He was pulled from his thoughts by the hum of the gate as it opened. There was no voice from the intercom system, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jason was watching him from the other side of the security camera.
He pulled his car up a drive lined with pavers, the landscape a mix of palm trees, succulents, and grass that was so green against the desert landscape, it almost hurt his eyes.
Someday they would all be gone — the casinos, the swimming pools, the rich people like him and Jason. The desert wasn’t meant to sustain them all. It would reclaim its territory when the water dried up, but for now, Jason was like the rest of them, hanging onto the mirage as long as it lasted.
The house was as ostentatious as he remembered, a modern marvel of glass and steel, surrounded by a lush, emerald lawn. Max had only been there once before. It had been the last time he’d seen Jason, exorcising his need to tell Jason that he was a prick and a traitor.
It hadn’t mattered. Jason’s takeover of Cartwright Holdings was all business for him. He’d claimed Max’s father had taught him that, but he’d been wrong. Max’s father had been intelligent, but he wouldn’t have burned a friend the way Jason had burned him.
Jason wouldn’t even say he was sorry, and Max had left after throwing an expensive piece of sculpture against one of the glass walls of the house. It hadn’t even shattered. The sculpture had bounced off it, denying Max even that small bit of satisfaction.
He fucking hated this place. Hated what it stood for. What he was about to do.
He parked outside a six car garage designed to look like an extension of the house. He didn’t bother gathering his thoughts before stepping out of the car.
He knew what he had to do.
He made his way down a paved walkway leading from the garage to the house. When he got to the door, he rang the bell, then cursed under his breath as he waited, the bell echoing through the house beyond the front door.
It fucking figured. There was no doubt in his mind that Jason knew Max was here — that’s what the long delay at the front gate had been about — but he was going to make Max wait, have his fucking butler open the door, receive Max as if he were a subject to Jason’s king.
The door opened at a slant, some kind of architectural bullshit Jason had been proud of when he’d had the house built. A slender man who looked to be about twelve stood at the threshold in slacks and a white shirt, an iPad in his hand.
“Mr. Cartwright?”
“That’s right,” Max said.
The boy-man nodded. “Come in.”
Max stepped into the house.
“I’m Michael, Mr. Draper’s personal assistant. Follow me.”
Max took in the house as he went: high ceilings absent of architectural detail, furniture with hard angles that sat low to the ground, miles of white marble and glass.
The man named Michael led him into a sterile room with a pale wood desk, two chairs, and Scandinavian-style bookshelves. A matching sideboard sat against one wall, an array of liquor arranged on top of it.
“Mr. Draper will be with you shortly,” Michael said.
Max let his eyes scan the alcohol on top of the sideboard. He wasn’t entirely surprised — Abby had told him Jason drank, and sometimes even got drunk — but it stood in contrast to Jason’s sober college strategy. Unlike most of the kids at Stanford, Jason Draper didn’t come from a wealthy family, and back then, no one had been more acutely aware of that fact than Jason himself.
He’d kept his head down, avoiding parties and earning straight As every semester, winning a seat on Student Government and a position on the board of the Stanford Young Business Leaders group.
Blessed with the privilege of money, of belonging, Max hadn’t had the same drive. He’d managed to get good grades, but he’d also done his share of socializing, and even drinking, although in college he’d been more circumspect than he’d become after Afghanistan. Then he’d still had his father to please, to make proud. Had still seen himself as something other than the man who had failed everyone and everything that mattered.
He and Jason had been roommates against the advice of almost everyone, who cautioned that rooming with your best friend from high school was a good way to ensure that person was no longer your best friend.
It had worked surprisingly well, the two of them understanding each other the way few people in their lives did. It was only later that Max would wonder about the toll it had taken on Jason’s psyche to watch Max having fun — so sure of his place in the world, so confident — while Jason juggled a heavier class load, all too aware that he was on scholarship, although not aware of the identify of his benefactor. That wouldn’t come until later, after Jason staged the takeover of Cartwright Holdings and Max had thrown the truth in his face.
He’d expected Jason to be horrified, or at least surprised. He was neither. In fact, Max wondered if Jason suspected all along that Donald Cartwright was the sponsor of his scholarship. If he’d simply kept quiet to avoid complicating their relationship — or maybe just to avoid expressing gratitude.
He sensed rather than heard Jason in the doorway. He’d always had the peculiar ability to enter a room almost unnoticed, his footsteps silent, his movements compact and efficient.
Max turned to face him. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, and Max took in the measure of his old friend.
His enemy.
Jason had hardly aged, his build still small and slender, his face smooth. He wore trousers, a button-down, and dress shoes in spite of the fact that it was Saturday and he was at home.
He stepped into the room and headed for the sideboard. “Drink?”
“No, thanks,” Max said.
It was ten a.m., and Max wondered if day drinking had become a habit for Jason. If his determination to be in control had waned as he’d become successful.
But Jason turned without pouring himself a drink, so maybe not. He leaned against the sideboard and folded his arms over his chest.
“This is a surprise.”
This was going to be more difficult than Max thought. Jason was going to play it cool, make Max suck up to him.
Max nodded. “A bit of a surprise for me, too.”
“How so?”
Max had prepared more than one introduction to the purpose of his visit, more than one explanation. But now that he was face-to-face with Jason Draper, former best friend and architect of his father’s destruction, they all deserted him.
Max paced to the bookshelves, trying to buy himself time. “I wasn’t sure if I could ever forgive you.”
He scanned the titles — mostly history and military history, a few business texts and architectural volumes.
War and money and appearances, those were the things that had come to matter to Jason.
“And now?” Jason said behind him.
“Still not sure I can forgive you,” Max said without turning around.
It wasn’t true. Max would never forgive Jason. Instead, he would make Jason pay — for what he’d done to Max’s father and for what Nico Vitale had said he was doing to Abby. For putting her in danger, when keeping her safe was the one thing he and Jason has always been able to agree on.
“Then why are you here?”
Max turned to face him, leaned against the bookshelf in a perfect mirror of Jason’s posture, though Max was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, determined not to make Jason think he’d made an effort beyond coming to the house.
It was both ego and strategy, one of the few times in life when the two intersected. It was hard enough approaching Jason after all that had happened. He would do what he could to maintain some semblance of pride.
Jason wouldn’t respect him if he groveled, and it was important to his mission that Jason respect him. Jason didn’t need Max’s money or his presence at the DarkNet games — and he’d more than proven that when it came to business, no allowances would be made for personal attachments.
Max would have to get into the games on his own merit.
Jason could give him the green light, but he would only do so if he thought Max could hold his own with the other players, and from what Vitale had told him, they didn’t fuck around.
“I’m tired,” Max said.
“Tired?”
Max nodded and waited for Jason to draw him out. It was one of the few facets of control he could exercise, a subtle if subconscious cue that Max was controlling the conversation.
“Care to explain?”
Max let a few seconds pass, letting Jason think he was struggling to say what came next. “It’s been a long time,” Max said. “A long time to have so much bad blood.”
A lifetime wouldn’t be long enough for him to forgive Jason.
“I don’t disagree,” Jason said. “Although I have to admit I’m surprised to hear you say it.”
“Why is that?” Max asked.
“Forgiveness has never been your strong suit,” Jason said.
Max had to work to keep his expression impassive. He wanted to rage against this man, this man he hardly recognized in spite of his unchanging appearance, who would suggest that Max’s anger over the betrayal perpetrated against his father was somehow unfounded.
Max shrugged. “People change.”
“Are you saying you’ve changed?” Jason asked.
“No. Not like you mean. But we live in the same town, and Abby has been working at the Tangier for over two years. It’s not fair for her to be between us like she is.”
A flicker of emotion passed over Jason’s face at the mention of Abby, and Max heard again the story she had recounted the night before.
He tried to kiss me and it was so… weird and uncomfortable, Max. If you could have seen him…
Was the rejection still bothering Jason? Was it eating at him? Max couldn’t help hoping so.
“So… we’ll be friends again for Abby,” Jason said.
“I never said we’d be friends.”
Jason laughed a little and shook his head. “Some things never change.”
“No,” Max said. “Some things don’t.”
“I guess I’m a little confused,” Jason said. “You came to me. You say you don’t want bad blood anymore, that you don’t want Abby to be between us, but then you act like an asshole who doesn’t want to be here.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He needed to get his shit together. Stop hanging onto his pride in a situation where his pride wouldn’t get him what he wanted — what he needed. When it wouldn’t get him the information he needed to keep Abby safe.
Max sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He wanted to be anywhere but here. He wanted to be back in bed with Abby, the one place where he’d been able to let down his guard since Jason had destroyed everything that mattered.
“This isn’t easy for me,” Max said.
Jason didn’t flinch. “No one made you come.”
“No,” Max said. “I came because I wanted to, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
“What do you want?” Jason asked.
“I want to take a step,” Max said. “Try letting bygones be bygones, which admittedly, doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“How do we do that?”
Max laughed. “To be honest, I didn’t get any further than this.”
A ghost of a smile teased Jason’s face. Max could almost see the old Jason in it, the studious, insecure little kid who had wanted nothing more than to be anyone but himself.
“Fair enough.”
Max crossed the room and stopped in front of his old friend, then extended his hand. He was almost surprised when Jason reached for it without hesitation.
“It’s nice to see you, Max.”
Max nodded.
I despise you, motherfucker. I will destroy you if I find out you’ve put Abby within ten miles of danger. I will never forgive you for what you’ve done. For who you’ve become.
“You should come by the casino sometime,” Jason said when Max broke the handshake. “I’d love to show you around.”
Max had never set foot inside the Tangier. It had been a dark zone, a no-man’s-land in Max’s territory of fucking and gambling.
“I’d like that,” Max said. “I’ve heard good things.”
“From Abby?”
Jason couldn’t quite hide the hopefulness in his voice, and Max had to fight the urge to punch him in the face when he spoke Abby’s name.
“From everyone,” Max said.
“Good,” Jason said. “That’s good. I’m actually thinking of building another one.”
“Another casino?” Max said.
“It’s Vegas, there’s always room for another casino, right?” Jason asked. “I’m sure you know that better than anyone.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max asked.
Jason smiled. “It’s a small town. Word gets around.”
He was referring to Max’s previous activities: the gambling, the drinking, the women.
But that was over. He had only one purpose now, and that was keeping Abby safe.
“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Max said. Playing into Jason’s image of him as a playboy was the only way to get into the DarkNet game.
And it didn’t matter what Jason thought about him. Only one person’s opinion mattered, and that was Abby’s.
“Call my office,” Jason said. “We’ll set up a lunch or dinner.”
Max nodded. “Sounds good. I can see myself out.”
He headed for the hall, waiting until he was almost there to turn around.
“You wouldn’t know someplace I can unload some hot cars, would you?”
If Jason was surprised, his face didn’t show it. “Stolen?”
Max laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. “Got into a weird game the other night. Ended up with some cars — Lamborghinis, Ferraris, a few Porches… that kind of thing. I’d rather have the cash, but you know how it is.”
“You’re looking for a buyer?” Jason asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Max said. “Bonus points if I can kill some time while I unload them.”
Jason shook his head. “Sorry.”
Max tried not to show his disappointment. He knew it might take more than one try to get into the DarkNet games on Echo Peak Lane, but he’d still hoped things would move quickly. Now more than ever, he was anxious to end this, to start his life with Abby.
He shrugged. “Figured it was a long shot. You always played by the rules.”
It was risky. Jason might look at the statement as an emasculating insult or even as a sarcastic way to imply that he claimed to play by the rules when stabbing Jason’s father in the back.
On the other hand, it might hit Jason where it hurt. Make him feel like he still had something to prove.
Max was almost out the door when Jason’s voice stopped him.
“Actually, I might know of something.” Max turned around to face him. “But it’s not exactly legal.”
Max grinned. “Does anything in this town meet that definition?”
Jason’s smile was faint. “Is your email the same?”
“Too lazy to change it,” Max said. “Besides, no one emails me anymore.”
“I’ll send you the details,” Jason said.
“Thanks, and I’ll call your office to set up that tour.”
He stepped into the hall and made his way toward the front door. He hadn’t wanted to be involved in the operation to take down Jason, not at first, but he couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself. He didn’t have an official invite to the game yet, but he had a feeling it would come. For all of Jason’s success, he was still eager to prove himself.
And if he was holding the DarkNet games as the Syndicate alleged, his eagerness would be his downfall.
Fifteen
Abby waved goodbye to the regulars at Happy Lotus Yoga and waited while Meredith prepaid another ten classes with Daisy, the owner of the studio. They usually planned ahead when they went to yoga, but Abb
y had called Meredith as soon as Max dropped her at home that morning, desperate for both some Zen and some girl talk.
“All set,” Meredith said, tucking her wallet inside her bag. “Brunch?”
“Yes, please,” Abby said.
They’d met at the studio only moments before the class started. Abby was wound tight, her mind racing through everything that had happened the night before and everything that might happen now. She’d come to recognize the feeling of being out of her body, of being so preoccupied with the past or the future that she wasn’t capable of being present.
Ten minutes into the flow, she’d already felt more like herself, and she’d let go of everything as she moved through the asanas, focusing on her breath and on the movement of her body as it flowed from one pose into the next.
Now she was relaxed, back in her body instead of her head. But she still wanted to tell Meredith about Max.
They stowed their yoga mats in their respective cars and walked to Julia’s Organic Cafe two blocks from the yoga studio. It was a perfect Vegas day — the sun warm but not unbearable, the pale blue sky endless overhead.
They got to Julia’s and picked a tiny booth by the window facing the sidewalk. A few minutes later, their waitress brought coffee for Abby and tea for Meredith, then took their order.
When the waitress left, Meredith sat back in the booth. She slid the hair tie off her ponytail, and her glossy brown hair fell over her shoulders.
“So… I was kind of surprised you wanted to do yoga this morning,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes.
Abby looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup. “Why?”
“You know why,” Meredith said, leaning forward. “Tell me everything.”
Abby had been keeping Meredith up to date on the latest Max developments ever since the kiss in her bedroom. Now she felt suddenly shy about the details, unsure how to cover both the realization that Max loved her and the fear that was coiled like a snake in her stomach.
“It was… it was pretty great,” she finally said.
A puzzled expression settled onto Meredith’s features. “That’s not the reaction I would expect from a pretty great date, especially a pretty great date with Max Cartwright."
King of Sin: Las Vegas Syndicate Book One Page 10
