such fear and horror, all Alek could do was try to deny that he was seeing it. It should be love and tenderness in those gold eyes. This was wrong. All wrong. She turned and rushed by the man at her back, who quickly and wordlessly followed her out with a concerned expression on his soon-to-be inanimate face. Alek immediately went to follow, his heart feeling as if it were tearing in half, but he was stopped by a python wrapping his neck in a tight hold and jerking him back around the corner into a narrow hallway that led to the restrooms. He struggled like a madman for who knew how long until a solid fist to the gut had him doubling over. His pride was all that kept him from vomiting on his own shoes. Maksim’s face came front and center. “Sorry for that, brother,” he said, clearly meaning it. Then he held up his phone. Alek pulled in some air and was unable to understand what significance the phone had. He was just about to clock Maks when he pressed a button to light up the screen. Staring out was the face of the man who’d just left with Sacha. “Facial recognition software is fun,” Maks drawled, releasing him but still blocking him from leaving. Vasily was there, too, and Alek could hear Gabriel cursing on the other side of the wall. “I’ll tell you who he is and where we can find them in five minutes,” Maks added. “Then we’ll go get her together. Okay?” Five minutes? On top of the sixteen months I’ve already waited to reclaim what’s mine? Alek roared in his head, incredulous. Fuck no! He nodded and waited for them to stand down, which they did because

they trusted him. Then he was gone. He ducked slightly and shoved roughly through the barrier Maks and Vasily presented, and easily streaked by an unsuspecting Gabriel. A round of Jesus Christs followed him as he left the restaurant, the sound of heavy footsteps following. But nothing short of a bullet in the back was going to stop him from reaching his target, who’d just made it to a sleek Mercedes parked at the curb. His panic subsiding because she was still within his reach, Alek slowed his approach. “Sacha.” She stilled with her fingers gripping the handle. “Do not open the door.” And she didn’t.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost, on a personal note, I have to thank George, Angela, and Niko for graciously sharing me with my characters. You three are my purpose, and I couldn’t possibly love you more. To the wonderful family that resides within Grantski’s Beach House, thank you guys for your friendship, easy acceptance, and most of all your beautiful support. Sylvia, you are one of a kind, and I’m blessed to have you in my life. Love ya, Sista! To my mother, thank you for talking me down. I love you. Professionally speaking, the list is longer. I’ll start with Shannon Godwin, my developmental editor. If not for this wonderful woman with her endearing accent, my books wouldn’t be what they are. Shannon, I offer you a hand-overmy-heart thank-you for your valued expertise. To my fellow Montlake authors, thank you for your generous support, advice, shares, and RTs. As I’ve seen others say so often on the loop: you guys rock! I also need to send a special thanks to my agent, Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates. I can’t thank you enough, Nalini, for all you do on my behalf. A large and widespread thank-you is reserved for everyone at Montlake Romance for all your hard work and that 110 percent you guys put into your authors’ journeys. I’d love to list individual names as I’ve done before but am loath to miss anyone at this point, so I’ll keep it on the whole and shout out to the entire team. Thank you so much! And last but certainly not least, I must thank the amazing bloggers and reviewers who have given their time and attention to my Wanted Men. Again, I’d love to list individuals but would be horrified if I missed anyone. So a large thanks to you all!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2014 G. V. Spigos

A proud and privileged stay-at-home mom, Nancy Haviland writes from her home near Toronto, Ontario, where she lives with her three children and one arrogant kitty named Talbot. Despite being an admitted INFJ, she is a member of Romance Writers of America, and will sometimes find the courage to add her two measly cents to discussions that interest her on her favorite online writers groups. When she’s not writing or reading, she can be found loitering around any body of water larger than a puddle, soaking up the peace. http://www.nancyhaviland.com http://www.facebook.com/nancyhavilandauthor http://twitter.com/nancy_haviland http://www.pinterest.com/nancy_haviland https://www.goodreads.com/NancyHaviland