The Maxwell Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Alexander, S. B.

  Nausea rolled in violent waves in my stomach, and I had the urge to puke up the orange juice from breakfast. “Head to Boston.” I punched the dashboard.

  After a long, agonizing ride, I strode into Pitt’s skyscraper in downtown Boston like I owned the building. I didn’t stop at the security desk. I counted to three, waiting for the rotund guard to say something. As if I cared. I was on a mission. I wanted answers. Why did Wes change the bodyguards? Did they know where Lacey was? Did her father get the ledger? Did he know Lacey was missing?

  With Kross at my side, I stabbed the button on the wall.

  “Sir,” the guard said, his voice booming in the sterile lobby. “Do you have an appointment?”

  I pressed the button again, willing the elevator doors to open. I was going up to Pitt’s office whether I had an appointment or not. Yeah, I was about to blow. I’d tried to call Wes and Pitt several times on our way in. I’d given up on Hunt. The guy was sleeping.

  “We do,” Kross lied. “Jeremy Pitt is expecting us.”

  I smiled over all the rage bursting free inside me. I could always count on my brothers to have my back. I was glad Kross had come with me. Of the triplets, he was the levelheaded one, and he was the muscle I needed in the event things got physical.

  “I have to clear—”

  The elevator dinged, and Kross and I jumped in. I hit forty on the panel, and as the doors slid shut, the security guard’s voice trailed off. Then the car started its ascent, a little too slow for my liking. I stretched my neck in all directions then rubbed the back of my head.

  Since I couldn’t get ahold of Wes or Pitt, I didn’t know if they were in the office. I knew if everything went off without a hitch for Mr. Robinson that he was scheduled to meet Pitt in his office.

  The floors ticked by.

  Kross was as calm as if it were a normal day with the sun shining. He tucked his hands in his pockets. His blue eyes had a quiet intensity that usually helped to steady my nerves, giving me the strength I needed at times like this.

  The car stopped, the doors opened, and the receptionist’s head bobbed up from her desk. She was the same lady who’d turned shades of red when Hunt had embarrassed her. Kross and I stepped out of the elevator. I barely acknowledged her as I hung a left. Kross didn’t miss a step.

  When I reached Pitt’s closed door, I stormed in. Mr. Robinson was leaning against the bar, fear written all over his face. Wes had a red book in his hands, and Pitt said into his desk phone, “That’s okay, Sarah.”

  I had every intention of punching Wes’s lights out first, but given the dismal atmosphere and what Wes was holding, I had to take a step back and regroup for a second. My rage wouldn’t help find Lacey, and Mr. Robinson now had the ledger.

  “Where’s Lacey?” I asked no one in particular.

  “They have her,” Mr. Robinson said in a despondent tone. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Who?” Every muscle in me cramped. I didn’t want to assume. Hell, a Mexican cartel could have her.

  Kross made himself at home next to Mr. Robinson. I ponied up to one of the wingback chairs.

  “Lorenzino,” Wes said as he placed the ledger on the desk. “James got a call soon after he arrived here.”

  “Why didn’t you call me? And why are you guys standing around this office then?” I clamped down on the inside of my cheek, drawing blood, the metallic taste smearing my tongue.

  “We just got the call ten minutes ago. We’re waiting for a time and place to meet to exchange the ledger for Lacey,” Pitt said. “In the meantime, Wes has a team of men in Ashford working with the police, and I’ve alerted my contacts at BPD.”

  I couldn’t stand there with Mr. Robinson about to break down, Wes acting like it was another day at the office, and Pitt staring blankly. I had to keep moving. I had to do something. I assumed Lorenzino wouldn’t hurt Lacey as long as we gave him the ledger. Still, my stomach lurched with a bad feeling. After all, we were dealing with the mob. “How does Lorenzino know you have the ledger?” I dug my fingers into the leather chair.

  “Lorenzino probably had a tail on James.” Pitt held his chin in his hand. “We always suspected they were watching.”

  “How did they know today was the day though? And they kidnapped Lacey at the same time her father was getting the ledger?” I believed in perfect storms, but they were rare.

  “Did anyone know Lorenzino was in town?” Kross asked. “Wasn’t the LAPD watching him?”

  Another good point.

  “I checked with Detective Fisher after I got the call from Lorenzino.” Mr. Robinson was frozen in the same position. “He tracked him to a private airstrip in LA yesterday morning but couldn’t get access to the flight plan.”

  “And what about that Dennis Weeks guy? Is he involved?” I was about to poke a hole into the chair.

  “We haven’t been able to find out much about him except what his police records show, which isn’t much—several robberies, a handful of stints in jail, and three ex-wives,” Wes said. “He was on Lorenzino’s payroll until a year ago, when he disappeared. We’re still digging into his background.”

  Mr. Robinson’s phone rang.

  Chapter 33

  Lacey

  An agonizing pain throbbed in the back of my head as a faint male voice bled into my consciousness.

  “It’s almost show time,” the male voice said.

  My head bobbed. I blinked several times to clear my vision. I tried to wipe the drool from my mouth, but my arm wouldn’t budge. Panic set in as I tried to move my other arm. I realized I was tied to a wooden chair, and pain dug into my wrists as I thrashed one way then another to get my arms free.

  “Still fighting,” the man taunted. “I told you this would go easier if you didn’t.”

  I lifted my head. Two men were lounging against a bar, the soft glow from pendant lights above spotlighting their features. The man to my left had gray hair and a gray beard. He was the man in the photo I’d found in Dad’s office—Harrison Lorenzino. The man to my right had red hair, and pockmarks dotted his face. He was the man in the photo that Detective Fisher had shown us—Dennis Weeks.

  I twisted again, snarling at my captives. Suddenly, the memory of what I’d done to Weeks in the car returned to me.

  I’d barely gotten out of the coffee shop when a man grabbed my arm and said into my ear, “This will go easier if you don’t fight.” I had no time to react, and my latte splattered to the ground. His large hand covered my head, and he shoved me into the back of a black sedan that was parked at the curb. No sooner had the door closed than the car sped away. I was barricaded in between two men. I’d seen pictures of both, and one I knew without a doubt had had something to do with Julie and Mom’s murder.

  “It’s you. You killed my family,” I said. His cologne smelled of insect repellent. It was as strong as it had been when I’d entered the garage the night I found Julie and Mom. A rage of adrenaline rushed through me. I balled up my hand and swung, hitting his face with the back of my knuckles. Then I quickly got in his lap and pulled on his wiry hair as hard as I could, screaming, “I’ll kill you,” over and over again.

  His hands were on my arms, trying to push me off, but I wasn’t letting go. Not until he felt pain and lots of it.

  “Get her off me, Harrison. Don’t just sit there like you’re enjoying this,” Weeks’s voice blared in my ears. His fingers slid down to circle my wrists.

  I spit in his face then slammed my forehead into his nose, drawing blood.

  “Goddamn,” he said. “Stop your screaming.”

  I screamed louder before I sank my teeth into his fingers. As he swore, something hard struck the back of my head, and blackness colored my vision.

  Weeks laughed hauntingly, the sound severing my trip down memory lane. I clenched my eyes s
hut for a brief moment, panic and rage starting off the buzzing in my head. I opened my eyes and did a quick scan of my surroundings. Tables peppered the floor. A stage banked the wall to my right, and a stale odor burned the hairs in my nose. I was in Dad’s club, Rumors.

  “Where’s my dad?” My words broke apart.

  “If he doesn’t do anything stupid, he should be here momentarily,” said Harrison, who was nursing a drink.

  Did Dad have the ledger? I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t have what you want, and even if he did, he wouldn’t give it to you.”

  Harrison let out a smug laugh. “Oh, he has what we want. My sources wouldn’t lie.”

  I guessed Erica had spilled the beans. It didn’t matter. I was sitting here tied to a chair with my life hanging in the balance.

  “And he’ll give us the ledger,” Weeks said. His voice was gritty and disgusting as he cleaned his nails with the tip of a long blade. “Otherwise, I may have to use this knife. It hasn’t seen action since your sister and mother.”

  Oh, my God! I felt like a box of nails had gotten stuck in my throat. The buzzing in my head increased. Adrenaline began to pump through every vein at warp speed. “So you admit you killed my family?”

  His dead gray eyes glinted.

  A phone rang. Harrison swiped it off the bar. “Yeah. Is he alone? Make sure he isn’t wearing a wire.” He hung up. “Get her ready,” Harrison said to Weeks. He narrowed his green eyes at me. “No funny business.”

  I prayed Dad had a plan. I wanted both of them to pay, but since I didn’t have my phone, I couldn’t record the conversation. More than that, I salivated for a chance to rip out Weeks’s eyes. To make him feel pain for what he did. In that moment, I understood why Kade hated Greg Sullivan so much and why he wanted revenge for him putting Kody in the hospital.

  Weeks circled behind me, the light shimmering off his blade. Once my arms were free, I sprang upright but stumbled.

  Weeks yanked me to him. He brought the tip of the blade up to my chin. “If you fight me, you’ll be in pieces by the time your father walks in,” he said, deep and deadly. “Better yet, I’ll gut out your pitching arm. I hear you’re quite the pitcher.” He traced the knife’s edge along my right shoulder then down.

  Someone was feeding them information. At the moment, I didn’t care. “You know, I should’ve taken up football. I’m a great punter.” My calm voice belied the tacks poking the lining of my stomach.

  “Girls always think they can play a man’s sport.”

  “I don’t think. I know.” I kicked out, my foot connecting with his crotch.

  He doubled over, letting out a guttural sound. The knife dropped, sounding a loud bong as it hit the hardwood floor. Weeks clutched his balls. Red rage bloomed in the pockmarks on his face as his features distorted in pain.

  I ran, dodging tables. I pumped my legs and arms as hard as I could to reach the main exit, which was at least thirty feet away.

  A hand landed in my hair and jerked me backwards. “You don’t listen well,” Harrison said.

  “I don’t take orders from killers.” I elbowed him in the gut as he hauled me back to Weeks.

  Weeks’s nostrils flared as he retrieved his knife. I smirked at the murderer, even though my nerves were singing a scary tune.

  Weeks twined my hair around his hand and wrenched back my head. With his other hand, he positioned the cold, razor-sharp blade at my jugular. “Step out of line again, and I’ll slit your throat.”

  An image of me bleeding out made me freeze. He shuffled us toward the entrance to the back hallway then stopped. Harrison returned to the bar.

  Footsteps clomped across the floor. Dad came into view with a red book in one hand. He froze, swinging his gaze from me to Harrison. “Let her go,” he said, his voice thunderous. “This has nothing to do with my daughter.”

  “Hand over the ledger. Once I have it and I’m safely to the airport, then I’ll let your daughter go.” Harrison scrubbed a hand over his beard.

  “Not a chance. She leaves here now, and when she’s safely in the hands of family, then I’ll give you the book.” Dad held up the ledger.

  Weeks’s puke-smelling breath breezed over my neck. It took every ounce of my energy not to choke.

  “She is with family. Aren’t we family?” Harrison asked.

  “You’ll never be my family,” Dad said in a brusque tone.

  “If I had known Lorraine was with child, I would’ve taken care of her and you,” Harrison said without any emotion.

  “So instead you kill my wife and one granddaughter. And now you’re threatening another. Is that how you take care of family?” A valley-sized crease formed between Dad’s eyebrows. “No wonder my mother disappeared.”

  “An unfortunate accident,” Harrison said. “No one was supposed to get hurt.”

  “And yet they did,” I said, gulping in air slowly.

  “Shut up.” Weeks pressed the blade harder against my skin.

  A trickle of warmth slid down my neck. I squeaked, my pulse racing, the buzzing in my head blaring. “Dad, do what he says.” So what if we gave a ledger to a mob guy? It was his after all. I didn’t care if it led him to buried money. Sure, I wanted revenge, but I wanted to get out of this alive. I wanted to get to school. I wanted to play ball later today, and I wanted to impress the hell out of the ASU scout.

  With his gaze sharp on Harrison, Dad flung the ledger at him. Harrison fumbled to catch it. When the book soared behind the bar, Weeks loosened his hold on my hair.

  I threw my head back, hitting Weeks in the mouth. The knife clanged to the floor.

  Dad launched himself at Harrison, and I spun around. Weeks dove for me, and I dove for the knife that lay between us. Weeks’s hand landed on the blade. The sound of grunts and groans peppered the room behind me.

  “I enjoyed killing your family,” Weeks said. “I can’t wait to filet you into pieces.” Hunger swam in his eyes.

  Fear slithered down my back, but anger cleared it. “You have to catch me first.” I sprinted down the darkened hallway for the back door. Thank God for the smidgen of light from the exit sign.

  Heavy boots thudded behind me, cutting through the buzzing in my head. Long, gnarly fingers seized my arm. Turning, I punched and kicked, landing blows to his stomach and groin. On my last punt to his crotch, he drove the knife into my right leg just above my knee. I wailed as the stinging pain shot up my leg. I yanked the knife out, and blood oozed from the wound. Weeks bent over, grasping his balls again. This time his face turned an ugly purple.

  Cracks, snaps, groans, and grunts filtered in from the barroom.

  Weeks launched his fist into my face. The blow sent me hurtling backwards. My head landed against the door with a loud thwack. The pain ignited a blinding fury. I lunged for Weeks, drove the knife into his abdomen, removed it, and then stabbed him again and again. I couldn’t stop. His eyes bulged out as he staggered backwards, falling to the floor with a heavy whump.

  A gust of wind swept in from the back door along with a blinding light and several heavy footsteps.

  The knife slid from my bloody hands as my legs wobbled then collapsed under me.

  “Lacey?” Kade’s voice trickled into my ears.

  I squinted at two men with guns in their hands, but no Kade. Maybe I was hearing things. Then a gurgling came from my right. I swung my attention to Weeks. He sat up, and his hand snaked out toward the knife. His white shirt was slowly turning red. There was so much blood. Blackness crept across my vision. I couldn’t pass out. As I labored for air, Weeks attacked me, the gleam of the blade masking the darkness.

  “Lacey!” Dad and Kade both shouted my name before a gunshot echoed.

  Weeks crashed to the floor.

  I jerked my head to the left to find Kade pushing the men with guns
out of the way.

  Kade’s warm, strong hands cupped my face. “I’m here, Lace. I’m here, baby. You’re safe now.” His voice was music to my ears.

  “My dad. Where’s my dad?” I blinked, once, twice, trying to ward off the darkness that was hell-bent on taking over my vision.

  But my body had other plans.

  Chapter 34

  Lacey

  I shivered as I woke. Déjà vu blanketed me as beeps and pings echoed from the medical equipment around me.

  “Sweet Pea.” Dad jumped out of his chair. Bruises and cuts covered his face. He threw his arms around me. “God, I was so worried.”

  “You’re okay?” I hugged him back, but it hurt to move. My body felt like it had been through the rinse cycle several times. “Why am I in the hospital? Where’s Kade? Is Weeks dead? Did Harrison get the ledger?”

  “Slow down.” He smoothed a hand over my head. “You passed out. More than likely from a combination of your head injuries, blood loss, and the trauma of the scene.”

  I touched the back of my head and found a lump and stitches. “Oh, my God. They shaved my head?” A small bald spot sat at the base just above my hairline. I felt the rest of my hair, making sure they hadn’t cut it off. I sighed heavily when I found I still had long hair. “Did Harrison get the ledger? Is Weeks in jail? He admitted killing Julie and Mom.”

  “Harrison is in the custody of the Federal government. And they confiscated the ledger. Weeks is dead.”

  I slapped a hand over my mouth. “Did I kill him?” I remembered stabbing him several times after he’d punched me. I prodded the lump on my left cheek gingerly. I also remembered the men with guns and hearing the gunshot and then Kade practically knocking the men out of the way.

  “You did him some damage, but no. The BPD SWAT team actually killed him. Weeks was about to stab you. One of the SWAT guys shot him.”