He nods, his lips pursed into a soft pout. “Is it working?”
“Not even a little bit. You’ll have to try harder than that.” I think they forget we’ve lived in the same house before, and I remember how they used their skills to garner cookies out of the many nannies we had growing up. “I know your playbook, Cillian.”
“That is a shame,” Cillian sighs, but it’s overly dramatic.
“Let us know how you get on with Maxim,” Conor says as he turns to leave. “We’re curious to know what deal you broker.”
Cillian starts to follow his twin but pauses on the threshold, turning to hit me with a gaze so full of mixed emotions that my stomach twists into knots. It’s so unusual, and it makes me feel all weird inside.
“I’m glad you’re more like us,” he says sincerely. “For a moment, we were worried you’d have to meet the same fate as Father.”
Then he buttons his suit jacket, dips his chin to say goodbye and leaves me standing there with the realisation that my brothers were, at one point, toying with the idea of killing me.
Fuckingassholes.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maxim
Ifeel on edge. My skin itches, and there’s a buzzing in my ears that sounds like a drum calling me to war.
Angel sits quietly curled up in the corner with a book, and I don’t understand how he can be so relaxed. Something is missing.
No. Not something.
Someone.
I need to get her back, and I’m actually considering starting a fucking war to get her. Lev blew up the warehouse, which was probably the safest option out of the ones I gave him. The casino would have caused the Quinns more of a headache, but there was a higher potential for more casualties there. I was expecting a retaliation from Rory, but he has been unusually quiet. I still don’t know what game the twins are playing either. Am I missing something? This should be straightforward, shouldn’t it? They have an informant in my ranks; I kill him and send them the head and… nothing. Not a peep. I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Then there’s Echo, my little mob princess, and I’ve heard nothing from her. I don’t even know if she’s okay. Perhaps that is what’s bothering me the most. That I don’t really want to make a move on her family until I know where she is. Or what her intentions are.
Does she feel the same way as we do?
Did she feel that connection click into place with a clarity that rocked her to her core as well?
I pick my pen up and roll it between my fingers, my hands feeling idle with nothing to occupy them. Back and forth I roll the silver pen and watch the light catch on the shiny surface.
Angel drops his book onto the side table and huffs a frustrated breath. “Max, I can hear you thinking from over here.”
I frown at him across the room, but he just smirks back with a warmth that I find infuriating.
He unfolds himself from the wingback and strolls towards me, not stopping until he plonks himself on my lap, slotting his knees either side of my hips.
“What are you doing?” I rumble as he brushes his fingers through my hair, trailing them behind my ears before settling his hands along my jaw.
“Distracting you,” he replies, his voice low and sultry. “Is it working?”
Very much, since my cock is lengthening behind my zipper, but I don’t tell him that. I just let him take his time. It’s not very often he takes the initiative to touch me, being more comfortable with waiting for me to tell him what to do, so I enjoy moments like these. Probably more so because they are so rare.
“Close your eyes,” he whispers softly.
I purse my lips and raise a brow at him.
“Maxim Volkov, close your eyes.”
I slap his ass playfully. “Watch your tone, love.”
A breathy chuckle escapes his mouth and brushes against my lips. I love him like this, caring and soft. Pliable.
