An Obsession with Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 3) (5 page)

“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 short-range 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
ho
tel, but a
mo
tel. 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 Citro
ë
n. 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.