3. Maks
3
MAKS
“ D on’t bring her back in here,” I command gruffly as Vlad slings the club girl’s limp form over his shoulder and approaches us. Hauling an unconscious woman around the building is bad for business, and the stray club girl has already proven this hallway isn’t as private as I would like it to be. Blyat. This is the last kind of complication I need right now.
I study the back half of the woman’s ragdoll form. Even as she dangles motionlessly over Vlad’s shoulder, I can tell she’s got a killer figure. Her skirt barely reaches low enough to cover her full ass, and I can’t help but admire her long, toned legs, though the observation feels scummy when she’s not awake to know I’m doing it.
“What do you want me to do, boss?” Vlad asks, freezing in his tracks, his bald head shining beneath the hallway’s overhead lighting.
Sighing heavily, I comb the stray locks off my forehead with my fingers. “Bring her to the Evanston house, and lock her in the basement—and do it quietly. Take her out the back way so no one sees you. Call Gleb to bring the car around.” I have to choose my words carefully with Vlad. He isn’t the sharpest blade in my arsenal, and a casual direction could be misinterpreted, but he’s a monster when it comes to brute strength, and he’s loyal—a man worth keeping around despite his lack of common sense. “Stay there until I say otherwise. I’ll deal with the girl when I’m done here.”
My man gives a curt nod and gets on the radio to call Gleb as I turn my attention back to Lucian Guerra, my temporary business partner and potential ally—if he can get his shit together and finish the job he set out to do. Even after the commotion, he looks poised, his dark hair styled in a perfect disarray around his olive-toned face, his hazel eyes sharp and assessing as he watches the drama unfold.
“Perhaps we should have held the meeting in a more discreet location,” he observes dryly.
“This is more discreet than anything you could offer, I assure you. Don Costanzo knows better than to allow his men into my territory. The girl was a regrettable accident, but I’ll handle it—and I’ll look into finding someone we can trust to get the information you need. Let me know if you find an alternative solution in the meantime.”
Lucian gives a curt nod, extending his hand in silent agreement, and I clasp it firmly. I wouldn’t normally make a deal like this one. Generally, I believe in loyalty and blunt conflict resolution, but if this is what it takes to ruin Don Costanzo, I’ll make an exception.
I watch as Lucian and his men fade into the crowd and hope I’ve put my trust in someone who can live up to his word. I have a lot riding on this deal. Then I head up the stairs to my private table in the VIP section. I could use a drink before I deal with the complication waiting for me in the basement of my Evanston house—the nondescript suburban house I keep just along the city limits for occasions like these. Not that I’ve ever had to silence a young woman before, but like I said, when it comes to Don Costanzo, I’m willing to make exceptions.
“Vodka,” I tell Annika as she approaches the table.
She flashes me a sultry smile before turning to collect my standard drink from Aleks, putting extra sway in her hips in the hopes of catching my attention. She’s a beautiful girl, and I won’t deny I’ve looked in the past, but I know better than to mix business with pleasure. Over the past week, though, a different girl has lingered on my mind, making my cock ache whenever I think about her too hard. Lindsey , the sharp-witted blonde with the nerves of steel to sneak into the VIP section of my club. My gaze wanders toward the dance floor, like it has every night this week, but once again, I don’t see her.
“Your drink, sir,” Annika says, leaning unnecessarily far forward to give me a glimpse of her cleavage as she sets my tumbler of chilled vodka on my table.
“Thank you, Annika.” I do another sweep of the crowd and sigh before downing the entire shot. Normally, I would sip on the luxury liquor from my home country, but tonight, I have business to attend to, and if Lindsey hasn’t appeared by now, I doubt she’ll show. There’s no sense in delaying any longer.
“Anything else I can get you?” Annika asks sweetly.
“That’s alright, thank you.” Pulling a wad of cash from my pocket, I toss a large bill on the table and stand. “I have somewhere to be.”
From the corner of my eye, I catch the cocktail waitress’s shoulders as they sag slightly in disappointment, but she quickly recovers to wish me a good night before I head back down the steps.
The drive up to Evanston goes by in a flash as I sit in the back seat, scrolling through my contacts for anyone who might be useful to Lucian, but the answer isn’t that simple. I’m still looking as the SUV pulls into the garage and the door closes behind us. Vlad is waiting for me inside, pacing as he keeps an eye on the closed door into the basement.
“Is she awake?” I ask as he stops, his gaze shifting to me.
“And then some. I had to tie her up and gag her, she was making such a racket.”
My lips twitch, but I manage to keep the smile off my face. I won’t bother reminding Vlad that the house has been soundproofed. She could scream herself hoarse, and no one would hear her once he closed the door. “Thank you, Vlad. You can head back to the club to finish your shift.”
He gives a single nod before striding toward the front door. I sincerely hope Gleb had better sense than to let him come in that way.
“Through the garage, Vlad,” I state. “You can use my driver. Just send him to pick me back up once you’re at the club.”
“Right,” he says, turning on his heel to head deeper into the house.
Shaking my head, I approach the door leading into the basement. The old stairs groan under my weight, and I catch the sound of shuffling as I descend into the cool, unfinished space. It’s been outfitted with three wrought iron cells along one wall. Chains hang from the ceiling near the center of the room, right above the industrial-sized drain—a useful tool both to intimidate prisoners, when necessary, and to make clean-up easier after interrogations.
My foot pauses on the bottom step as I catch sight of my eavesdropper’s face for the first time, those Baltic-blue eyes behind her oversized gray-framed glasses. Even with a strip of cloth trapped between her lips, they look full and tempting. But from the way Lindsey’s glaring at me, I have no doubt my chances of ever kissing her have been blown out of the water. Her back is pressed against the cement wall at the far side of her cell, her long legs drawn defensively up to her body—maybe to ward off the damp chill of the basement or maybe to protect her modesty despite her precariously short skirt. Either way, it doesn’t look comfortable with the way her hands have been tied behind her back.
“I’ll admit, this wasn’t how I pictured meeting again,” I state, continuing into the basement so I can take the key off its hook that will unlock her cage. My tone hides the conflict warring inside my chest. I’ve never relished the thought of hurting a woman—let alone killing one. Now that I know who it is that’s heard too much, I’m even less inclined. But if I want to ensure her silence, my best plan would be to kill her.
The deadbolt on her cell clanks open as I twist the key, and as I swing the door wide, Lindsey scrambles farther from me, her heels scraping across the hard ground. It makes my stomach knot, but I close the barred door behind me so she can’t escape, then turn to face her.
She’s shaking visibly, and I approach slowly to crouch in front of her. Her head jerks back, a protest rushing past the fabric trapped between her teeth as I reach up to remove it.
“I’m just taking that off so we can talk,” I state, my hands stilling.
After a moment’s hesitation, Lindsey’s shoulders relax, and I can see the reluctant permission in her eyes. Reaching around her head, I untie the knot and loosen the fabric until it slips free of her mouth. She licks her full red slightly-chapped lips and swallows hard as her eyes track every move I make.
“My friends were with me at the club. They’ll notice I’m missing. Just let me go, and I swear, I’ll never breathe a word of this.”
Her voice trembles slightly, igniting a protective instinct inside me that completely contradicts our situation, considering I’m the one responsible for her fear. I study her features carefully, her high cheekbones that have a rosy flush from the cold, the delicate bridge of her nose, where her glasses perch, making her look bookish by default. Her heart-shaped face is framed by thick blond waves that I’m tempted to touch. The stubborn point of her chin quivers slightly as she tips it forward in that same rebellious way she did last week at the bar. She’s bluffing—just like she was then.
“I can take care of them too,” I assure her calmly, calling her bluff.
Her cheeks drain of color, her eyes widening, and I know she believes me—even if I have no clue what her friends look like. But the more desperate she feels, the more likely Lindsey will be to tell me exactly what she overheard and, therefore, whether killing her is absolutely necessary. I don’t care if she calls the cops claiming that I kidnapped her. I have enough of Chicago PD in my pocket to be certain that kind of accusation won’t stick. But if she knows about my plans for Don Costanzo, I can’t take the risk of him finding out.
“No, please—m-my phone’s in my boot,” she stammers, her words tripping over themselves in her rush to get them out. “Let me just text them to say I went home. Then no one else has to get hurt.”
Tears shimmer along the thick bottom lashes of her eyes, and a twinge of guilt tightens my chest. Here I am, considering what I’ll have to do to ensure this girl’s silence, and she’s willing to cut her own lifeline to make sure her friends don’t get hurt. I study her with fresh eyes, curious about the beautiful woman who isn’t just smart, daring, and witty, but also loyal to her friends and brave enough to face her fate head on. It’s a pity this is how we had to meet again.
I keep her gaze as I reach out again, sliding my hand inside the top of her calf-high boot to fish the phone out of her pocket. Then I press the button to wake it up and turn the screen toward her to unlock it with facial recognition. I can see the hope bleeding from her eyes, a single tear escaping down her cheek as I open the messenger app. It isn’t hard to find the friends she was out with—Mirabelle and Annie—as their group chat is the highest on the list, and as soon as I open it, I can read the exchange agreeing to meet at Annie’s house at eight o’clock tonight.
I take a quick scan of Lindsey’s texting style, noting that she spells out her words and uses proper punctuation, where Annie communicates in shorthand and Mirabelle’s texts are peppered with emojis. Tapping out a quick message as if it were Lindsey typing, I inform them that she went home because she wasn’t feeling well, then send it off.
“There. Problem solved. No need to get your friends involved.” I feel like the monster she’s seeing me as when I slip Lindsey’s phone into the inside pocket of my suit jacket and turn my attention back to her. But I don’t have the luxury of being empathetic tonight. “Now, tell me, what were you doing in that hallway?”
“Looking for the bathroom?” she says, her tone turning it into an exasperated question. “You know, you really should put up better signage if you don’t want people going back there.”
The edge to her tone is daring, and my lips twitch with amusement. Even when she’s locked in my basement, she’s bold enough to challenge me.
“Noted,” I state with a smirk. She was in the completely wrong area of the club for the bathroom, which has plenty of visible signage, but there’s no point in arguing. “What did you hear while you were there?”
“Nothing.” The answer is too quick, her features too carefully schooled into an innocent expression—just like they were after Aleks asked her for her VIP bracelet.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m not lying!” she insists, even as color rushes into her cheeks.
“Then why did you run?”
The shudder that ripples down her body is genuine, and she curls into herself a little more. “Because that giant monstrosity of a man started chasing me as soon as he saw me. I mean, have you seen the guy? It’s not like I made a conscious decision about it. He’s kind of terrifying, and he sounded pissed that I was somewhere I apparently didn’t belong.”
This time I believe her—and I can’t say I blame her. Vlad can make hardened criminals shit their pants. But judging by her body language, I’m sure of one thing. Lindsey heard something she wasn’t supposed to, and I need to know exactly how much.
“What did you hear?” I repeat, trying for a softer tone.
“Nothing,” she insists, her tone increasingly defiant.
I have three options right now—let her go and trust that she won’t talk about what she knows, kill her just to be safe, or scare the truth out of her so I can be certain. I choose the latter, moving with lightning speed to wrap my fingers around her throat, and I already hate myself as I push her back against the wall. I’m careful not to use too much force and hurt her as I pin her there, leaning in so my face comes within inches of hers. She gasps, the sound breathy and entirely too enticing as shock and fear flit across her face.
My traitorous cock picks that exact moment to awaken, hardening as I feel her soft skin beneath my fingers. The subtle scent of jasmine and citrus fills my nose, intensifying my attraction as I picture pinning Lindsey against a wall under very different circumstances. Fuck, I want to kiss her. I’ve been thinking about her smart, pretty mouth all week, and now her lips are so close, I almost can’t stop myself. But that’s the last thing I need to be thinking about right now.
“I could kill you right now,” I warn, my voice low and soft—because volume doesn’t necessarily prove more effective in situations like this. In my experience, most women find a calm villain far more terrifying than a crazed one. Tempers are relatable. Anger is an emotion we all feel and can empathize with. But a cold, calculating murderer? How do you pacify someone completely outside the emotional spectrum?
“Please, please!” she cries, her eyes flying wide. “I swear, I don’t know anything. I won’t cause you any problems.”
Her breaths are ragged, the scent of tequila and grapefruit mingling with her floral perfume as she releases trembling breaths, her chest heaving. Even when she’s not trying, Lindsey turns me on, and the proximity is doing nothing to help my conflicted feelings toward her. I’ve never not wanted to kill someone this badly in my life, and I take a deep, steadying breath as I reconsider my options. She’s not going to talk to me. Maybe she thinks that sticking to her story is her best chance of survival. But until I know what she knows, I can’t let her go.
I can’t kill her either. As her pulse throbs beneath my thumb, I know for a fact that I don’t have it in me—and I’m not the kind of man who will pass off a dirty job like that to one of my men. Killing is a necessary evil in my line of work, but killing an innocent woman? That’s not something I want my men to be good at.
“ Blyat. ” Releasing Lindsey’s neck, I jerk to a stand, intensely aware of the way my cock is straining against my zipper after getting so close to her.
“Please, let me go,” she murmurs, peering up at me through her thick, dark lashes.
Thin trails of mascara streak down her cheeks, and if the stakes were any lower, I might falter. But this deal with Lucian is bigger than the both of us. If I blow this by letting her go, I would never forgive myself—and I’d probably get Lucian killed in the process. Not that I give a shit about the Italians or their feuds, but if I had to pick, I would much rather have to deal with Lucian Guerra than Don Costanzo. So, no, I can’t let Lindsey go. But I can at least keep her alive until the job is done. Maybe by then, I’ll have come up with a better solution than killing her—and in the meantime, I’ll keep trying to get her confession.
“I can’t do that,” I state. “But maybe a night down here will help loosen your tongue.” I crouch in front of her once more, and my stomach tightens as she flinches, cringing away from me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice breathy with fear.
“Giving you back your hands.” The words come out gruffer than I intended them, but I don’t like this new dynamic between us. I much preferred the flirtatious back-and-forth we had last week at the club. And to think, if Lindsey hadn’t been at the wrong place at the wrong time, I might have ended up spending tonight with her under very different circumstances.
Forcing my actions to be slow and gentle, I reach behind her. This time, Lindsey doesn’t object. Instead, she turns slightly, giving me better access to her wrists and the knot she’s clearly been working to undo. I cock an eyebrow at her as our eyes meet over her shoulder, and fresh color infuses her cheeks. Without a word, I reach down and finish loosening the knot to untie her.
“The toilet works,” I state, nodding to the basic plumbing in the corner of her cell. “And just so you don’t get any bright ideas, the basement is completely soundproof, so don’t waste your breath.”
Lindsey’s arms wrap around her knees, pulling them closer to her body as I stand. Goosebumps stand out over the exposed flesh of her arms and legs. Sighing, I step out of her cell and lock it behind me before heading to a metal chest of drawers along one wall. Pulling one open, I grab several blankets and take them out. The basement’s practically a fridge—it’s designed that way because the less comfortable my prisoners are, the more likely they are to give me what I want. But I don’t like the thought of Lindsey catching a cold down here, especially since she’s definitely not dressed for the temperature.
She stands hesitantly, her steps slightly unsteady as she approaches the front of the cell, and when I thrust the blankets between the bars, she accepts them. “Thank you.”
Her tone is as guarded as her expression, and I give a curt nod before turning toward the stairs. My stomach roils with guilt, and I clench my teeth against the unwanted emotion. How the hell did we end up here? I can’t help but think there’s no coming back from this.