Page 7 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

Maksim.

Present Day

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen my little ray of fucking sunshine fiancé wear anything but pink.

Not even her gloves are pink… it’s nice .

She looks normal - as normal as one could be considering a fucking funeral at the start of the year.

What a fucking waste of time, but I needed to show I was behind my future wife.

Mostly, I’m here to meet new-to-me Syndicate members, the few that showed up, anyway.

I knew this dead fucker was sick after how Simon left one of our girls almost bruised from her chest down at Pandemonium, our Chicago club, the one my cousin Kallum runs.

The sick fuck left bite marks all over her.

But sick like this? Murdering young girls?

I didn't think he had it in him. Although he did give me the fucking creeps, so there’s that.

Sabrina doesn’t cry… doesn’t weep once, but there is tension around her eyes, a sort of vitriol that surrounds her.

Or maybe it’s simply disgust. Raven is the first to nonchalantly throw her red rose into Simon’s grave as he’s lowered to the ground.

My little Syndicate princess then throws her white one with the same aloofness and follows her to stand behind a tree.

I watch as Sabrina does something out of character - again - and reaches for her best friend, her soon-to-be maid of honor, and threads their gloved fingers together.

There’s a small smirk on her spooky friend’s face, and it reminds me of those old dolls that would smile when you tip them.

I stare out into the white abyss. Snippets of memories crowd my mind, but there was rain, not snow, and calla lilies instead of roses.

I can still smell the wet soil of that day, my father’s hand in mine as they lowered the coffin into the grave, over fifty of my father’s men stood around, the wives sniffling into their handkerchiefs, and my own tears begging to fall.

“Take this as a lesson, son,” My father faces me just as the gravediggers begin to shovel the wet earth over my mother’s casket.

“Women… will either make you more powerful... or they’ll make you weaker, Maksim.

I want you to remember this day. This moment.

How you’re feeling right now. Because if a woman makes you stronger and more powerful…

they will become a target. Never fall for a woman.

It’s not worth it.” He sighs with a slight shake of his head.

“You focus on everything else, Maksim. School, moving forward, gaining power and money - anything but love. It’ll cause nothing but devastation and ruin you… inside and out.”

My father was a prophet.

He was never the same man again.

I stare at Sabrina, dressed in black, as dark thoughts swirl in my mind and my mood blackens.

No, I could never love her. I won’t allow myself to.

If she becomes a victim of my way of life, so be it.

I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am, to ever allow myself to fall for her or any other woman.

Which is why I’ve remained abstinent and stayed away from women since the day we laid my mother to rest.

Being seen with women - fine. Letting them kiss me, sure.

But sex? No. I couldn’t allow myself to get attached to or distracted by pussy.

I had other means of taking care of those needs and urges, including a rigorous training schedule, fighting, and above all, putting all of my efforts into what my father, my grandfather, his father before him built from the ground up.

I only change the rules if they fit me and the modern way of this life.

I’d also seen too many men lose themselves after heartache.

I can’t allow that to happen to me.

However bleak it may seem, this life works for me.

That kid Jonas joins them, as they all stare off into the distance.

Seeing now that this was truly a waste of time, since none of the important Syndicate members are around.

Barely a handful showed up for the piece of shit.

I turn to David, Sabrina’s poor excuse of a father, who proceeds to introduce me to some Elliot prick that looks like he just stepped off a plane from some sunny place.

I shake his hand, then turn to David - and excuse myself to be with Sabrina.

I need to see what she finds so goddamn interesting about the white abyss. She’s hardly spoken to me since the night I proposed with her pink ring, and it seems the closer we get to our nuptials, the more she’s determined to stay away from me.

“So, did you pick a date for the wedding?” Jonas asks, making light conversation once I reach them as if trying to change the subject a little too quickly.

“April sixteenth.” Sabrina replies, (news to me) forcing that smile back on her face.

She sounds excited. All that eloquence in the cadence of her mezzo-soprano voice, irks me.

So much sunshine. I wonder if she ever grows weary of continually slapping it on?

But is that the real Sabrina? Is she actually all sunshine and unicorn farts, or is there a deeper reason she froze on me at Monroe's holiday party?

I can’t imagine anyone getting close enough to hurt her, much less even putting their hands on her.

Every camera feed I tune into is just her, singing terribly to some old alternative rock songs while she bakes.

There’s sometimes a string of intricately used curse words.

I wonder if she’ll use my kitchen to bake and sing terribly?

The other cameras Niko installed in her home don’t usually have a show for me.

No, the woman reads in her library, works in her office, her bedroom is void of visitors and she’s so routine, it’s almost robotic.

If she didn’t scream-sing while baking, I would think she was an AI generation on my screen.

“ She’s a good girl, my Sabrina.”

We part ways from the Syndicate members, leaving the snow-covered burial sites behind.

She and I are in her Escalade that Parker is driving, facing opposite directions, looking out the window.

It’s almost too quiet in here. Nothing but the rumbling of the engine and the tires crunching over the snow on the paved pathway out to the two-lane road.

Her perfume is soft and delicate, like wildflowers and a berry I can't name and it's all I think about as we drive back to the city.

I want to smell it up close and personal, let it settle into my lungs while I shove her skirt up her lush thighs and dig myself so deep into her that her scent clings to my clothes when we part.

I’m clutching my fists so tightly to prevent myself from reaching over and hauling her into my lap.

When Parker drops me off first, I leave with a grunt when she says ‘goodbye,’ knowing I'll begin to receive future texts for more tedious things we must do together and where to be sighted.

We're up to once a week now since the proposal.

I open the door to find Niko sitting in my living room, TV on as if this is his home.

I make sure to sigh extra loudly at the sight of him.

Which is when he stands and joins me in the den.

I grab the decanter that holds my Johnnie Walker, pour it into two crystal tumblers and then grab two ice spheres and drop them in.

“Everything okay?” Niko asks, obviously notating I’m drinking well before two in the afternoon, I hand the handsome fucker a tumbler before I take a seat in my grandfather’s favorite leather chair. It’s old and has been reupholstered so many times, but it’s been in the family for decades.

“Apparently I’m to be married on April sixteenth.” I sigh, taking a sip of the amber liquid and letting it warm my throat.

“Don’t sound so happy boss, you might break something.”

“Ha… ha.” I reply sarcastically, taking another sip.

“Any news for me?” I place my hand on the arm of the ancient chair and look over at my confidant - the only Russian man I've met with dark features but stark blue eyes. I’ve often wondered how many of his kills took that sight into the afterlife with them.

He’s a scary, good-looking fucker, for sure.

Never has any issues with the women around us.

“Richie Black is creating a buzz for next week’s fight.”

Richie Black, a big motherfucker and lethal also, a good acquaintance to have in your corner. I grunt at Niko, taking another sip of my whiskey.

“Are you ready to fight him?”

I let a shoulder lift in a shrug. “He makes the club good money.”

“That’s an understatement. We’ve generated over a hundred grand in ticket sales already.”

It doesn’t matter. I've been the reigning champion in my club for the last decade. The King… marrying a Syndicate princess. I never lose and I never will. That’s why marrying Sabrina and gaining access into the Syndicate is a priority.

Another few beats of silence pass between Niko and me.

The money is and will always be my first priority.

Between Eden, Inferno and Purgatory, it’s not an issue. “That’s good. Who all is attending?”

“Big names.”

I nod mindlessly. “And the new girl? Dana Harly? How is she?”

“No complaints, she seems to be doing just fine.” he assures me and yes, Harley wears a blonde wig that’s dyed pink and blue at the tips.

It’s something we encourage our dancers to do to protect their identities once they leave our club.

It’s a safety precaution we do at every single one of our clubs from Inferno to Pandemonium.

We only accept new “dancers” every four months.

That’s how long the contracts are typically for.

Usually within that time frame they’re able to save up as much as they need and move on to better things or they re-sign a new contract for another four months.

They don’t have to worry about paying too high a rent and we provide protection for them and the ones with kids.

They live in an apartment building we rent out to them and only a few rules apply, which are stated in their contract:

One) No johns entering the building .

Two) No hard drugs.

Three) Keep everyone else’s identity secret.

Four) They must get on birth control and stay on it for the length of their contract. No exceptions.

I don’t necessarily have a soft spot for sex workers, but Niko does, seeing as that was how his mother was able to provide for him… until she was murdered in cold blood by her pimp for choosing to pay rent and have food on the table for him when he was only sixteen.

We took him in.

He and I found his mother’s pimp and took care of him.

The following year, my mother died.

So when I say Niko and I are brothers, I mean it.

We’ve killed together and grieved together.

Once my father retired and all three clubs were transferred to me, five years ago, Niko made sure we made the necessary changes to how our sex workers were treated to make it safer for women like his mother. We already knew some of the dancers were doing shady shit before, getting into trouble.

This way, we have a better handle on things.

The girls are treated right; therefore they don’t bite the hand that feeds.

I take another sip from my tumbler, enjoying the silence before Niko asks, “How’s the fiancé?”

I roll my eyes, remembering the way I slipped out of the Escalade with barely a ‘goodbye’ escaping her lips. “I’ve never met a woman that doesn’t talk my ear off.”

Niko laughs. “I wish I had that problem.”

I swallow another sip, looking at my oldest friend in the world.

My consigliere is the only non-Italian made man. I trust him with my life, which is why I stepped on toes and made him my advisor-slash-enforcer.

We grew up together, and yet, for some reason, I don't want to tell him what I see in Sabrina. How she keeps to herself, bringing cupcakes to the office every Thursday before their meetings, setting up the conference room so everyone in the office can have a cupcake. How that’s the only time I see her genuinely smile, not like the ones she gives others, that make it seem as though her cheeks must hurt from smiling like that all goddamn day.

I don’t tell him how, when they invite her out every Friday night, she comes up with a quick excuse - her favorite being she’s going to see her mother over the weekend and then stays home baking.

Scream-singing. I don’t tell him that her room is vacant and void of the male species, not even a slight buzzing noise comes from her room.

I don’t mention the weird symbiotic relationship she has with her bodyguard, or the creepy silence they share, either.

Most of all, I don’t tell him that there are times I’ve been watching her, and what sounds like a muffled scream comes from the tub when she’s underneath the water and bubbles float up from where she’s screaming her head off where no one can hear her. No one can see her… only me.

I don’t want him to see that she’s growing on me. That I want to know every secret she has. That I want to lock her away, so I can study and dissect her like an insect, so I can see the real her. More than just what I catch on camera.

“She’s a good girl, my Sabrina.”

It feels like a warning now.

“You think I'm doing the right thing, Niko? Marrying this girl?”

“You feel like she’s a valuable asset?”

“I have no feelings regarding my future wife, Nikolai. Which is neither here nor there,” I lie.

“Fuck if I know. I know you’re doing this for the money and to get into the Syndicate meetings. I mean, have you met the mother? You can usually get a good sense of the daughter once you’ve met the mother.”

That’s another fucking thing now - having to fly out of the country in two weeks to stay in Chelsea to meet her mother. All I can hope is that I’m as good an actor as she is.