Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I…”
“You went off half-cocked, like a stupid motherfucker and…”
“And did what a man does!”
“Really, asshole? My way, you’d be with the woman who is in the other room crying her heart out over you. The kind of woman who supports a man and makes him strong. Not tears his ass down.”
“Like you’re an expert on women,” I come back at him, but it’s weak. I know it is, and he knows it is.
“Are you done blubbering out of your asshole and finally ready to listen to your old man?”
“I don’t…”
“I guess not.”
I take a breath and bite my tongue. Everything is fucked up. Marcum might be a lot of things, but he’s not wrong about this.
“It’s too late,” I say the words I believe down deep, half hoping he’ll tell me I’m wrong.
“Maybe,” he says, and that one word is fucking hard to hear.
Max has been MIA. I have no idea where he is. After our last conversation, I’m not sure I want to talk to him again. Instead I find I’m lying here, feeling sorry for myself. My arm hurts, I’m sick to my stomach, and I have a headache. I’m also acknowledging that my choices are coming back to haunt me.
I am officially a felon now. The cops were shooting and intent on apprehending Max, but they didn’t care that I was there. They no longer consider me collateral damage. I am a part of the problem in their eyes. I can’t be surprised about it. I made my own decisions. I chose Max. He pretty much gave me an out after that first day. I didn’t take it. I ran straight into the shit storm that I’m in now, and I’m pretty sure I would do the same thing again. I love Max. That’s a constant. The plain truth is, I’ve gone too far to turn back. If he doesn’t push me away…
Cherry helped tape up my stitches so I could take a quick shower. My arm hurts like hell, but the injury is superficial. I only needed three stitches. Ride gave me some pain medication, but I didn’t take it. I opted for Tylenol instead. Pretty soon, I’ll need to face reality on a lot of things…
“You’re looking better.” Max’s deep voice grabs my attention. I’m looking out of the window wondering exactly, what is going to happen next and scared of finding out. I guess it’s out of my hands now. I try to mentally prepare myself for whatever Max is going to tell me. Before I can turn around, he’s standing beside me, pulling the curtains closed over the window. “Standing in front of a window might not be the wisest thing just now, Kitten.”
He pulls me away from the window, and we sit down on the bed. Nerves are overtaking me, and I’m not sure what to say to, Max. “I thought the compound was locked down?” I ask instead and hope he doesn’t notice how strained and timid my voice sounds.
“It is, Kitten. It is. We’re safe here for now.” His hand cups the side of my face, and I lean into it and close my eyes. I take a deep breath and let his scent and presence envelope me. It calms me. As long as Max is here, then I’m okay. As long as he’s with me, we’re okay.
“What comes next, Max?” I ask the one question that won’t leave me alone. The one question I’m terrified of knowing the answer to, but have to know either way.
Max sighs and joins our hands together. I watch him, and he’s staring at our linked hands, deep in thought. I hold my breath and bite my tongue against the questions I want to ask. I’m afraid to spook him. I’m petrified he’s going to leave me behind. That’s it. That’s what everything boils down to. Is Max going to leave me?
“We need to talk, Kitten.” There’s a sentence to ease the fear that’s gripping your heart. Not.
“Save it, Mad Max. You are not leaving me behind. It’s not happening. You asked me to go to Aruba with you and other places from there, and I’m doing that. It’s done; we made our choices, and there’s no going back. You might as well just…”
His lips crush mine, stopping my nervous tirade. The flavor of him in my mouth makes me moan. I feel his hand grip the side of my neck and his thumb slides up and down against the center of my throat in a steady movement that accentuates the drumming of my pulse. He bites on my bottom lip, and I gasp from the sting, and then murmur approval as his tongue slides along the worried skin, soothing it. I raise my hand to pull him close, and my body goes still and tight from the pain. Damn stitches.