Rialto

by Drake, Jocelynn

  “What the hell do you want?” Max demanded when Ian was only a few feet away.

  “To talk. Just to talk.”

  “I got nothing to say to you.”

  “Please. Just a few minutes.” Ian frantically looked around the area where they were standing. His eyes lit on the one place he’d always sworn he would never go back to. The first time, he’d been out drinking heavily with a bunch of friends. Now he was going to propose stepping inside while stone-cold sober. The Awful Waffle.

  He pointed down the block at the Waffle House with its classic yellow-and-black sign. “We can just go inside for some coffee. Maybe something to eat.” He nearly said that it would be his treat, but he didn’t think those words would go over well with Max. The guy had his pride, and Ian’s existence seemed to stomp all over it.

  Max’s eyes followed where he pointed, and then he looked at Ian in surprise. Ian must not have been able to hide his revulsion as he’d hoped because Max let out an ugly laugh. “Sure. I could use a free breakfast.” His gaze narrowed behind Ian’s shoulder and he took a tentative step backward. “Who’s that?”

  Ian looked over to find Snow standing behind him, a hostile look cutting deep lines in his handsome face. Everything about his posture screamed threat, and that was the last thing he wanted. Ian surreptitiously jabbed an elbow in Snow’s stomach as he returned his attention to Max. “This is my old friend, Snow. Snow, this is Max Hodgkins.”

  They seemed to grunt at each other, though Max still looked like he was preparing to bolt.

  “We were just heading into…there,” Ian said. He glanced at Snow to see the surgeon looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. Yeah, maybe the good doctor didn’t care too much about what he put into his body, but he knew that Ian did. Didn’t matter. Ian could do this for Max.

  They walked awkwardly toward the little restaurant. Max made sure that he remained out of arm’s reach over the short distance and led the way to the rear of the restaurant where he selected a small booth that put his back to the wall. Ian slid into the booth opposite of him and briefly glanced out the window to his left at the people walking down the street, oblivious to the tense meeting that was happening inside.

  The place smelled of old grease, burnt coffee, and syrup. Everything looked clean, but there was still a dingy quality to it. He was pretty sure the Waffle House on this street had been there for decades, serving thousands upon thousands of tired customers through all hours of the day. An exhausted server wandered over with a nearly full carafe of coffee in her hand. She didn’t even ask if they wanted coffee. Just started filling their white mugs.

  “Want anything else?” she asked.

  “I’ll take a pecan waffle, two eggs scrambled, bacon, and large hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered. Also, keep the coffee coming,” Max ordered without missing a beat.

  Ian blinked at him and then at the server, who didn’t look a bit surprised by the order. He was thrown for another loop when Snow spoke up next.

  “I’ll have a fiesta omelet and large hash browns—scattered, covered, chunked, and diced.”

  “Seriously?” Ian asked before he could stop himself.

  Snow blinked at him, looking completely innocent. “What? I had a light breakfast.”

  Ian shook his head, stunned at how quickly Snow had pulled his order together. This was not the type of place he’d expect to see the grumpy surgeon, but then The Awful Waffle could have been part of Snow’s more reckless partying days. Shoving the thought aside for later, he quickly looked down at the two-sided laminated menu, searching for something…lighter. He tried to ignore the something sticky his thumb landed on. Probably syrup. Maybe jelly.

  “I’ll have…the grilled chicken biscuit and grits.”

  The server gave the barest of nods before she returned to the cook to relay their order.

  They were finally alone. Ian looked at Max. The other man took a drink of his coffee and lounged in his seat, his eyes watching the passersby out the window. He didn’t look any better in the harsh light of day. His skin was too pale, and the circles under his eyes were darker. His cheeks were sunken in as if he’d not had a good meal in a very long time. If they accomplished nothing else today, Ian would feel good if he simply fed Max. His arms were covered, hiding away old scars that he’d gotten a glimpse of that night with Hollis.

  He wracked his brain, trying to think of some way to get Max talking that wouldn’t instantly upset him. Right now, Ian knew Max was using him for food. If Ian didn’t speak, Max wouldn’t either. He’d just woof down the meal that was served and then bolt.

  “How long have you been free?” Ian softly inquired.

  Max’s ugly laugh rose above the low murmur of conversation filling the restaurant. There were only about a half dozen other people in the place, but Ian could feel them all stop and look toward their table for a second before returning to their meals and coffee.

  “Free? You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” Max mocked. “You talking about when I got out of the compound? That’d be two years, four months, and seventeen days after you disappeared.”

  A shaft of pain sliced through Ian’s heart at Max’s bitter words. Ian had done nothing to get Max out. He’d been stuck there so much longer than Ian, left to continue suffering. Ian’s only thought was to get away. He just wanted to be away from Jagger and Gratton and all those horrible memories.

  “Or maybe you’re talking about when I got free of muling smack and meth for Jagger? You know, in between my night job of taking cock in alleys. That was three years ago. Thanks.”

  The sarcasm in that bit of gratitude was so sharp, Ian could feel it slicing through flesh. Yeah, Max had benefited from Jagger’s death in a way, but everyone at the table knew that Ian hadn’t done it for Max. He’d killed Jagger to save his own skin. And Hollis’s.

  If he was honest with himself, there was some need for revenge mixed in as well.

  “You being trapped at Jagger’s is not Ian’s fault,” Snow said in a hard, low voice. Ian grabbed his arm, stopping him from saying anything else.

  “Oh, I know. I just wasn’t as cute as Ian. Not as sweet as Ian. Not as…well, just not the perfect damsel in distress. Not like Ian was,” Max snapped. His cold eyes swept up Snow and down again. “Were you one of them? Heard he had these mysterious benefactors who jumped in and saved him from Jagger. Are you one of them?”

  Ian squeezed Snow’s arm again and started talking before Snow could admit that he was. Normally Ian would be proud to hear that Snow was one of the men who saved his life, but he was afraid Max would turn his venom on Snow next, making his life hell. No, he wanted Max to stay focused on him.

  “Snow is a friend. That’s all,” Ian quickly said. “Look, I know that you’ve been dealt a raw deal in life, and it fucking sucks. I got lucky. I don’t know why. I’m not saying that I deserved it. It’s just how things worked out. I want to help you. Try to give you the same break I had.”

  Max curled his lip at Ian in disgust. “Not everyone needs to be saved like you. Some of us learn how to take care of ourselves all on our own just fine.”

  Their conversation was put on hold by the server arriving with a huge tray stacked with plates. She wordlessly set their plates down in front of them and then returned a minute later to refresh their coffees. Max dug in like a ravenous wolf who’d just stumbled out of an incredibly lean winter. Ian glanced over to find Snow digging into his omelet.

  Ian picked at his. His stomach was churning and queasy from the conversation with Max. The soupy grits and biscuit that somehow managed to look greasy wasn’t going to improve how he felt. Though he couldn’t help but notice how Snow was devouring his hash browns like they were a gift from the heavens, his pale blues rolling back into his head with joy. Ian hadn’t experimented much with the food, and he was wondering if he needed to make a special brunch for his friends that included them.

  They didn’t speak while Max ate. Ian was partially afraid he w
ould upset him so much that he’d storm off before he finished. The guy needed food in his belly desperately. If anything, Ian prayed that maybe a full stomach would get Max to slow down and listen to his overtures of assistance. Not that Ian was putting too much stock in that insane thought.

  Max had nearly cleared his plates when he looked up, but his eyes weren’t on Ian and Snow. They widened as they latched on to something—or someone—just past Ian’s shoulder. He paled, if that was at all possible, and pushed back into his booth, eyes frantically darting around the restaurant as if he were searching for some escape. But there was no escape. They were at the very rear of the building and the only customer exit was at the other end.

  “What’s wrong?” Ian demanded. He twisted in his seat, trying to see what had spooked Max so badly.

  “It’s nothing. None of your business,” Max snapped, but it didn’t have the same venom he’d used to hurl all his other comments at Ian. No, there was no fear lacing his tone.

  Ian started to look again, but there was no need. A tall man with lean muscles stopped at the head of their table. His dark eyes moved quickly over Ian and Snow before they settled heavily on Max.

  “Hey Maxine,” he drawled in a somewhat high-pitched voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing…I…”

  “Can you imagine my surprise since you just told me that you didn’t have the money you owed me, but somehow you’ve got money for a big ol’ breakfast like this?”

  “No—”

  “I invited Max to breakfast. My treat,” Ian interrupted.

  “Well, ain’t that nice of you,” the stranger said. There was a grin on his face showing yellowed teeth and that a couple were missing from his smile. But there was zero warmth in his eyes. No, they were clearly making calculations. Probably wondering what kind of cash Ian had in his wallet. For a moment, Ian stopped feeling like a living, breathing human being and simply became a bank account. “I had no idea that our sweet Maxine had such caring friends.”

  “We’ve just recently become reacquainted,” Ian replied smoothly. “I’m Ian and this is my friend Snow. Who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m just your friendly neighborhood bill collector.” In the blink of an eye, the smile disappeared from his face and his hand flashed out toward Max, grabbing a fistful of hair. He jerked Max’s head so hard that it slammed against the edge of the booth. “And this little whore owes me money. A lot of it. He’s been dodging me for a week now, and I ain’t havin’ it anymore.”

  “No, please, Carter! I’ll get your money. I swear. Just another day!”

  “I’ll pay it,” Ian practically shouted. Max instantly shut up and this Carter looked over at Ian, his eyes narrowing. “Whatever he owes, I’ll pay it.”

  “No!” Max shouted back.

  “He owes five grand,” Carter said slowly, still not taking his eyes off Ian as if he didn’t trust him.

  Under the table, he could feel Snow squeezing his knee, trying to get him to stop talking. Ian knew he was putting himself in danger with this guy—probably Max’s drug dealer—but Ian didn’t care. If he didn’t do something, this asshole was going to hurt Max. Good chance he was going to kill him. Ian couldn’t let that happen.

  “Fine. I’ll pay it. Just let him go.”

  Before Carter could react, Max jerked his hair free with a little cry of pain and shoved Carter backward into the main counter that stretched the length of the restaurant. “I don’t need your help! I don’t need anyone. You’re not paying for shit!”

  Max launched to his feet and ran out of the restaurant, disappearing onto the street and out of view.

  Ian turned his attention to Carter, who had picked himself up and was straightening his own shirt and jacket. He looked down at Ian with a sneer and clicked his tongue once.

  “Looks like your old friend don’t want your help. Wants to be on his own.” He snorted. “You run into him before I do, you work harder to convince him to take your money. If he don’t and I find him, it ain’t gonna end pretty.”

  It was on the tip of Ian’s tongue to offer to pay him right now on the spot, whether Max wanted him to or not, but he swallowed the words. He had a feeling this bastard would take Ian’s money and then still harass Max into paying him another five thousand. The only way to save Max’s life was to get him away from Carter completely, but there was nothing he could do if Max wasn’t going to let him help.

  Carter sauntered out of the restaurant and Ian sunk down in the booth, shoving his untouched food back. Snow’s arm draped over his shoulders and pulled him in closer.

  “What am I supposed to do? He won’t let me help.”

  “Ian…he wants you dead,” Snow said. He sounded like he thought Ian had lost his mind. And maybe he had, but he didn’t care if Max hated him. Max needed help.

  “I don’t believe that,” Ian said stubbornly.

  “He attacked you in your home.”

  “He knocked me out,” Ian corrected. “We both know it would have taken him only another few seconds to kill me if he really wanted me dead.”

  Snow sighed. “Ian…”

  “I don’t care. He’s fought too long and hard to survive. He can’t die like this. Not when I’ve just found him. He deserves a shot at something better.”

  Snow placed a kiss to the top of his head. “I know. I don’t disagree with you. How about we swing by Ward’s and talk to Rowe? Pick his brain a little.”

  “What little there is to pick,” Ian muttered, but he couldn’t deny he was at least starting to feel a glimmer of hope, thanks to Snow.

  “His brain might be little, but it’s packed with decades of devious knowledge.”

  “Thank God he’s on our side.”

  And with a bit of work and convincing, Ian was going to get that devious brain on Max’s side. He was going to save him. It wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ian sat behind his desk, pretending to look over some notes and contracts James had left him about the new restaurant, but his mind wasn’t on it. He and Snow had met with Rowe, Noah, and Gidget for a couple of hours, brainstorming how they could possibly locate Max as well as try to uncover more information about this Carter guy. When Ian left with Snow to return to Rialto, there hadn’t been a lot of good progress or answers. Gidget was going to get Cole digging around on Carter while she tried to find more information on Max. It wasn’t much, but it was the best they could manage on the limited information they had.

  Just as the restaurant was closing for the night, Max called, asking to meet at midnight after everyone had gone home. Hope had blossomed in Ian’s chest, and he eagerly agreed to the meeting. It was probably too much to believe that one okay meal had changed Max’s mind about letting Ian help, but Ian thought it was likely that Max was more scared of being killed by Carter. Didn’t matter. Ian would take what he could get.

  After getting off the phone with Max, he’d called Hollis.

  Ian wasn’t stupid. While Ian might be happy to assist Max, the young man might not be as eager to let Ian into his life. Hollis would protect Ian as well as offer another voice of reason.

  Even if Max had nothing to do with what had been happening at the restaurant, Ian wanted to help him. He only vaguely remembered him from his time at Jagger’s. He’d been quiet and so damn pretty with big eyes. Ian knew he was younger than himself by at least a few years and had spent too much time getting passed around at the parties. Ian had no idea how Max had found himself trapped in Jagger’s clutches. Maybe he’d been sold by his parents as well. Or just kidnapped like so many others had been.

  That wasn’t important. Ian could help him start over. Find a better, safer, happier life.

  The sound of movement in the restaurant had Ian’s head popping up. He glanced quickly at his phone to check the time and found that it was way too early for Max to be there. As he was getting to his feet and starting to move around his desk, Hollis appeared in the doorway.

  “You okay?” Holli
s immediately asked.

  “I’m fine. Everything is fine,” Ian said. He continued around the desk and wrapped his arms about Hollis’s waist. He tipped his head up, offering his lips for a kiss. Hollis relaxed against him and tenderly brushed his mouth over Ian’s, warming his chilled lips.

  “Has it gotten that cold outside?” Ian asked when they separated.

  Hollis nodded. “We’re definitely getting those first real tastes of fall. We might actually get our first frost soon.”

  “Mmmm,” Ian hummed. “I guess I’ll have to make sure I do a good job of warming you up when we get home tonight.”

  A wicked grin spread across Hollis’s face as he backed Ian up while still keeping his arms wrapped around Ian’s waist. “Really, now?” he drawled. Bending his knees, Hollis grabbed Ian by the thighs and lifted him, earning a surprised yelp from Ian, and sat him down on the edge of the desk. “Exactly what were you thinking of doing to warm me up?”

  Spreading his legs, Ian pulled Hollis closer. The tantalizing scent of leather and the spicy hint of cologne teased Ian’s nose. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against Hollis’s hard chest, trying to wrap his smell around him. This man meant everything to him. More than the restaurant. More than all his dreams for becoming a great chef. Hollis was home and happiness.

  Hollis leaned down and captured Ian’s lips in another drugging kiss that had Ian lifting his arms and wrapping them about Hollis’s neck before hooking his heels behind his lover’s calves. He loved their height difference. He wanted to fucking climb this man every chance he got. Hollis started to pull away and Ian bit down on his lower lip, holding him in place for a second before releasing him with a final lick.

  “We probably shouldn’t be starting this now,” Hollis said with a low chuckle.

  Ian sighed, hating to agree with him. The timing wasn’t great. “Later. Tonight I’m going to crawl all over you and make you beg me.”