“To take her into protective custody,” Duchein stated firmly.
“That’s horseshit,” the big guy—Z—declared.
“Do you even know who I am?”
The smartass answer that followed came from none other than Courtney’s brother Trace. “I’ve got this one. I think I’ve answered it before. A prick in a suit. That’s the right answer?”
Duchein snarled.
Max saw the instant Trace decided to take charge. A sideways glance at Z, who then reached for Marissa, and then Trace was stalking toward Duchein. It was an almost casual move, one Max actually admired.
And when Trace gripped the front of Duchein’s shirt and yanked him closer, Max admired him all the more. “I’m fucking tired of the bullshit, asshole. Either you answer the questions or I’m gonna assume I know them already.”
“What do you think you know?” Duchein growled in response.
This was the part where Max had to be careful. It was one thing for Sniper 1 Security to want to protect their own. But it damn sure wouldn’t be at Max’s expense. He had a business to run, and Duchein—although he didn’t realize it yet—was about to become an example to all the others whom Max did business with. He wouldn’t sit by and allow Duchein to share details of his organization’s dealings. There were partners to protect, some very powerful men who respected Max and trusted him with their livelihoods, not to mention, Max had his own reputation to protect. He certainly hadn’t made it this far because he’d tolerated bullshit from men like Duchein. Quite the opposite.
Trace lifted his gun and trained it on Duchein’s forehead. Max didn’t worry that Trace would shoot the guy. Sure, Trace was capable of capping him, but he knew that was the difference between Max and the good guys. They had a sliver of conscience that would step in and stop what had to be done.
Max did not.
He’d already taken stock of the situation, understood where RT and his crew stood. They were willing to protect Marissa at any cost. In any normal circumstance, Max might’ve reconsidered his options, but he didn’t fear what they would do to him. They wanted to be rid of Duchein as much as Max did.
Trace growled, his face close to Duchein’s. “That you’re a greedy fucking bastard. That you’re sellin’ confiscated guns, and when the media got a little too close to the truth, you panicked, taking out an innocent journalist and trying to kill Marissa. That sound about right?”
Duchein’s jaw clamped shut.
Smart bastard.
Of course, as Max expected, Trace continued, and he let him.
“So, during this war of yours for the past year, we lost one of our best agents, another took a bullet from one of your hired guns, and Marissa has lived through hell trying to hide from you. All because you wanted her silenced.”
Duchein’s eyes darted over to Max. “She knows too much. She can bring us all down.”
Exactly what Max had been anticipating. Duchein wasn’t going to go down alone, but Max had known that about him all along. One of the reasons Max had made sure to have eyes on Duchein since the stupid asshole had approached him in the beginning, offering his “services.” Duchein was fueled by greed and the need for power.
Max was not. He had both.
“Who’s us?” Max asked innocently.
“That’s bullshit. Don’t you dare pin this shit on me,” Duchein snapped.
Max heard the big guy—Z—relay instructions into his earpiece, and the door at the back of Max’s office opened. Never allowing an unknown to come from behind him, Max shifted so that his back was to the wall and so that Courtney was still behind him. It put him directly in line with Duchein’s profile. A perfect shot.
“Recognize him?” RT asked. “The guy used to work for you, right? But then you sent him to us. Asked him to try to get some inside information.”
It was the mole that the Sniper 1 boys had in their midst.
“Mr. Rhames, you have anything you wanna say?” RT asked.
“He’s the one I work for,” Isaac said.
Max rolled his eyes. These people. Seriously. Sure, the guy had a gun pointed at his head, but he seemed awfully eager to tell the truth. As though that was going to save him. Had it been someone in his own organization, the fucker would’ve already been buzzard food in one of Max’s many landfills.
“Bring the other one in,” RT insisted.
Max nodded at the guards near the door. Once the door was opened, Leyton joined them, holding their surprise visitor at gunpoint.
“Gotta name?” RT asked.
“That’s the guy from the mall,” Courtney commented from behind Max, her hand resting on his arm. “The one who tried to grab Marissa.”
“Barry Thompson,” the guy mumbled.
“Who do you work for, Mr. Thompson?” Max questioned. He already knew the answer to that, but he figured what the fuck. These people were in search of answers, he might as well help them out a little.
“This asshole,” Thompson declared, nodding toward Duchein.
“And what is it that you do for him?” RT asked.
“He hired me to snatch the girl.”
“Which girl?” Trace asked.
“Marissa Trexler. He told me that Mr. Adorite was blackmailing him and he had to produce the girl or he was as good as dead.”
That was his cue.
“Well, he got one thing right,” Max disclosed gruffly. Without hesitation, Max lifted his trusty 9mm, aimed, and fired one bullet perfectly into Duchein’s skull, brain matter and blood spattering all over Trace, who was still holding the man up by the shirt.
Silence. That was all that could be heard after the muted gunshot.
Time to get back to the party. Turning his attention to RT, Max asked, “You get the reassurance you needed?”
The dead guy dropped like a stone when Trace released his shirt. Max didn’t look away from RT.
“What reassurance is that?” Trace questioned harshly.
“That I’m not after your girl,” Max replied casually.
“No? That’s not what Duchein said,” Trace said coldly. “According to your business partner, you set us up. Lured Marissa here to take her out.”
Business partner. Right.
“I heard what he said,” Max retorted. “I hear every fucking thing that goes on. Don’t forget that.”
RT stepped closer, coming to stand directly in front of Max. “We’re takin’ you at your word. This is over.”
“She’s never been an issue for me.” Max glanced over at Marissa. “I assure you, the threat to her is gone.”
“Why’d you kill him?” Barry asked.
Well, that was easy. “Because he touched what belongs to me.”
Max didn’t need to tell them that he’d intended to kill Duchein all along because he didn’t trust him, because the man had betrayed him. That wasn’t the only reason Max had put a bullet in his skull tonight. The main reason was that the stupid fucker had dared to touch what was his. Any man who thought he could lay his hand on Courtney and get away with it had better think again.
“Thank you for inviting us to your lovely party,” Courtney said sardonically, drawing Max’s attention to her. “But I think we’re gonna call it a night.”
“Courtney.”
In a move that Max actually found amusing, Courtney merely lifted her hand, waving it behind her head without turning back. “Good to see you, Max. Let’s not do this again sometime.”
Max fought a grin as he followed the others to the door.
“What about me?” Barry asked as they passed.
“Oh, we’re gonna have us a little chat,” Max told him. “Don’t you worry.”
“What about that one?” Dean, another of Max’s employees, asked, nodding toward the back of the room.
Max paused briefly, turning to glance at their mole. He pretended to consider that for a moment and smiled to himself when RT called out, “We’re done with him. If you don’t mind, we’ll let you take out the trash.”
<
br /> “My pleasure,” Max said, turning back around and heading to the door. “But not tonight. I’ve got a party to get back to. Y’all find those two shitheads some accommodations for the night,” he instructed his employees, holstering his gun beneath his jacket, adjusting his tie, and returning to the party.
The night hadn’t been a complete loss.
At least not for him. He couldn’t say the same for Duchein.
Chapter Five
Sometimes it’s easier to give in to temptation.
Twenty-three months ago
I want to see you.
The text came through at four thirty-three in the afternoon, surprising Courtney. She stared at her phone, wondering who would be texting her considering her work left her with little time for a social life. She knew it wasn’t her best friend, Marissa, and Courtney didn’t have many other friends who sent her random texts, either. She hadn’t dated anyone in the last four months, so definitely not a man from her past.
Rather than answer it, she pushed her phone away and turned her attention back to the computer monitor. She was halfway through rereading the first paragraph for the third time when her phone buzzed again.
Tonight.
Without giving the phone anything more than a cursory glance, Courtney tried to focus on the article before her. She was reading up on Maximillian Adorite and the Southern Boy Mafia, attempting to get as much information as she could to provide to her father. The party she’d attended at Max’s home just three short weeks ago hadn’t been quite the haven for gathering details that she’d hoped it would be. The only thing she’d really learned was that the man could kiss like no other, his hands made her body burn, and he could set her on fire with merely a heated glance.
Not quite the information her father was probably seeking, nor was it anything she intended to share.
Though she’d gone to the party with good intentions, at every turn, Courtney had been met by one, if not more, of Max’s intimidating bodyguards. There was no doubt about it, the Southern Boy Mafia had their hands in some serious shit, but they protected their privacy with a hell of a lot of muscle. Never had she been allowed into any part of the house that could possibly have given her a chance to dig deeper. The plan, no doubt.
My place. Seven o’clock. I’ll make dinner.
Okay, so now her curiosity was piqued. She didn’t know many people who offered to cook her dinner.
Grabbing her phone, she replied with:
Who is this?
A good two minutes passed, and Courtney figured someone had gotten the wrong number, texting her in error, but then another message came through, and the instant she read the screen, her heart slammed against her ribs.
Max. I take that as a yes. You remember the address. See you at seven.
A smile tipped the corners of her lips, although she tried to disregard the anticipation that stirred in her belly.
How did you get my number?
Courtney waited patiently for his response, but it never came.
Glancing around the near-empty office, she hated that she was looking forward to seeing Max. Sure, jumping at the opportunity to possibly snoop into Max’s affairs was a no-brainer, but she knew her heated reaction was more than that. She didn’t get giddy over a job. A little excited, maybe. But definitely not the riot of butterflies that had erupted in her core at the thought of seeing Max again.
Telling herself that she was only going because he was a job, Courtney grabbed her purse from her desk drawer, tossed her cell phone inside, and then snatched her laptop before heading out.
Luckily, no one was there to ask where she was going. Nor was anyone there to question why she had a grin the size of Texas plastered on her face.
After going home to shower and change, Courtney arrived at Max’s at seven o’clock on the dot. For some reason, she got the impression that Max wasn’t the type who would appreciate her being late. Based on what she’d seen and the information she’d retrieved, he was in control of everything in his life, and the last thing she wanted to do was piss him off so early in the game. If she did that, she ran the risk of not being able to complete the job, and that wasn’t an option. She’d never failed on the job before, and she certainly had no intention of starting now.
After getting past security at the gated entrance, she pulled up to the front of Max’s beautiful house, parking her beloved Camaro close to the door. Before she was on the porch, the door opened and a white-haired older man stepped out, a smile on his aging face.
“Miss Kogan. Such a pleasure to see you again.”
Courtney tried to remember meeting him. He looked incredibly familiar to her. It would’ve had to have been at the party, but for the life of her, she couldn’t place him or his name.
“Mr. Adorite would like to know if you’re armed. So I’ll simply ask, because I’d lose my hands if I tried to frisk you,” he said kindly, a glimmer in his dark brown eyes.
And then his name came to her. Walter. Yes, that was it.
Walter Smythe, seventy years of age, five foot six inches (or he had been in his prime years), one hundred thirty pounds. Employed by the Adorites for the past thirty-eight years, Walter had initially been Samuel and Genevieve’s butler, but then when Max moved out of the Adorite family home at the age of twenty, Walter had gone with him. From what she had read, Genevieve—although married—had a penchant for younger men, and looking at the white-haired elderly man standing before her, Courtney knew he didn’t quite fit the bill.
Remembering his question, she responded with, “Yes, Walter, I’m armed. I’m always armed.”
Walter’s smile brightened his face, surprising her with its potency. She hadn’t expected quite that reaction considering the last—and only—time she’d been there a few weeks earlier, she’d had hell arguing with another man she’d encountered after informing that not-so-nice gentleman that she would not be handing over her weapon.
“Very well, Miss Kogan. Right this way.” Walter turned, and Courtney fell into step behind him, winding her way through the enormous mansion that belonged to Max.
She knew, based on her research, that he was the owner of the vast property that had been featured in several prominent Dallas magazines, although no one had ever been granted an in-depth tour, likely because Max had too much to hide. Other than quite a few ladies—most of them supermodel beautiful—that he’d been pictured with over the last few years, Courtney also knew that the twenty-seven-year-old multimillionaire was single and had never been married nor did he have any children. There were a number of security personnel who lived on the premises, but only two actually lived in the big house. The rest resided in another house on the property.
When Walter stopped inside the kitchen, after he shared a quick look with the formidable man alone in the oversized room, he motioned for her to precede him, and the instant she laid eyes on Max, standing at the wide island, opening a bottle of wine, her mouth went dry.
The last time she’d seen Max, he’d been the best-looking man at the party, dressed in a tailored tuxedo, with his silky brown hair and mesmerizing golden eyes. That man wasn’t there tonight. No, this Max was wearing a black button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal thick, muscular forearms dusted with dark hair, the top button unhooked, making him appear far more casual, relaxed. Her eyes gravitated to his hands, and a shiver danced along her spine as she remembered the way they’d felt on her body.
“I’m glad you could make it,” Max said, the deep baritone of his voice breaking through her thoughts.
“I wasn’t given much of a choice,” she told him as she stepped farther into the kitchen, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the island from him. Even from there, she could feel the electricity spark between them.
For a moment, the two of them simply stood there, staring back at one another. His eyes never left hers, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Courtney had the urge to look away. The man was intimidating, and that was saying so
mething because she wasn’t intimidated easily. But the way he looked at her… There was something in his gaze, something that stole her breath and told her to run far and fast.
This man was dangerous; there was no doubt about that.
Max held out the bottle for her to see and she smiled. Nineteen ninety-two Screaming Eagle Cabernet.
Not surprising.
She smiled. “Difficult to get your hands on that one,” she said, grateful for the ability to look away from him.
“It helps to know people.” Max tilted the bottle and poured the rich red wine into two glasses. He nodded toward the doorway. “Food’s ready.”
Courtney retrieved the glass he handed her, taking a sip and doing her best to avoid his heated gaze.
Well, at this point, she knew she wouldn’t be disappointed with the evening, merely for the fact she was drinking one of the best wines she’d ever tasted.
Rather than leading her into the next room, Max walked around the island, his hand sliding to her lower back as he urged her forward. A warm, sexy musk permeated from him, sending a tingle of awareness deep into her core. Heat infused her entire body from the brush of his fingers, the warmth seeping through the thin, silk sheath dress she’d opted to wear tonight. Based on Max’s choice for evening wear, she’d made a wise choice to dress up. His expensive black slacks and Italian loafers reflected his wealth.
But the man himself exuded so much confidence and power he could’ve been naked and she’d still have been slightly intimidated by him.
They arrived in a dimly lit dining room outfitted with a table that seated at least twenty. A large crystal vase holding lilies, white roses, and an abundance of greenery that overflowed the sides was the centerpiece of the monstrous, dark wood table. Two places on the end closest to the kitchen had been set, the plates filled with food.
Max pulled her chair out and waited for her to take a seat before helping her closer to the table. He then lowered himself into the chair at the end, putting him dangerously close to her.
“Did you make this?” she asked, taking stock of the contents on her plate. Not only did the steak look and smell divine, the entire meal—aside from the steak, there was roasted asparagus and mashed potatoes—looked as though it should’ve been on the cover of a culinary magazine.
Beautifully Brutal (Southern Boy Mafia #1) Page 4
