“I fucking love you, Abby. I love you so much.”
The words were guttural in her ear, and it was this that finally forced her to let go of what little restraint she had left. Then her body was racing for liberation, his voice in her ear like a spark to a fuse.
The orgasm exploded through her body like a stick of dynamite, emanating outward from her center, sending tendrils of ecstasy to every square inch of her skin as she shuddered around his cock.
He growled, spilling into her as he held onto her shoulders, pushing her onto him again and again as she shuddered in his hands, the feeling even more intense as he continued to drive through her constricting channel.
He kept moving for a long time, wringing every last tremor from her.
From himself.
When he was done, he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her back against him, their bodies slick with water and sweat, the shower still raining down on them.
She leaned her head back against his shoulder and angled her head to meet his kiss.
She was entirely enfolded in his arms.
They were both whole. They were both safe — for now.
Twenty-Four
Max was still trying to think of a way to get Abby to return to the house when Nico opened the door to the suite at the Bellagio. He’d tried being subtle in a nod to Carlos’s presence, but Abby had seen right through it.
“We’re not going to do this again, are we?” she’d asked, arms folded across her chest.
Max had glanced at Carlos, maintaining an admirably blank expression, before sighing in resignation.
He knew it was pointless — Abby was intent on being involved on some level — but he couldn’t help hoping for a miracle as Nico greeted the three of them and led the way into the suite’s living room.
Farrell was already there, along with Locke Montgomery, all of them nursing cocktails except for Locke, who had his hand around a Corona.
Max’s appreciation for the man nudged upward. He had nothing against a good cocktail, but sometimes a beer was just what the doctor ordered, a sentiment that didn’t seem to be shared by Nico or Farrell.
Greetings were made all around while Nico ducked into the suite’s fridge to get beers for Max and Abby. Max unrolled the building plans on the coffee table and anchored the corners while the other men made small talk with each other and Abby.
“Here you are,” Nico said, handing bottles to Max and Abby.
“Thank you,” Abby said.
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you,” Nico said.
If he was uncomfortable with Abby’s presence, he was doing a good job hiding it, as were the other men. Max had a vague memory of one of them saying something about the Syndicate’s men being no stranger to stubborn women. He wondered how many times in the past one of them had been involved in Syndicate business.
“Did you go over the surveillance?” Max asked Nico.
“We reviewed it last night. It was helpful.” He looked at Abby. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad it helped,” Abby said.
The plan to plant an extra person on the cleaning team for Jason’s suite had mostly gone off without a hitch. Locke himself had walked into the Tangier’s laundry, swiped two cleaning staff uniforms, and pretended to be a lost guest when someone asked what he was doing there.
Max hadn’t been surprised when the Tangier’s staff hadn’t batted an eye. If any of them could pull off the lost tourist act, it was Locke.
In the meantime, Damian’s cyberlab in New York had gotten into the maintenance department’s software system. According to Farrell, it had taken surprisingly little effort, backing up Abby’s guess that security on nonessential systems was limited.
Damian’s people had planted the names of two new employees and had sent them in the next day for training.
There had been only two close calls — once when the manager of the cleaning staff went to the system to double-check the new hires he hadn’t expected, and once when Carmella, the women assigned to train their person in the Presidential suite, had seemed like she wasn’t going to leave their trainee alone long enough to plant any of the devices.
The Syndicate’s woman, Monique, had acted fast by clogging the toilet while Carmella cleaned the sink with her back turned. The mess had been enough for Carmella to let loose an angry rant in Spanish, basically telling their mole to get the fuck out and clean something else.
It had bought Monique enough time to plant devices in the living and bedroom areas. It hadn’t netted them the plethora of information they’d hoped for, but it had given them enough visibility to scope out the inside of the suite.
“I got a good look at the roof,” Locke said, pulling Max from his thoughts.
“The drones worked?” Max asked.
“I had them back on the ground in under ten minutes,” Locke said. “If anyone saw them in the air, they didn’t have time to do anything about it.”
Max had been both surprised and worried about Locke’s plans to use drones to take a look at the roof. It was an option he wouldn’t have considered, and while it was a good idea, Max had worried the drones might be picked up on radar from the nearby airport.
“Glad to hear it,” Max said.
“Let’s take this a step at a time,” Nico said, setting down his drink, “starting with our way in.”
“There’s only one way in that doesn’t have us walking past a hundred cameras,” Locke said. “Which means only one way in that doesn’t announce our presence to Jason and his guards, not to mention the hotel’s security staff.”
“Care to fill us in?” Farrell asked.
Locke leaned over and slid the plans around, putting the layout of the roof on top.
“You going to drop us in from one of your drones?” Farrell asked.
“We’re going to zip in,” Locke said. “From the Drew.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Farrell said.
Locke grinned. “I’m not.”
It took a few seconds for Max to realize what Locke was proposing: that they use a zip-line to get from the Drew to the roof of the neighboring Tangier. His knee-jerk reaction was ridicule, but it didn’t take long to see the merit in it.
The Drew was a hotel and casino complex that had been in the works for over ten years. Construction had stopped when the company who owned the property filed for bankruptcy. The place had been half built ever since, a scar on the glitzy Vegas skyline that everyone had eventually learned to ignore. Rumor had it the property had been sold to a new developer who planned to restart construction next year.
Max wasn’t holding his breath.
“Tell us what you’re thinking,” he said to Locke.
“The Drew is still basically abandoned, which means it won’t be that difficult to get in,” Locke said. “It’s taller than the Tangier, but just enough to let gravity do its thing, not so much that it represents a danger. I’ve been over the screenshots of these plans with a fine-tooth comb — of all the places in the Tangier, the roof is the one with the least amount of security.”
“Doesn’t it have a helipad?” Farrell asked.
“It does, but I checked the flight plans in and out of Vegas, and the person who uses the Tangier’s helipad most is Jason Draper.”
“And Jason doesn’t seem to be going anywhere,” Nico mused.
“Exactly.” Locke placed a hand to the right border of the building plans. “The Drew is on this side. If we zip onto the roof here,” he touched the edge of the Tangier’s roof, “we’ll be more or less right above the suite.”
“It sounds dangerous,” Abby said. “I mean, I know it’s all dangerous, but this… this seems needlessly so.”
“It’s only needless if we can find a less dangerous way in,” Locke said gently.
She nodded thoughtfully.
“How do you know we can get to the top of the Drew?” Carlos asked. “Most of the sites that are under construction on the Strip st
ill have security.”
“They do, but it’s fairly perfunctory at the Drew,” Locke said. “And I know that’s true because after I got the drone footage back and started thinking about this as a way in, I scoped it out.”
Farrell lifted his eyebrows. “And?”
“Couple rent-a-cops,” Locke said. “Patrolling only the first floor.”
“They don’t check the rest of the building?” Max asked.
“What’s to check? There’s nothing there. It’s a steel skeleton, and as long as they keep the first floor clear nobody can get to the other floors anyway.”
“Won’t that be another problem?” Abby asked. “The elevators can’t be operational yet.”
“Abby’s right,” Locke said. “The building’s permanent elevators aren’t operational — but there are still two construction elevators on-site.”
“Then they’re ten fucking years old,” Farrell said. “How do we know if they work?”
Locke shrugged. “They worked when I used them.”
“Explain,” Nico said.
“The construction elevators are used to get workers up and down the structure before the permanent elevators are installed,” Locke said. “They’re like cages attached to a ladder.”
“You’re doing a great job of selling this,” Farrell said.
Locke lifted a shoulder like he didn’t care one way or another. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”
“I don’t,” Farrell admitted.
“So we zip from the Drew to the Tangier’s roof,” Max said. “Any chance of being seen from the ground?”
“Minimal,” Locke said. “We’ll be in the air for less than thirty seconds after midnight when everyone on the ground is drunk and distracted. If we dress in black, and anchor here,” he pointed to a corner of the Drew that faced away from the strip, “we’ll avoid most of the lights.”
Max’s eyes were glued to the plans. “We’ll be on the roof and out of sight by the time anyone on the ground gets someone to investigate anyway.”
“And once we’re on the roof, we can breach the top floor of the Tangier,” Carlos said.
Locke nodded. “That’s the plan.”
Nico looked at him. “This only works if we can run the line between the two buildings.”
“I’ve got that covered,” Locke said.
Nico didn’t even hesitate before nodding, a show of faith Max didn’t exactly echo.
“Then let’s operate under the assumption that this is our way in,” Nico said. “We can always revisit it later if someone comes up with a better idea, but I think we all agree the roof is our best option.”
He glanced around the room, waiting for objections that never came.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s talk about the rest of the mission.”
“There are two doors from the roof to the hotel, here and here.” Max pointed to symbols on the blueprints indicating doors that led to stairwells. The stairs descended to the top floor of the hotel where the Presidential suite was located. “They lead to supply closets off the hall leading to the suite.”
“That hall is where we have the most risk. We don’t have a single camera there,” Farrell reminded them.
“I’m aware,” Max said. “There is one other possibility.”
“The air shafts?” Locke guessed.
Max nodded. “The air shafts.”
“Jesus christ,” Farrell muttered.
“I’m actually thinking we split the difference,” Max said.
Nico looked at him. “How so?”
“We split up — send some of us through the air shafts and the others through the stairs.”
“Go on.”
“If we do run into problems in the hall, we’ll be better equipped to handle them stepping through a door than dropping from the ceiling, and if we send the first team down the stairs, they can secure the hall while the second team works their way into the suite through the air shafts.”
“That would also offer some cover for the team in the shafts,” Carlos said.
It was exactly what Max had been thinking: one way or another, the first team would have to deal with Jason’s security in the hall. Best case, it would keep the guards busy while the second team dropped from the airshafts into the suite to face Jason, and probably Bruce Frazier. Worst case, it would make a fuck-ton of noise, which might draw Bruce out of the suite and provide a distraction for the team inside. Either way, it was better than having both teams vulnerable in the airshafts, and better than having them both exposed in the hall.
“It’s not bad,” Locke said.
“There is one thing you haven’t talked about,” Abby said.
Everyone turned to look at her.
“You don’t have cameras in the hall, but Jason does.”
“Ski masks will take care of the identity problem,” Locke said.
“What about the ticking clock problem?” Farrell asked.
No one had to ask what he meant. From the minute they stepped into the hall, they would be exposed to the hotel’s security cameras. It was only a matter of time before more security was sent up from the hotel’s security department, not to mention the police, who would be called the minute the hotel reported they had a violent security breach.
Max turned to Abby. “How much time do you think we have?”
Abby seemed to think about it. “Depends on how long it takes someone in the camera room to spot you, but I’m guessing between five and ten minutes.”
“That’s a hell of a ticking clock,” Carlos said.
Max looked around the room at the others. “Then we’ll just have to beat it."
Twenty-Five
Abby was making tea in the kitchen when Max entered holding a stack of papers and wearing a serious expression. He’d been behind the closed doors of the room that he’d been using as his office, and she immediately stopped what she was doing, anticipating bad news related to the plans for the assault on the Tangier the next day.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, turning to face him.
“Nothing’s wrong, but there is something I’d like to talk to you about. Come sit with me.”
Her heartbeat quickened as he headed for the sofa in the living room.
“Want some tea?” she asked.
“No, thanks.”
She picked up her steaming mug and carried it into the living room, setting it on the coffee table before sitting next to Max on the sofa.
He turned his body to face her. “I know you’re not going to want to have this discussion, but I hope you’ll keep in mind that I won’t rest easy until we do.”
She swallowed her nervousness. “Okay.”
He took her hand. “I’ve been talking to Charlie for the past couple weeks about all the money and property in the estate.”
Charlie was Max’s lawyer, had been Max’s father’s lawyer as well.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
She didn’t care about Max’s money. She never had. He could lose everything. They could move into a seedy apartment on the wrong side of town. She would still consider herself the luckiest woman in the world if she fell asleep in his arms every night.
“No problem.” He looked down at their joined hands. “I just needed to make sure you were taken care of before tomorrow.”
It took her a few seconds to realize what he was saying. When she did, she rose to her feet without thinking and shook her head.
“You’re right. I don’t want to talk about this.”
He reached for her hand and pulled her back to the couch. He lifted the hand to his mouth and opened her fingers, kissing her palm before continuing.
“I understand. I do. But Abby, I would have been worried sick about this if I hadn’t taken care of it.”
“It’s whatever,” she said, waving it away. “I’m glad you have some peace of mind. I don’t need it because I know you’re going to be fine.”
He tipped his head, sadness lurking at the edges of a f
aint smile. “I appreciate your faith in me, but it’s important that you have this information. Will you listen? For me?”
She didn’t want this to be happening, didn’t want Max to be sitting in front of her with a mixture of resignation and love in his eyes. Didn’t want to talk about his death to make him feel better.
She swallowed it all. “Okay.”
“First of all, I’ve had some money moved offshore,” he said. “That’s a precautionary measure suggested by Nico, and it’s for both of us. If we have to run, or if something happens to the rest of my assets, our assets, there’s enough set aside to take care of us for the rest of our lives.”
He was using the word “us” to avoid the word “you”. To distract Abby from the fact that he was really telling her there was money hidden away for her in the event of his death or any forfeiture of assets that might happen if the FBI decided to get serious about their investigation into the Syndicate.
It was easier to play along than to call him on the lie of omission, easier to nod and hope that would be the end of the conversation.
“Charlie knows how to access the money,” he said. “If I’m not here, all you have to do is call him and he’ll provide you with instructions. It’s perfectly legal, and the money is well hidden behind three different shell corps. It’ll be there regardless of what happens here.”
She nodded. She just wanted this to be over. “Thanks for letting me know.”
He sighed, then tapped the papers on the coffee table. “I’ve updated my will to make sure it’s current.” He laughed a little. “The funny thing is, I didn’t even have to change much — I’d left almost everything to you anyway.”
She looked down at her lap, swallowing the emotion that rose in her throat like bile. “Please don’t make me do this.”
It was almost a whisper.
He pulled her into his arms and leaned back against the couch. “I know this sucks. I’m sorry. But we needed to have this conversation.” He kissed her head. “If you don’t want to do it for you, at least think about our child.”
Surrender to Sin (Las Vegas Syndicate Book 3) Page 12
