Surrender to Sin

by Michelle St. James

  But they’d agreed not to have secrets and he didn’t want to give her any incentive to think she needed them. He’d forced himself to breathe while she recounted the conversation with Jason’s executive assistant, had reminded himself that Rosie was harmless, that according to Abby, the other woman was so worried she probably wouldn’t even tell Jason about the meeting.

  The tactics had worked well enough to keep his anger under control — but just barely.

  He watched her sleep as he pulled on his sweats and slid his phone into one of the pockets. She looked so young in repose, her skin like porcelain in the moonlight, one arm bent above her head like a kid who’d fallen asleep fast and hard. Despite his sleeplessness, he was tempted to crawl back into bed just to feel her next to him, but in the end he gave into his restlessness and continued downstairs to the living room where he poured himself a drink.

  He took it out onto the terrace and sat in one of the lounge chairs. It was almost one in the morning, the sky inky overhead, the city glowing in the distance. It was comfortably warm rather than hot, the city’s only nod to the end of summer.

  Of all the things Abby had told him about her meeting with Rosie, it was the fact that Jason was carrying a gun that unsettled Max the most. It shouldn’t have been surprising given Jason’s declining character — or the decline in his ability to keep up the facade of having character — but somehow Max still couldn’t imagine it.

  Firing the weapon during the meeting with DeLuca at the Tangier and carrying it around all the time — being prepared to use it all the time — were two different things.

  He wondered if Jason had been properly trained to use the weapon or if it was something he carried to make himself feel better, then thought about Bruce Frazier and decided Jason definitely knew how to use it.

  Bruce had been trained in the military. He might be a mercenary with no moral compass, but he wouldn’t arm a client unless he was damn sure the guy wasn’t going to accidentally shoot a hole through his foot — or someone else’s face.

  Max would have to keep it in mind when he created a strategy for breaching the Tangier. It wasn’t good enough to plan on taking out Jason’s guards — Jason himself was more dangerous now, and Max couldn’t assume he’d be given a pass the next time he was staring down the barrel of Jason’s gun.

  It was a moment that haunted him: Jason pointing the gun at him, his eyes glassy and unreadable, the moment he’d turned the gun on Nico instead.

  Why had he done it? Nico was nothing to Jason: it was Max he despised.

  Wasn’t it?

  He wasn’t sure anymore. Something had moved between them in that moment — the invisible thread of their childhood, their memories, their shared experiences. Was that what had stopped Jason from pulling the trigger? Did he still harbor some kind of affection for Max?

  He didn’t know, but he couldn’t count on getting lucky twice. He would have Carlos contact the cyberlab in New York — Damian Cavallo, the leader of the New York territory, ran a lab almost as extensive as Christophe’s in Paris — and tell them to keep looking for information on Jason’s whereabouts over the summer. That knowledge could yield information that would be helpful to them now.

  He drained the rest of his drink and was setting down the empty glass when his phone rang. It wasn’t as unusual as it once was to get late night calls. In the early days of bringing DeLuca’s businesses online for the Syndicate, Max had rarely slept through the night. He’d gotten used to the odd business hours.

  “Yeah?” he said into the phone, wondering why an unknown caller was dialing him instead of Carlos after he’d made it clear that everything was supposed to go through his new underboss.

  “Did you miss me?”

  The voice stopped him cold.

  “It was a lot quieter, I’ll give you that.”

  Max kept his voice even, determined not to give in to the rage coursing through his body. This was the man who had sent someone to burn down Abby’s house, who had used her as a pawn against Max.

  Jason chuckled on the other end of the phone. It sounded so close Max wouldn’t have been surprised to turn around and find Jason standing behind him on the terrace.

  “I’ve always thought quiet was overrated,” Jason said.

  “Not in this case,” Max said. “How was your vacation?”

  He was trying to keep Jason talking, hoping he might divulge some detail that would help Max get a handle on his activities over the last three months, something that might give him insight into Jason’s current state of mind.

  Jason’s sigh was exaggerated. “Not as restful as I would have liked, I’m afraid.”

  “No long hours in the sun with an umbrella drink?”

  “Business always comes first,” Jason said. “You know that. What about you? I hear you’ve been busy.”

  “Like you said, business always comes first,” Max said.

  “Not words I ever expected to hear you say.”

  “I’ve changed.”

  “I would say I’m surprised,” Jason said, “but if any woman can make a man change, it would be Abby.”

  “Careful,” Max warned, his voice low. He didn’t want Abby’s name in Jason’s mouth, would have preferred not to have it anywhere in Jason’s mind, although he had less control over that.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and Max knew Jason was weighing his next words, not out of fear, but out of his long-standing attention to strategy.

  “I didn’t realize it was about you until that day at the Tangier,” Jason finally said.

  “In what way?” Max knew what he meant, but he wanted to draw Jason out, to keep him talking.

  “I thought it was about her. About Abby. But it’s been about you all along.”

  “I don’t know why,” Max said. “We cut ties a long time ago.”

  “It was a fragile peace, but peace nonetheless,” Jason said. “Just remember, it was you who opened that door.”

  Max couldn’t deny it. He’d re-entered Jason’s life reluctantly — and only because he’d been worried about Abby’s safety — but he’d been the one to do it.

  “Some things are more important than peace,” Max said.

  Like Abby, who was more important than everything.

  “That’s your call to make,” Jason said. “But it’s important to remember it was that judgement call that brought us here."

  “We both know this has been coming for a long time. We wouldn’t have lived out our lives in this city without this happening eventually.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jason said. “I just wish I’d finished it when I had the chance.”

  “You should have.” Max heard the warning in his own voice. “You won’t get the opportunity again, and I promise you, when I’m on the other end of the gun, I won’t have a similar crisis of conscience.”

  Jason’s laugh was low and intimate in his ear. “Is that what you think that was? A crisis of conscience?”

  “What would you call it?” Max asked.

  “History,” Jason said. “Memory.”

  “None of that matters after what you did to Abby,” Max said. “That was an act of war that can’t be undone.”

  Jason was silent for so long on the other end of the phone that Max thought maybe he’d hung up. Until he spoke.

  “Then I’ll see you on the battlefield.”

  There was a brief pause, then silence as Jason disconnected the call.

  Max put down the phone and turned his eyes toward the city. He wondered if Jason was standing at the window of his suite at the Tangier, a king ensconced behind the walls of his castle.

  It didn’t matter.

  I’m coming for you, Max thought. And this time you won’t live to say Abby’s name.

  Eleven

  Abby wheeled the grocery cart through the produce section with her dad trailing behind her.

  “I can buy my own damn groceries, Abby.”

  He’d been grumbling since the
y entered the supermarket, although it lacked the bite of his former complaining. Back then every word had been underwritten with cruelty, a desire to hurt her. Since he’d been sober, he’d grown almost gentle, his complaining half-hearted, as if it were part of an affect he was obligated to maintain.

  “I know,” she said. “I told you: I needed to stop for myself.”

  “If you think I believe that, you’ve probably got a bridge to sell me,” he said under his breath.

  She hid her smile as she picked up a head of broccoli. He wasn’t entirely wrong. He’d been buying his own groceries and paying his rent since he got the job on the ranch, but a peek through his kitchen told her his selections were all about convenience. The freezer was stuffed with ice cream and microwavable convenience food, the cupboards loaded with boxes of shelf-stable mac and cheese, instant potatoes, and sugary cereal.

  Now that alcoholism was off the table as a cause of death, diabetes and heart diseases were real concerns.

  “I’m picking up some broccoli for myself,” she said. “Do you want some?”

  “What on God’s green earth am I going to do with broccoli?” he asked. “Get a rabbit?”

  She laughed. “You can steam it! Or even cook it in a skillet with some butter.”

  “Too much trouble,” he said. “I’m almost sixty-five years old. Let me eat what I want.”

  She threw a bunch of bananas into the cart and followed it up with a bag of apples. “Let’s check out the frozen section. You can dump frozen veggies in a bowl and put them in the microwave. Besides, what if you decide to invite Carol over? You going to serve her a bowl of Lucky Charms?”

  She was surprised when he didn’t offer up an objection.

  Interesting.

  They continued through the store, chatting as they went about his job and the apartment, the savings and retirement accounts Abby had helped him set up. He demonstrated a lot of financial acumen for someone who’d rarely been sober enough to count the change in his wallet, and Abby had started to wonder if she’d gotten her knack for numbers from him. He enjoyed checking stock prices in the morning — although he insisted on doing it in the newspaper since he still didn’t have a cellphone — and he was often more on top of interest rates than she was.

  It had been a happy discovery, especially since they were still getting to know each other in a lot of ways. Along with the diner, the grocery store was one of the only places where they spent time together outside of the apartment, where they’d taken to playing backgammon while they worked their way through a bowl of popcorn.

  By the time they reached the cashier, Abby felt victorious. She’d managed to convince her dad to try some yogurt (she’d chosen the low-sugar kind, hoping he wouldn’t notice), plus some frozen green beans and corn.

  Not exactly power foods, but it was a start.

  They paid separately at his insistence and then headed out to the car. The sun was setting earlier now, the sky a dusty blue even though it was just after six p.m. She was still getting used to the random swell of well-being that sometimes washed over her when she was with her dad. Of course, it was almost always followed by the nagging reminder that they still needed to talk about the serious stuff, that she still needed to confront him about everything that had happened when she was a kid, but until he’d gotten sober, that had been the sum total of her feelings about her dad.

  Now at least, she had these moments of simple happiness. In them, she felt sure everything would be okay. They’d gotten through the rough patches of his early sobriety, and while the path wasn’t guaranteed, she felt confident he would listen to her when the time came, and she was getting closer to speaking the words she’d kept bottled up for so long.

  It would be painful but cathartic. He would be ashamed, would apologize. It wouldn’t be enough to take it all away, but it would give them a clean start, and she was surprised to find she was almost looking forward to it.

  To find she was almost ready.

  “I’ll take this,” she said, rolling the cart away after they’d loaded the groceries in the back of the truck.

  He nodded and walked around to the driver’s side.

  She pushed the cart toward the metal corral and inhaled the clean desert air mingling with the smells of the city — exhaust and cigarette smoke and cooling pavement.

  When she turned around to walk back to the truck, Jason was standing in front of her.

  She blinked, half-believing she was hallucinating.

  “Abby.”

  Just that. Her name, spoken quietly, a request she couldn’t decipher.

  She looked around, wondering if someone would come if she screamed, if her father could hear her from inside the truck several spots away.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just want to talk.”

  There was no trace of the rage that had exploded from him after DeLuca’s visit to the office. This was the Jason she knew — or the Jason she thought she’d known.

  Calm. Rational. Reliable.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He drew in a breath. “It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “You’re sorry? You burned down my house!” she shouted. “You could have killed me.”

  He shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his jaw. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’ve changed. Maybe you haven’t. Maybe I just never knew you. But I will never understand how you could hurt me so much. How you could point a gun at Max.”

  He shook his head. “That’s you’re problem, Abby. You don’t know how to let go of the past.”

  She narrowed her eyes, her earlier fear turned to a brand of cold anger that almost scared her. “I don’t know how to let go of the past?”

  He leaned in, his eyes skidding in the general direction of her father’s truck. “Why are you here with him? After what he did to you?”

  Shame heated her face. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You have to destroy the past to step into the future, Abby. I was trying to help you by showing you that. A house can’t heal you. Neither can playing nice with the man who hurt you.” He hesitated. “Do you know what happens after a fire?”

  She stared at him, unwilling to dignify the question with an answer.

  He continued. “The ground is leveled, all the old brush burned away. It looks dead for awhile, but then everything starts to grow again, and this time it grows back tenfold, stronger and greener.” He sighed, as if her lack of understanding filled him with despair. “The only thing that heals is a clean break, Abby, and to have a clean break, you have to burn the past to the ground. It’s the only way.”

  She had a flash of the statue on his desk at the Tangier: Ganesh, Destroyer of Obstacles. “You’re insane.”

  “No. What’s insane is trying to recreate something that’s dead. Trying to pretend things aren’t the way they are.”

  She took a step toward him. “I have to go.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by the sound of her father.

  “Abby? Everything all right?”

  She glanced at him and forced a smile. “Everything’s fine, Dad. You ready to go?”

  “Been ready.”

  There was something unfamiliar in her father’s eyes, something alert and wary. She doubted he recognized Jason as the childhood friend who had run wild with Abby through the streets of the city — she hadn’t made a habit of bringing friends around when she was a kid — and he was even less likely to be up to date on the latest headlines.

  “Excuse me.” She angled her way around Jason.

  He didn’t move to make the way any easier, and she caught his scent — expensive cologne and tailored wool.

  The scent of nothing.

  “See you around, Abby.”

  The words were directed at her bac
k. She didn’t bother acknowledging them.

  When they got to the car her father sat in the driver’s seat without moving.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” he asked gruffly.

  She drew in a breath and shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

  He started the car and let it idle for a few seconds.

  “I’ve been shit as a father, Abby. There’s no forgiving it.” He turned to look at her. “But I’m here now, and if anyone wants to hurt you — ever — they’re going to have to come through me. Course, that only works if you tell me about it.”

  She nodded and reached out to squeeze his hand. Surprise shaded his eyes.

  “I know, Dad. I’m okay, I promise.”

  She hadn’t told him about Max yet. It seemed like too much, too soon. They were just now on solid footing, and she wanted to really put the past to bed, see how her father reacted, before she brought Max into it.

  Whether Max, knowing all he did, could be civil around her father was an entirely different question.

  You have to burn the past to the ground.

  Jason wasn’t well. That much was obvious. In fact, he was seeming more and more like a sociopath.

  But the words echoed in her mind, and she couldn’t help wondering what else would have to burn before she and Max would be allowed to start over.

  Twelve

  Max waited for Carlos’s text before stepping into the elevator and making his way to the first floor of his office building. He was nowhere near used to having Carlos around all the time, let alone his insistence on driving Max around the city on business, but he was playing along.

  Carlos’s Audi was idling at the curb in front of the office when Max stepped out into the afternoon sun. He put on his sunglasses and stepped into the passenger seat.

  “What’s the word?”

  Carlos handed him a roll of papers bundled together with a rubber band. “Done.” He put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic.

  “Nice work,” Max said. “Any trouble?”

  “No trouble.” Carlos knew someone in the city’s planning office from his time with DeLuca. “Just cash.”