An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (31 page)

“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 dark-chocolate 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 twenty-four 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.”