Possess (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 1) (6 page)

M
axim

“
S
ergei’s here
,” Adrian said.

“What about?” I replied.

I waited for Sergei’s arrival and tried to keep my mind off what had happened yesterday.

I had examined those moments with him over and over again, had tried to come up with a way to understand what had happened. It could have been nothing, but it could have been meaningful. I hadn’t decided which yet, and didn’t know which option was more terrifying. Didn’t expect I would, at least not anytime soon. So at least Sergei would provide some distraction.

He came in, striding, and easily as always, ever cocky, but I saw worry in his face.

He’d learn how to keep the emotion out of his expression eventually but for now I simply turned to the matter at hand. “Good news, I take it,” I said.

He lifted the corner of his mouth and smiled.

“I think we have Santo’s reaction,” he said.

“Which is?”

“Probably something you should see in person,” he said.

I stood and went with him and Adrian to the car. We rode to the outskirts of the city to an abandoned field, overgrown with weeds and littered with trash.

“This way,” Sergei said as he got out.

I followed him, paused when I saw the hand, fingertips removed. I kept walking, looked at the legs, torso, and then finally, the head.

“You recognize him?” Sergei asked.

“Yes,” I said. “George.”

He’d come up with Santo and me in the Syndicate, and though he hadn’t had what it would take to ever be in a position of power, he was tough and loyal, more than can be said about many others.

George had stayed with Santo, a sign of that loyalty, but we’d maintained a positive relationship. Santo’s message was loud and clear.

“I see Santo’s reputation is well earned,” Sergei said.

I looked at him. “It is, which is why Santo will soon find himself in the same position as George,” I said.

I saw the gleam of satisfaction in Sergei’s eye. “You want me to arrange something?” he said.

“Always so eager, Sergei,” I said, appreciating his focus but still cautious because I knew his eagerness could get out of hand.

“Yes,” he replied.

I looked at him. “I haven’t quite decided what to do with poor Santo yet, but find out everything there is to know about him,” I said.

“I thought you knew everything already,” Sergei said.

“Pretend I don’t. Find out everything. Family included,” I said.

Sergei narrowed his eyes. “Maxim, I—”

“Do it, Sergei. After you clean up Santo’s mess,” I said, and then I turned and went back to the waiting car.

S
enna

I
t was late
when Maxim got back, not that he stopped to speak to me or even acknowledge me as he brushed past.

No, he didn’t even glance in my direction, and instead went to his office, no doubt on the way to his gym.

I stared after him and then shook myself.

I was many, many things, a coward, a fool for lusting after him, but I was not pathetic. I was a person, one with feelings and emotions that he seemed to have no problem disregarding. I wouldn’t let Maxim’s cold shoulder change that.

That day, I had gone to bed like he said, and even though it had been afternoon, I had waited for him.

And waited.

I could remember now how I perched on the edge of my king-sized bed, watched as the afternoon sky turned dark, continued to watch as the night sky grew bright again with sun, still tasting him on the tip of my tongue, wanting to feel that again, his heavy hardness against my lips, his strong thighs, his silky-hard cock against my palms.

But he’d never shown up.

My disappointment wasn’t his fault. He’d never said he was coming to me, but I had assumed.

Because I was stupid.

I’d assumed things between us had changed.

They hadn’t, and I was furious at myself for thinking they had, still desperately wanting him.

“Hey, Se.” Sergei stopped in front of me, and when I stared up at him, I saw some strain in his usually jovial eyes.

“Tough night?” I asked.

He shrugged, still looking casual, a lot like the wild, scruffy, cocky kid he’d been a decade ago when I’d first met him.

Maxim had taken Sergei under his wing, was still training him today, but I could see Sergei’s frustration at the slow progress.

I said nothing about that tension, though, not speaking of business with him or any of the others, though our relationship was more than cordial. But I thought Sergei’s warmth, his energy, was exactly what the distant and impervious Maxim needed.

They balanced each other out, and I could see how being around Sergei had softened Maxim, how being around Maxim had matured Sergei.

“You know how it goes,” he said.

I nodded, and didn’t ask any further questions. He wouldn’t answer, and in truth, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t like to think about what happened out there, the danger they were all perpetually in. I knew that danger existed, knew that the ugly world could destroy Maxim, the others, and honest, innocent people like my parents with no warning. Yet I knew that all that mattered was the people I cared about, the person I cared about.

Even if I meant nothing to him.

“What’s up with the frown?” Sergei said.

I started and looked up at him, returning to the present.

“Just thinking,” I said.

“Ahh,” he said, that easy smile coming back to lift his entire face and brighten his eyes. “How craftily cryptic, Se. Has Maxim been giving you lessons?” he asked.

My eyes widened and I said nothing, watched as Sergei’s easy smile began to lower. He hadn’t meant anything by it, but for some reason his words made me feel guilty, exposed, reminding me that in spite of what I might have wanted, there was nothing between Maxim and me.

“Se?” he said.

I looked at him again, seeing concern in his golden-brown eyes. Saw warmth that I’d only seen in Maxim in those minutes I had been on my knees.

Seized by something I couldn’t name or stop, I stepped a little closer, saw Sergei’s frown, but the words came out before I could stop them. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Sergei’s eyes flew open wide with shock, and he stepped back.

Instantly, my face flamed hot, and I froze from the embarrassment. I couldn’t believe I had said that, but when I looked at Sergei again, saw the shock still on his face, I knew I had.

I dropped my gaze and started to turn, the pit of nerves in my stomach and the deep well of embarrassment making my shoulders slump.

“Hey, hey,” Sergei said, reaching out for me to stop me.

I didn’t look at him, and instead mumbled toward the carpet. “I’m sorry, Sergei. I don’t know what came over me…” I trailed off, chuckled, the sound thin, reedy. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”

He snorted. “Nah, Se. Not my mother. My very cool older sister, and just barely,” he said, touching my chin gently and turning my head toward him, looking at me with warmth and friendliness in his eyes. “But you don’t care what I think. So why not ask the person whose opinion you care about?”

Not at all a direct answer, but all I suspected I was going to get. Annoying as always, but I wouldn’t push, knowing that doing so would get me nowhere. “Thanks, Sergei,” I said.

He nodded and then he dropped his hand. “Don’t tell Maxim I did that,” he said.

“Why?”

“I prefer my hands attached,” he said.

His face was set in a smile, his voice full with humor, but I could detect the thread of seriousness in it. That seriousness was well placed. Maxim, Sergei, Adrian, everyone tried to keep me completely insulated from that darker, violent side of their business, but even their efforts were insufficient. I never saw anything but couldn’t help but hear the whispered stories, knew them all well enough to know they were capable of violence. They had to be to survive.

That should have scared, disgusted me, but it didn’t. I simply accepted the violence, their capacity for it, as a part of the world I chose to live in.

I looked at Sergei again, shook my head. “Don’t worry. He wouldn’t go to that trouble over me,” I said.

He furrowed his brow and then shrugged. “Whatever you say, Se,” he said.

“Good night, Sergei,” I said, turning away.

I went to my room, my face still flaming but some of the embarrassment having gone away. I was really so desperate for validation, I’d asked that silly question of Sergei, a person who was a friend but nothing more. Maybe I should put a cherry on top of the day and find Adrian to ask him.

A cold, humorless laugh bubbled out of my throat as I prepared for bed, angry with myself, frustrated with Maxim, and still bursting with longing for him that only got stronger, despite his unspoken rejection.

Frustration that would go nowhere, desire and longing that had even less of an outlet. I lay in bed for at least two hours, though sleep wasn’t even a distant possibility.

But as I lay there, Sergei’s words replayed in my mind, replayed for so long that I started to wonder if maybe he had a point.

Why didn’t I ask the person whose opinion mattered?

I pulled back the covers and got out of bed.

M
axim

A
s had become my pattern
, I moved through my office, directly to the gym without pause. I couldn’t stop because if I did, I knew I would go to her, and I wouldn’t do that. So instead, I would work my body to the point of exhaustion, beyond if necessary.

After I’d removed my clothes, I warmed up with a few push-ups but soon turned to my punching post. I hit the plank again and again, but was no closer to burning off the frustration that wound its way through me.

Killing Santo might help. I had the power and muscle to quickly squash any threat he would try to throw at me. And though I had admonished Sergei about his brashness, the idea was tempting.

I continued to hit, turning the thought over, weighing the pros and cons, ultimately deciding against doing so. Giving Santo his just deserts would be satisfying, but only temporarily so.

Because I knew there was only one thing that would give me complete satisfaction.

And it was the one thing I would not do.

I had seen Senna, didn’t go a day without doing so if I could help it, but I hadn’t talked to her, spent any time with her.

Because I didn’t trust myself.

I could still feel her now, the pressure of her hands on my thighs, her sweet lips against my skin, her harsh breaths against me.

I wanted to feel it again. Wanted more.

But I couldn’t take it, wouldn’t let myself.

I’d long ago learned and accepted that much of the world was beyond understanding and knew even more that understanding things didn’t change them. The thing between me and Senna was proof of that.

When I’d first glimpsed her, a decision had been made. I hadn’t understood it then, didn’t understand it now, so I had never given it too much thought, hadn’t bothered to examine things between us. Examining it wouldn’t change it because the bottom line was I wanted her completely, suspected I was addicted to her, needed her as I needed nothing and no one else.

The intensity of that need, one that had always been there, growing over the years, but that had gone into overdrive in these recent weeks, meant I couldn’t touch her.

I wanted her too badly, and giving into that want, giving into that need, would give Senna power over me that would destroy me. I couldn’t give anyone that power.

Not ever.

I heard the door open, knew that it was her, and continued to punch.

It seemed the universe had a sense of humor or was taunting me, putting my resolve to the test.

For what other reason would she be here, now, as I resolved that I would stay away?

I continued to punch, but the motions were mechanical. All of my attention was riveted to her, focused on her completely, and as she watched me, I was equally desperate to touch her and for her to go away. We stood there in silence, me unwilling to look at her, and her in seemingly no hurry to leave.

She cleared her throat, but I didn’t look at her. Then she cleared her throat again and spoke. “Maxim, do you think I’m pretty?”

I missed my next punch, her question, the fact that she thought it was a question at all, throwing me off. After a moment, I again resumed, still not looking at her.

“You should be sleeping,” I finally said, continuing to hit.

She moved closer to me. “That wasn’t an answer,” she said.

Her voice was a whisper, and I realized that I’d seldom, maybe never, heard her raise it. But always, always, there was the steel in it, a gentle strength that demanded a response.

I dropped my hands, looked at her.

Her feet were bare, the small nightgown she wore falling about midway down her thighs, tucking in at her waist, and leaving no doubt that she was not wearing a bra.

Her nipples were beaded tight under the thin material, practically begging for my attention, the rest of her body tantalizing, pulling me in.

“Are you trying to throw yourself at me, Senna? Do you want to play the whore again?”

I spoke scornfully, hoping my voice, my rough words would send her away. I’d apologize tomorrow, but now I needed her gone. Needed some distance because she was threatening to undo me.

My little flower never did as I expected, though. Instead she lifted her hand, sent her fingertips gliding along my chest, her touch gentle, soft, and stirring a tornado of sensation across my skin. Then she met my eyes.

“Yes.”

I grabbed her wrists, stopped her hand, and then searched her gaze with mine.

I didn’t know what I expected to see there, didn’t know if whatever I did see was something I should have seen before, but I saw her want, as deep as mine, and it broke me.

I held her wrist tighter and brought her body close to mine, reached up and pulled the strings of her nightgown down until her full, dark-tipped breasts were bare.

I move my hand down her silky skin, squeezed the tight buds, my lungs freezing at her low moan.

“Do you even know what that means?” I asked, still scornful, but more with myself than her.

“Why don’t you show me?” she said.