by Layla Frost
And that was when I attacked.
I threw my weight at him, catching him by surprise and knocking us both to the sidewalk. His head slammed against the unforgiving concrete, and he lost hold of his gun, the metal skittering up the path.
He tried to roll, but between me and his own gut, he was a turtle stuck on his back. “Fuck! Get off me, cunt!”
My fists rained down. My nails dug in.
I’ll never be a victim again.
I’m not a little girl getting slapped around. I’m not small and defenseless against trained punches.
I’m not taking a knife for that bastard.
I decide who touches me. I decide my life.
Not a victim.
Not a victim.
“I’m not your damn victim anymore, Dad!” I screeched, blood and spittle spraying.
“You’re fucking crazy, bitch,” Shamus shouted back.
But it wasn’t Shamus, of course.
Shamus was dead.
Maximo killed him.
Just like he was going to kill Mugsy.
Mugsy shoved me off him, and I rolled to the side. I braced for an onslaught of kicks or for him to pull me by my hair, but he was wheezing as he struggled to stand.
I was faster to find my footing. With him prone, I could’ve been the one to deliver the onslaught of kicks. As badly as I wanted to, I had an opening, and I was taking it.
Vengeance and violence could wait.
Running as fast as I could, I raced back to the door. I pulled and pulled but it was locked.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Maybe I could make it past Mugsy.
Maybe the car at the end of the path was a coincidence.
Or maybe I’d be caught, dragged away, used up and spit out like a worthless nothing.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I slammed my bloody fists against the door, hoping like hell I could be heard over the chaos of dinging machines, clacking chips, and conversation.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, the door swung toward me, nearly knocking me over.
Someone grabbed my arms, and I opened my mouth. My scream died in my throat and relief washed over me when I saw Ash’s horrified gaze scanning my battered face. “Fucking hell.”
“I’m fine,” I offered, knowing I likely looked worse than I felt.
Which wasn’t hard, really, because I didn’t feel anything.
I was physically and mentally numb.
Pulling a walkie-talkie from his pocket, he said, “I’ve got her. Hall B-9. Search the rear path and delivery alley.” His gaze returned to me. “Who?”
“Mugsy Carmichael,” I said with zero hesitation.
He’d made his bed. He could rot in it.
Ash shifted us inside, closing the door and blocking me with his body. I was about to ask him to get me the hell out of there when I felt it.
Like the calm before a downpour, the room went electric and wired.
My eyes shot to the end of the hall just as Maximo stormed in. There was no cool, calm, blankness to his expression. It was unconcealed rage. Thunderous.
He wasn’t a downpour.
He was a hurricane, ready to rip apart everything in his path.
I stared, captivated by how one man could fill an entire room with his fury and malice. And he stared back, as though nothing else in the room—in the universe—existed but me.
As he neared, I realized it wasn’t only anger that darkened his expression.
It was desperation.
Panic.
Anguish.
Fear.
Unrestrained and raw, his dark gaze moved down me, taking in each scrape. Each cut. Each smear of blood and patch of dirt.
“Little dove,” Maximo whispered roughly, as though the words were forced out through gravel and glass.
He lifted me in his arms, and I clutched the lapels of his suit jacket and buried my face in his chest. I wanted to fall apart, but the tears wouldn’t come.
“Carmichael,” Ash bit out.
Maximo didn’t speak. He just held me tight as he began walking. After a minute, I heard the ding of the elevator before he stepped in and the noises of the casino were cut off. Even when we were alone, I didn’t loosen my death grip on him.
I didn’t do anything but shake.
The elevator slowed to a stop and Maximo stepped off. Only then did I let him go, but he didn’t do the same. Cupping the back of my head, he held me to him. His lips pressed to the top of my head, and we stood like that for long, silent moments.
Just the two of us.
But not in our space.
I wanted our space.
“I want to go home,” I said, my words muffled against his chest.
“Soon.”
The elevator chimed and opened again. I tilted my head just enough to see Marco step off. I didn’t think he could see much of the damage, but the rage in his eyes told me I was wrong.
He went to the kitchen and made a bag of ice, wrapping it in a towel before handing it to Maximo.
Maximo rearranged me in his hold and pressed it gently to my face. “Get Pierce here.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” I tried, but I should’ve saved my breath because they ignored me.
“Ash already called,” Marco said.
“Have security sweep the entire resort. Every fucking corner. Get Miles and Cole to go through the cameras from today.”
“Yesterday, too,” I said.
Both sets of angry eyes shot to me.
“What happened yesterday?” Maximo asked. His voice was low and even, but there was a sharp edge—as if I’d kept something from him.
I’m not the one with secrets.
“He said they saw you drag me through the casino yesterday. They thought you were pissed at me.”
“Did he say who they were?”
I shook my head.
He gently sat me on the kitchen island. Curling his hands around the edge of it, he leaned down so we were brooding eye to swollen eye. “I need you to tell me everything, Juliet. Can you do that?”
I nodded.
“That’s my girl.”
I loved to hear Maximo say that, but right then, the words were hollow.
Empty.
Or maybe that was just me.
How did I let myself get in so deep?
How did I let him break through all my walls?
How could I be so fucking stupid?
Letting people in only leads to pain and disappointment.
I needed space from the man I’d willing—happily—let take over every aspect of my life. The sooner I talked, the sooner I could get the distance I needed.
Starting at the drunks brawling, I did my best to recount everything that’d happened.
Well, almost everything.
I didn’t tell them what Mugsy had said about me betraying my father. I also didn’t share his claim that Maximo was training me. Using me. Breaking me in like I was just another naïve girl who meant nothing.
Who was nothing.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him because I didn’t want to know the truth. I wanted to bury my head in the sand a little longer.
Even if I didn’t speak the words out loud, they were there, a constant taunt running on a loop through my head.
Nothing girl.
Whore Jule-bug.
Rat Jule-bug.
Temporary.
As I described my counterattack and tackling Mugsy, Maximo must’ve realized the blood on my hands wasn’t only my own. He moved away to get a damp, soapy towel. When he rubbed it across my raw skin, I hissed at the coarse texture and burning sting.
His force eased, but he didn’t stop. “Got to get that motherfucker’s blood off you.” Mixed with the anger, there was a glimmer of pride in Maximo’s eyes. “Ballsy. My ballsy girl.”
Am I his girl?
Tears burned my eyes, though they had nothing to do with the pain in my hands. My heart
hurt worse than any of my injuries.
Maximo cleaned the rest of the dirt and blood with the same tender care. Once he was done, I wrapped my arms around myself, sliding back farther onto the island.
And he noticed.
Of fucking course.
Concern furrowed his brows as he studied me. When he spoke, his tone was firm and demanding. “Is that everything, Juliet?”
I had to choke the words back because I wanted to obey my Daddy. To be his good girl. To trust him.
Just as he’d trained me to do.
“That’s it,” I lied.
His eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, the elevator chimed and opened to reveal Ash and Dr. Pierce.
The doctor stepped off, but Ash stayed inside. I offered him a smile, but rather than getting his dimpled one in return, I caught his flinch before the doors slid closed.
I must look worse than I thought.
Dr. Pierce and Maximo fussed over me, cleaning the cuts more thoroughly and slathering me with ointment. Thankfully there was nothing broken, requiring stitches, or needing a hospital.
Just as I’d said.
When they were finished, Doctor Pierce surveyed me. “The good news is, it looks worse than it is.”
“That’s not saying much because it looks like hell,” Maximo rumbled before catching my frown. He reached out to stroke my hair back, and I didn’t lean into his touch like I usually did.
I stiffened.
His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping, but Doctor Pierce grabbed his attention as he gave a short list of things to watch for before leaving.
Maximo gathered me to him and lifted me, turning to Marco. “Give me a minute.”
Carrying me into the bedroom, he set me on the bed and rummaged through my suitcase and then his. He returned to stand in front of me and gripped the hem of my top.
I tried to scoot away. “I can do it.”
He didn’t respond verbally, but he gave me the look.
I stopped fighting, knowing he wouldn’t relent. It was easier to get it over with.
Or so I thought.
Because Bossy Maximo was hard enough to resist. When he was gentle and attentive, treating me like I was precious, it was nearly impossible.
Once I was wearing a pair of my cotton shorts and one of his tees, he carried me back into the living room. Arranging me on the couch with an unneeded blanket, he said, “I’m going to talk to Marco and then we’ll go home.”
But it wasn’t home. It was his home.
Just like my suitcase wasn’t mine. My clothes weren’t mine.
Nothing was mine.
I was nothing.
The pit in my stomach grew as the truth settled in.
It was the beginning of the end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Knives to The Gut
Maximo
“SHE LIED TO me.”
“About?”
Pacing the balcony, I ran my hand through my hair. “Something else happened with that motherfucker.”
“She almost got kidnapped,” Marco said. “She’s scared shitless, roughed up, and in pain. It makes sense she’s freaked.”
“This is my fault.” Guilt clawed at me like knives to the gut. “I stopped to check on the tournament without her because she was bored yesterday. If I’d have gone right to her, that bastard wouldn’t have been able to get his fucking hands on her.”
“This isn’t on—”
“I’m supposed to take care of her. I’m supposed to keep her safe. But someone came after my woman on my property. And he almost got her.”
“Boss, get it under control,” Marco cautioned. “You go in there looking ready to murder someone, and you’re gonna scare her more. This isn’t about you. It’s not about your guilt or Ash’s guilt or even Carmichael right now. It’s about her.”
Fuck, he was right. I was being a prick, making it about me while she sat alone.
Dragging my palm down my face, I pushed aside my anger to focus. “Find out what they’ve got on the security footage.”
“Miles is combing through it. He said the drunks claimed they were paid to make a scene and mess with Ash as a prank, but neither can describe the guy beyond the wad of cash he gave them.”
Idiots.
“Ask around to see who Carmichael has been leeching on to,” I said.
“Ash is already hunting. Doubt he’ll sleep until it’s done.”
“That bad?”
Marco gave a half shrug. “You know how he is.”
I did.
Fuck.
I’d have to deal with that, but nothing I said would mean jack-shit until we found Carmichael. It could wait.
Juliet couldn’t.
“Make sure he doesn’t lose his head when he finds him,” I said.
If left unchecked, it was likely Ash would take Carmichael out. I needed information first. Then I wanted his blood to stain my hands.
Marco lifted his chin. “Where do you want him when we find him?”
“Meat plant.”
At that, he gave me a rare smile.
“If it’s not about this, I’m unreachable for the next week,” I said. “I don’t give a shit if the buildings are burning down, someone else can deal with it.”
“Got it, boss.”
I opened the door to get back to Juliet.
Still huddled on the couch and staring straight ahead, she looked tiny. Scared. She didn’t move until Marco came in after me and closed the door.
Jolting, her wide eyes snapped to me before tracking Marco as he walked to the elevator. When he was gone, she dropped her gaze to her hands.
Christ.
I’m going to kill that motherfucker.
Locking it down, I crouched in front of her. “Ready to go home?”
She hesitated, and fuck if that didn’t gut me. After a few stretching moments, she finally nodded.
I lifted her, and her legs automatically wrapped around my waist. She tried to drop them, but I lowered one of my hands to her thigh, holding it in place.
When we got into the elevator, she said, “I can stand.”
“I know that.”
“I can also walk.”
“Know that, too.”
“So put me down,” she ordered.
“No.”
I was relieved to hear the attitude and fire return. “You can’t just say no.”
“I can and I did.”
“Control freak,” she muttered, though her lips tipped up.
“Brat.”
Whatever hint of lightness she’d had was gone in an instant. She may as well have been one of the statues downstairs with as stiff as she became.
“Put me down, please,” she tried.
“No.”
Averting her dull eyes, her voice was just as emotionless. “It’s hurting my knees.”
I didn’t believe her, but I wouldn’t risk it. I lowered her to her feet, and she immediately took a couple small steps away.
If her hesitating had gutted me, her putting distance between us fucking killed.
I wanted to pull her to me so I could reassure both of us she was safe and that I had her. But I didn’t do it because, right then, I didn’t have her. She was a million miles away.
We didn’t talk on the drive home. Juliet stayed pressed against her door, as far from me as she could get without being outside. Her feet were on the seat, her arms hugging her bent legs.
Christ, my little dove looks lost.
When we got home, she climbed out before I even put the SUV in park. I followed her up the path and unlocked the door. By the time I’d turned off the alarm, she was already at the top of the stairs.
I followed her again.
She had me so wrapped up, so obsessed, so addicted, I’d have followed her anywhere.
I turned down the hall, and as expected, she was in her sewing room. But rather than sitting at her desk, she was standing and staring at the large dove picture.
“You need to
rest,” I told her.
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. “Can I do it by the pool?”
I nodded.
She approached, her eyes to the side as she waited for me to move out of the doorway so she could pass. Reaching out, I touched her loose ponytail.
And she flinched.
Fucking flinched.
I blanked my expression even as everything inside me was being eviscerated.
Either directly or by order, I had a lot of blood on my hands. I’d beaten. I’d killed. I’d tortured.
But nothing I’d done would come close to what I’d do to Mugsy Carmichael once we found him.
As badly as I wanted to take her in my arms, I moved to the side. “Go get changed.”
Without a word, she took off toward our room.
And I watched her go, my gut telling me I was fucking up by giving her space.
Rather than following, I went to find Vera. When I found her in the laundry room, I asked, “How’d you like a week off?”
Her face lit, but it wasn’t for herself. “You’re taking time off?”
“The week.”
“Good. You need it.” She pointed up. “So does she.”
Even more after what happened today.
I didn’t share that because if Vera found out, there was no way she’d leave Juliet.
“When?” she asked.
“Right now.”
Vera’s eyes widened before narrowing with suspicion. “Why so soon?”
“I need some time with Juliet,” I said, which wasn’t a lie. “I’ll get you a room at Nebula, everything on me.”
Her eyes went huge. “No, that’s—”
“I sprung this on you. Go home and pack. It’ll be set when you get there.”
Catching my dismissal, Vera sighed. “Young love.” Heading for the side door, she grabbed her purse off the hook before turning back. “Enjoy your week. Relax for once.”
I would.
Just as soon as I found out what had Juliet pulling away.
Juliet
I knew that was too easy.
Shielding my eyes with my hand, I looked up to see Maximo standing next to me in his aviator shades, low slung trunks, and nothing else.
“Aren’t you going back to work?” I asked. When I’d gotten outside and he’d been nowhere to be found, I’d assumed he’d gone to his office.
“No.” He handed me a Diet Coke and some pain meds, waiting until I’d taken them before ordering, “Roll over.”
My mind may have been a mess of conflicted confusion, but my body didn’t have the same problem. It heated at his demand. “What?”