Possess (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 1)

P
ossess The Syndicate
: Crime and Passion. Copyright © 2016 by Kaye Blue

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to real people, locales, businesses, or events are unintentional. This work is intended for mature audiences only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

M
axim has stayed alive
—and on top—for years through a ruthless combination of brains and brutality. He’s grown the Syndicate into one of the world’s most powerful criminal enterprises.

He cares for no one.

Except her.

The woman he never should have saved…the one who holds the remnants of his long-dead heart.

Senna doesn’t know why Maxim spared her all those years ago, or why he’s kept her by his side. But she does know that nothing—not his beautiful cruelty, not the black void where his heart should be—can stop her from loving him. Wanting him.

Even though she shouldn’t.

Years of obsession sharpen to a knife’s edge when Senna begins to crave her freedom. And when an old rival discovers her existence, Maxim must fight to keep her alive, even as he battles his need to possess her completely…no matter the cost.

T
en Years Ago
…

H
e stepped
over the first body, careful to avoid the blood that pooled around it.

It was best not to make a mess, but as he looked around the room, his disgust rising with every passing second, he was reminded that the man who had come here before him not only had no concerns about making a mess, he reveled in messes.

He looked around the room again, his face muscles twisting with his displeasure at what he saw.

A small, tidy family room, pictures on the wall, a TV in one corner. The TV still played, but the screen was dimmed by the splattered blood that covered it.

He moved deeper into the house and maneuvered around the woman who lay in the middle of the floor.

He didn’t have to look closely to know that she, like the man at the door, was dead, so after a brief glimpse at her stiff, glassy-eyed face, he turned his attention to the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Get out here, you little bitch!”

His face muscles dropping even more, he focused on the man who had bellowed those words in a voice that vibrated with rage, menace, and more than a hint of excitement.

Santo Carmelli had centered himself in the narrow hallway, blocking whoever he had cornered from any chance of exit. He was also frothing at the mouth, his entire body seeming to expand with rage—and excitement—with each breath he took.

No different than usual, except now that Santo had a taste of the violence he seemed to feed on, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d had his fill. When Santo was like this, two kills wouldn’t be nearly enough.

“No more, Santo. Let’s go,” Maxim said, keeping his voice calm, disinterested, and not letting his irritation come through, difficult though it was.

If Santo heard, he gave no indication, too far gone in the bloodlust that made him so valued by his superiors and such a pain in Maxim’s ass.

Santo let out an animalistic growl and began stomping down the hallway, uncaring of the gore that coated his shoes and hands.

Maxim didn’t follow immediately, and instead debated whether he should just end this now.

Santo, never a reasonable man, had gotten worse. Much worse. And it always fell on Maxim to clean up his messes, a task Maxim had more than tired of, a task made that much worse by Santo’s sloppiness and his inability to think when he was like this. Santo’s proclivities were also crude, tiresome, not respectable.

It was an odd thing. Maxim didn’t care for niceties, respectability, hated them, in fact. He could also be as brutal as Santo, more so if the situation called for it.

But Santo was too far gone.

Maxim lifted his hand to the small but lethally sharp knife he kept in his waistband.

Santo was so distracted it would be easy to get close. Two quick slashes, and one of Maxim’s biggest annoyances and biggest potential rivals would be eliminated.

A tempting prospect, but one Maxim disregarded.

He was close, and all the pieces he needed for his takeover were in place. In a few weeks, the Syndicate would be his.

Then he’d deal with the Santo problem.

Until then…

“Santo,” he said, still calm, tone not betraying how close he’d been to ending Santo’s life.

His voice must have penetrated Santo’s blind rage, for he turned and looked at Maxim.

“Fuck off, Maxim. I’m busy,” he yelled.

“I can see that,” Maxim replied. “Busy and too fucking crazy to do this right. Go now, Santo.”

He shook his head. “No fucking way. She’s back there somewhere trying to hide from me.” As he spoke, he glared down the hallway, yelling even louder. Then he looked back at Maxim, eyes wild with uncontrolled rage. “You think I’m letting this go? That bitch scratched me!” he said, gesturing at the gouges that marked his arms.

Good for her.

Santo probably hadn’t even felt it, but it was good that she’d fought back. Doing so had only pissed Santo off more, and only made Maxim’s already-hard job harder, but Maxim didn’t care. A few scratches were nothing, but Maxim would savor any victory against Santo, no matter how small and symbolic or how much it inconvenienced him.

“I’ll take care of it, Santo,” Maxim said, holding the other man’s gaze.

They were equals in the Syndicate, at least in name, and Maxim had no real authority to give orders, at least not yet. But while Maxim had no official authority over Santo, he had clout, influence, and support that Santo, despite how valued he was by certain members of leadership, did not. Even when he was like this, caught up in his rage and little else, Santo knew that.

Santo’s breath began to smooth out, some of the minuscule reason he had clearing the rage in his eyes.

He finally nodded. “You’re better at this than me anyway. Make it hurt,” he said as he brushed past Maxim and down the hall.

Maxim couldn’t really argue with Santo’s words. He
was
better, but he wasn’t a mad dog like Santo and he didn’t relish the idea of making someone suffer, wouldn’t simply because Santo had demanded it.

Once Santo was out of the house, Maxim began moving down the hallway, only barely listening to the others who had entered to clean the living room, instead focused on the hallway.

Three doors, all ajar, darkness spilling out from them.

Two bedrooms and a bathroom, Maxim assumed based on the layout common for houses in this area. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in a place like this, hunting for a person who’d had the misfortune of crossing the Syndicate’s, or Santo’s, path.

A shame, but a part of the job.

Maxim dismissed the door at the far end of the hall. If Maxim was right, and he’d been in this scenario far too many times to be anything else, the person Santo was chasing had planned to slip out behind him as he thrashed through the other rooms. So going to the far door wouldn’t give them the opportunity to get past him.

Which left the second bedroom or the bathroom.

Both had merits.

The bedroom offered more places to hide, like the closets people were so fond of. But the bathroom had its own benefits. A window that might serve as an alternate escape, and all kinds of chemicals and cleaners that could do some damage if it came to that.

The scratches on Santo’s arms, the fact that she had gotten away, proved Santo’s prey was a fighter, so Maxim turned into the bathroom and pulled the floral shower curtain aside.

The girl was younger than him, twenty-one, twenty-two, maybe, and as he’d suspected, clutching a spray bottle of bleach so tightly her brown fingers were turning white at the knuckles.

Her grip was so tight, it took a moment for her to react, but she did, loosening her hold and then squeezing the trigger on the spray bottle. Her movements were jerky, panicked, and her aim was off, so the spray flew over Maxim’s shoulder and landed harmlessly behind him.

He glared at her, and her eyes widened but the rest of her body went stiff as she froze in place, staring back at him. Maxim watched her for a moment as she debated whether to try to spray him again, then saw her fingers twitch around the trigger as she considered it.

Saw when she tightened her grip on the bottle.

She met his eyes, and Maxim stared back at her, curious as to what she would do. It felt like the longest time, but in reality it was only seconds. Long enough for Maxim to see that his perception of her as a fighter was true, and long enough for him to tire of their little standoff.

He pried the bottle from her hand and dropped it to the floor, staring at her, still considering.

Her eyes were glassy and wet with unshed tears, but tears had long lost the power to sway him. Maxim couldn’t say for sure if they ever really had.

Everything he knew said he should reach for his knife.

He didn’t.

Instead he grabbed the hand that had been holding the bleach and pulled her out of the shower.

She stared up at him, blinking rapidly, and Maxim could see the beat of her pulse at the base of her throat.

“Are you going to k-kill me?” she asked in a low whisper.

No witnesses. No loose ends. She was both.

The answer was easy.

Yes.

Maxim looked at her again and then shook his head.

“No.”

T
oday

S
enna

T
he plane touched down
, the bounce smoothing out immediately and then transitioning to a glide as it rolled down the runway.

My muscles clenched with tension and I turned my gaze to Maxim, who sat across from me. He’d folded his large frame into the plane’s seat, his broad shoulders and thick, heavily muscled torso filling the chair. I kept my eyes on him as the plane rolled to a stop, let my gaze caress his strong jaw, which had started to stubble after so many hours in flight. Then I looked up and over a cheek that tended toward gaunt, almost hollow, though the rest of him was solid and filled out.

And as I watched him, the tension that held my stomach tight loosened, becoming less and less until it was nothing.

I’d long ago stopped wondering why he had that effect on me. Maybe there was no answer, but whatever the reason, it always worked. Looking at Maxim always calmed me.

When the plane finished moving and came to a stop, he turned his eyes to meet mine, blue orbs ice-cold, lacking all emotion. My calm increased.

“You’re still not used to landing,” he said, his voice rolling out of his chest in a deep rumble.

I smiled faintly and then nodded. “Not yet,” I said.

Maxim didn’t say anything else and instead looked out of the window again. I wondered—not for the first time—what he must think of me.

How many flights had we taken? How many landings had I sweated through?

Countless at this point, but Maxim never seemed to care that I still barely made it through them.

As we sat on the runway, I glanced out of the window, felt that tightness come back into my stomach.

No, I hadn’t gotten used to landing yet, but I knew the nervousness that gripped me now wasn’t simply because of the flight alone.

When I heard Maxim stir, I unbuckled my seat belt and stood, the nerves in my stomach intensifying even more.

Maxim waited for me to pass and then stood behind me, his huge form and towering height enough to swallow me. But unlike usual, his presence this close to me didn’t completely calm me as it had before. Yes, he was strong behind me, his presence comforting, but the effect was muted this time, though I couldn’t say why.

I adjusted my shirt and then moved down the aisle of the private jet and to the exit.

I was in no hurry to leave. In fact, more than anything, I wanted to stay inside, take off again, an unexplained feeling of foreboding making it hard for me to do as I knew I should. That feeling screamed at me to stay, screamed at me to try to convince him to take us anywhere else.

But that wasn’t possible.

Maxim had said this was where we needed to be, so here was where we were.

I stepped down the stairs and kept my gaze centered on the waiting SUV.

I didn’t look around, couldn’t, not yet, but even though I kept my eyes on the black vehicle, my mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other, that didn’t prevent me from feeling the heat against my face, the way the wind blew here making the heat stronger and not providing any relief.

It was stifling.

I had been all over the world, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

And all because I knew
he
was here somewhere.

My heart squeezed at the thought. It shouldn’t matter that he was here, especially since so many years had passed.

But it did.

I’d thought it wouldn’t, had spent the hours since Maxim had told me we were coming here, and at least part of the reason why, telling myself it didn’t matter.

I’d only barely believed it, and my more prevalent thought had been I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t even be breathing the same air as him, not after all that had happened.

But here I was.

When I stopped in front of the SUV, I reached for the handle, but Maxim stopped me. His thick, blunt-tipped fingers barely grazed mine, but the touch was enough to set off a wave of sensation that both set my body aflame and centered me.

I looked to him, met his eyes. There was no warmth in them, no emotion, but he still had the effect of centering me, grounding me in this moment.

That Santo was here didn’t matter; what might happen here in the future didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Maxim was here, that Maxim would never leave me.

He somehow managed to communicate that message with a single look, with the faintest touch, and it was exactly what I needed to move. Under his watchful eye, I climbed into the SUV. Maxim stayed where he was until I had buckled my seat belt, and then he turned and walked toward the other SUV.

I watched as he walked, his strides long, confident, bordering on cocky. Not that Maxim needed such a thing. Cockiness often betrayed an insecurity, but Maxim didn’t suffer from that affliction. No, he believed in his own strength, took it as a given, so why wouldn’t he move confidently?

And as I watched him, I wished I could emulate his confidence, but what Maxim exuded couldn’t be copied or faked. It was a part of who he was, much like my own cowardice was a part of me.

I looked away, unable to continue watching. I wanted him to come with me, wanted to steal some of his strength, but that wasn’t possible.

He always preferred to get straight to business as soon as the plane touched down, and I likely wouldn’t see him for hours, maybe days.

But Maxim had his work, and I had mine, so I’d mimic him as best I could, do my little part.

“Hello, Adrian,” I said, glancing at the man who sat behind the steering wheel. He wasn’t as tall as Maxim, but he was powerfully built, almost stocky, and his solid form seemed to fill the front passenger area.

I looked at him expectantly, his rough, heavy features unmoving.

“Hello,” he finally said without looking at me, and then he began to drive toward what would be our home for however long Maxim decided we would be here.

Adrian didn’t look at me, certainly didn’t make eye contact, but the fact that he had spoken was meaningful enough. He seldom said anything, and that he had spoken told me my nerves were apparent to everyone. I breathed deep and tried to gather myself, gazing out the window as I fought to maintain my calm.

As we passed through the city, I took it all in, happy to have at least some distraction.

I loved to look around the cities we went to and I lost myself in taking in the scenery, watching avidly, though I’d never be a part of the world that went on around me.

Adrian cleared his throat to get my attention, and I glanced at him. He still didn’t look at me, kept his eyes firmly on the road, but he was aware that I watched him nonetheless.

“So what do you think about it?” he finally asked.

“The city?” I said.

He nodded.

“It’s okay. Pretty,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

This kind of question was unlike Adrian. He was open enough when asked a direct question, but I couldn’t recall him ever initiating a conversation, certainty not one as meaningless as what I thought about the city.

“No reason,” he said.

I tilted my head, kept my eyes on him.

“Maxim mentioned it,” he said, his voice flat, monotone, but I was not sucked in by his seeming disinterest.

And I didn’t for a moment believe that Maxim had “mentioned” anything. Even the phrase was unbelievable, suggested that Maxim had casually raised the subject. The idea was laughable. Maxim never casually did anything.

I knew better than to confront the topic directly, though. Temperamentally, Adrian and Maxim couldn’t have been more different, but they shared the stubborn habit of revealing things, if they ever decided to, in their own time. I’d learned to save myself the frustration of pushing.

“Really?” I said as casually as I knew Maxim hadn’t when he’d spoken to Adrian before.

“Yes. He just mentioned it. That you might be a little uncomfortable,” Adrian said.

I knew that he would say no more, probably regretted having said anything at all. In fact, I wondered what had driven him to speak. He wouldn’t tell me, though, so I turned my mind to other thoughts. Well, one in particular.

Maxim hadn’t told me where we were going until we’d gotten on the plane. He had, however, raised it with Adrian before, had taken seconds he wouldn’t ordinarily waste to discuss the issue with Adrian.

Why?

It was true that I’d never wanted be within a thousand miles of Santo again, hadn’t even allowed my mind to contemplate the idea, not even once since I’d left with Maxim that night.

But I’d never said so to him, had put the thought of ever being near Santo again at the back of my mind with the other relics of my past. Which left me with the question of why Maxim had given it any thought.

I turned that question over and over in my mind but was no closer to an answer when Adrian pulled to a stop in front of a large building.

It was located in the city’s financial district. The building wasn’t tall, but it was formidable, its smooth stone facade both classy and cold, almost foreboding.

“Stay here,” Adrian said.

I stayed put and watched as he got out and looked around, dark eyes seeming to look everywhere at once. When he was satisfied, he walked around the car and opened the door.

“Thank you,” I said when my feet hit the ground, the stifling air again hitting me.

He nodded and led me toward the door. I watched as he quickly punched in a key code and only barely kept myself from smiling.

More than once, I’d overheard foolish souls question Adrian’s intelligence. Between his stoicism and near silence, people who weren’t intimidated by him forgot he was there, or worse, made the error of underestimating him.

And underestimating him was an error, a grave one, because Adrian’s mind was a steel trap, every action, every word purposeful. He’d entered the key code without blocking his hand, giving me, but only me, a clear view of the numbers.

That had been intentional.

I wouldn’t acknowledge it, just as he hadn’t. If I did, he’d probably deny it and then feel compelled to have the number changed, so I kept my lips sealed but gave him a lingering look and a soft smile.

It was all the thanks I could give, and all that he would accept. He didn’t acknowledge it, though, and instead opened the door and ushered me into the building.

I’d known Adrian since he’d been barely out of his teens, and I wasn’t any closer to understanding him. I hadn’t figured out why he sometimes went out of his way to do little things like that, things he knew Maxim would disapprove of.

Another mystery I wouldn’t solve today, but I appreciated his consideration.

We went deeper into the building, this first floor looking dilapidated, though it seemed the floor had been swept. I knew, though, that we would find something vastly different when we reached our final destination. We stepped onto the elevator, and when it dinged, signaling our arrival, what greeted me may as well have been from a completely different building.

Everything was clean, gleaming and shining in the way Maxim demanded.

I glanced over, saw a few paint cans and other remnants of the recent construction haphazardly shoved in one corner.

So he’d come here with short notice, and there had been a rush to get the place in order, which wasn’t uncommon.

“Your room is on the fifth floor,” Adrian said.

“Can I take the stairs?” I said.

He nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Thank you, Adrian.”

Then I turned and headed to the nearest stairwell.

I knew the routine.

It was the same wherever we went, when he planned to stay for any length of time.

Maxim would find a place and renovate it to his satisfaction, offices on one floor, living area on another, a third dedicated to Adrian and the other members of the security team.

That place was where we would stay until his business took us elsewhere.

We’d spent three years in the Paris space, two in São Paulo. Four in Prague. Other places were shorter-term, and Maxim found temporary accommodations. We’d stay for days, weeks, sometimes hours. The six-hour stay in Kraków always stuck in my mind.

But it was the way of things with Maxim, his business.

There was no home, no permanence. He simply went wherever his business required, and for reasons I still didn’t understand, he always took me with him.

It was funny, because in a lot of ways, Maxim’s activities resembled what I imagined that of a very busy CEO would be, though his business was in no way ordinary. I had understood immediately what his business was, even if the specifics were never spelled out. By now, I seldom thought about it, accepted Maxim’s business as I accepted all of the other things in my life.

I stepped out of the stairwell and into the living area and went to the first door and opened it. The two small pieces of luggage that sat in the center of the room confirmed this was to be my bedroom.

I’d handle my belongings later. I closed the door and went to the other and found that his things had been delivered. I quickly moved to action, the familiarity of the routine soothing me.

Putting down roots, building something that could be a home, something that could be wiped away as it had been that awful night, was no longer for me.

But this, the motion, the movement, living life in the warmth of Maxim’s shadow. That was something I could handle.

I went to his luggage and began to unpack.