An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (28 page)

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.”