taking away my choice, my control.
He reaches for the doorknob.
“Agusta,” I whisper.
Max freezes. He takes a deep breath and then he drops me gently
to the ground. I take a deep breath and lean against the bed. My
panic subsides.
“Getting to know me, giving us a chance, is more than you can
bear?” His voice is raw with emotion and my heart gives an empathetic
thud. He listened to me. He said I mean something to him. He wants
to share a piece of himself with me. How can I refuse?
“I want to walk.”
His breath catches in his throat. “You’ll come with me?”
“I’ll come because I choose to come, not because you made me.”
He sucks in his lips and studies me for the longest time. “What
made you so strong, Makayla Delaney?”
I shrug. “If I was strong I would have said no and meant it.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear. “A strong person faces their fears.
A weak person runs away.”
“Like I said, weak.” I tilt my head into the warmth of his palm. He
hisses in a breath and pulls me close.
“Like I said, strong.” He clasps my hand and leads me through the
warehouse to a small, circular flight of stairs in the back corner. We
climb at least fifteen feet, and Max unlocks a heavy metal door and flicks
on the lights.
Wow! A loft space has been created at the top of the warehouse.
Floor to ceiling windows meet exposed beams and wood paneling over-
head. Highly polished tiger wood angles across the floor space. Exposed
brick walls are interspersed with textured drywall, and a black, wrought
iron staircase runs up to a half-finished second floor. Stone and brick
dividers separate multiple living spaces. A bed is tucked behind a wall
made of glass bricks, and a huge, modern kitchen stands half built in the
middle of the open space.
“Max. This is you,” I breathe. Rustic and modern, hidden and
exposed, rough and classy. He has a foot in two worlds, and this place
combines the best of both.
Max’s face softens. “I’ve never brought anyone up here. I’ve done
all the work myself.”
No one else has been up here. No Pinkaluscious. No girls. No
friends. Just me. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I squeeze his
hand. “You’ve done an incredible job. It’s beautiful.”
I wander to his makeshift living area: couch, television, bookshelves,
a soft shag area rug, and…pictures. My mouth waters at the thought of
getting a glimpse of the real Max. “Are these of you? Can I look?”
“Anything you want.” His voice is a soft rumble. “I brought you
here because you said you didn’t know me. Here I am.”
I drop to my knees in front of the table and sort through the pic-
tures. I pull out a grainy, faded photograph of Max as a toddler, chubby
and cute. He poses for the camera in kid-size boxing gloves beside a
beautiful woman with long, dark hair.
“She’s beautiful. Is she your mom?”
“Was.”
I have so many questions, but this isn’t the time. I pick up his
preschool picture and smile. His chubby cheeks are gone, but his face is
still soft and recognizable as my Max. He grins from a makeshift boxing
ring surrounded in bushes. I find a few pictures of young Max at the
beach, and playing at the zoo, but mostly the pictures are of Max boxing
or holding up trophies or medals.
I shuffle through the pictures. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“No. It was just me.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“The South.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The South. Well, that narrows it down.”
Max sits on the couch behind me and tucks me between his legs.
His arms slide around my waist and he squeezes me tight as if we’re on
a roller coaster and he’s hanging on for dear life.
“You didn’t lie when you said you started boxing young.” I hold up
another picture of toddler Max.
“My father wanted me to follow his dream.”
“Looks like you were very good.” I point to all the pictures of Max
and his medals.
“I was.”
“You are.” I look over my shoulder and brush a kiss over his cheek.
He has bought his forgiveness by letting me into his inner sanctum, and
I want him to know I appreciate the gift.
He shudders and murmurs into my hair. “I wasn’t good enough.”
“Is this your dad?” I hold up a picture of five-year-old Max at his
birthday. His mom is pressing a kiss to his cheek while beside them,
an intense-looking man glowers at the camera. He could be Max but
smaller, thinner, and not as handsome. But I know that scowl.
Max rests his cheek against my head, and tightens his arms. “Yes.
He was a professional boxer but was kicked out of the circuit after a
series of injuries. He had worked his way through his savings when he
met my mother. She was high society and very well off. They fell in
love and eloped. The family turned against her. They thought he was
after her money so they disinherited her. She didn’t care. They were
happy together until I was born.” His voice catches in his throat, but
as I turn to face him he redirects me to the table and folds his arms
around me.
“What happened? It looks from these pictures like you had a
happy childhood.”
“I did. My dad worked as a boxing coach at a local gym. He didn’t
make much but he wanted me to have the shot at stardom he never
got. All his money went to pay for coaches, trainers, gym time, and
equipment. My life revolved around school and boxing. I didn’t mind
because I wanted to make my dad proud. But no matter how hard I
tried, I was never good enough.”
The pain in his voice cuts me like a hundred little knives. My arms
ache to hold him. I try to turn, but he tightens his arms and rests his
chin on my head.
“As I got older, I never thought to ask how a coach got the money
to pay for all my training. Turns out he borrowed it from the local mafia
at an exorbitant interest rate, and one day, when I was fourteen, they
came to collect. Only Mom and I were home. “
I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth.
“You remind me of her,” he murmurs. “You have the same hair. You
are beautiful and headstrong and self-reliant. She never asked for help.
She never listened to anyone—not even me—when it mattered most.”
My heart pounds. “What happened?”
“Four mafia enforcers broke into our home to collect the money
my father owed them. I think he had hoped my winnings would cover
the payments, but it wasn’t enough. They found my mother and me
hiding in the bedroom. They saw her engagement ring. It was a huge
diamond. I don’t know how my father ever afforded it.”
“Oh no,” I whisper.
“They wanted it. She refused. She said it was all she had left to
remember my father the way he used to be—when they were young and
in love and nothing else mattered.”
“She was a romantic.”
“They all had kni
ves but she wouldn’t let me protect her.” He takes
a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I pushed her behind me. I knew how
to fight. I had a wall full of trophies and championship belts to prove it.
But she wouldn’t stay out of the way. And she wouldn’t give up the ring.
I tried so damn hard…” He buries his face in my hair.
Tears spring to my eyes. “Oh, Max. I know you did.”
“I managed to knock out two of them, but by then the other two
had her. They tried to pull the ring off her finger, but she fought them
off. One of them threw her against a glass cabinet. It shattered and a
piece of glass cut her throat. There was so much blood.”
My stomach clenches. The glass must have cut her carotid artery.
She didn’t have a chance.
“I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.” His voice is so low, I
can barely hear him. “I should have fought harder. I should have made
her listen. If she had done what I said she would be alive today.”
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Max, honey, you were only four-
teen. You were her baby. I’m sure she was just trying to protect you.”
He draws in a ragged breath. “My father didn’t see it that way.
He blamed me. He said I had failed her. I wasn’t good enough. After
all the training, when it really mattered, I failed. He shot himself
that evening.”
“Oh God.” I twist, breaking his grip, and turn to throw my
arms around him. I hug him tight. “I’m so sorry. To go through that
at fourteen.”
Max stiffens. “It was a long time ago.”
“What did you do?” I press my cheek against his, and tighten
my arms.
“I lived with my aunt and uncle until I was old enough to leave.
Then I took my inheritance and never looked back.”
“You didn’t stay in touch?”
“My father’s family were scattered all over. They weren’t close. My
mother’s family blamed me for her death. I could see it in their eyes. I
could hear it in their voices. They didn’t want me around.”
My heart aches for him. I wish I could do something to ease the
pain I see in his eyes. I sit back and run my fingers over his chest. “Is that
what your tattoos are about? Is that why you say they represent failure?”
“Not just that night,” he rasps. “I ink every failure into my skin so
I remember.”
I press my lips against his chest. “Your failures are beautiful to me,”
I whisper. “They make you who you are. They make you my Max.”
Max’s body tenses. He slides his hand to my shoulders and holds
me at arm’s length. “I won’t go through it again,” he says, his voice
thick. “I’ve worked hard to get to the point I know I will be able to
defend the people I love.” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “I love
you, Makayla. I couldn’t bear to lose you. I want to protect you and
keep you safe, but you need to let me in.” He cups my face in his hands
and gently tilts my head back. Tears spill over my cheeks. His eyes are
filled with pain, and tenderness. He slants his mouth over mine and our
lips brush in a gentle, soft kiss.
He loves me.
He loves me, and I can’t say it back.
He kisses away my tears and then our lips meet once more. His
tongue slides inside my mouth, stroking, searching for something I
don’t have to give.
“So beautiful,” he whispers. “Heal me, Makayla.” He picks me up
and carries me to his bed, rumpled and cool and smelling of Max. We
undress each other, slowly, gently, and then we make sweet love sur-
rounded by memories and sawdust in the very heart of Redemption.
Three hours later we descend the stairs into chaos. The Friday night
Redemption party is in full swing. Max keeps one arm around my
shoulders, and we mingle with the fighters. He introduces me to his
venture capitalist business partner, Jason. Taller than Max, and leaner,
with blue-gray eyes, dark hair and a chiseled jaw, he would send Amanda
into a flirting frenzy. How does Cindy get any work done?
“So have you talked Max into fixing up this dive and making it
into a proper mixed martial arts facility?” His voice is deep and low.
Definitely Amanda-worthy.
“I didn’t know he was considering it.”
“I’m not,” Max interjects. “I like it the way it is.”
Jason shakes his head. “I’ve told him again and again, he could
make some serious money if he fixes the place up and gets all the proper
licenses. He lost a lot of guys to sanctioned clubs, and yet he still has
a waiting list. He’s a great instructor and he’s hired some great people.
With very little effort, this could be one of the top MMA training facili-
ties in the state.”
Max shakes his head. “I’ve told you before, too many rules, too
many regulations, and too much money.”
“Don’t you want to test yourself against the best?” I ask. Don’t you
want to train your fighters to fight against the best? And you wouldn’t
have to worry about anyone shutting you down.”
“It’s not going to happen, baby.” Max gives my shoulder a squeeze.
“I would have to stop the unsanctioned fights. It was my dad’s dream to
run a club like this. I don’t need anything more.”
“What about your own dreams?”
Before Max can answer, Blade Saw starts a game of Shake Shake
Bang Bang, and our attention is drawn to the crazy man banging a
shaken beer repeatedly on his head. However, instead of the usual hole
forming in the side of the can, the top pops off and beer sprays all over
me. Rampage, Obsidian, Homicide, and Jackhammer try to hold Max
back. They fail. Blade Saw apologizes profusely when I bandage him
up in the first aid room. I promise him he will be back to fighting in
a few weeks.
Jake shows up with Pinkaluscious attached to his lips. Amanda flips
out. I have no idea where she has been since she let me down at the door,
but from her slightly disheveled appearance, I can guess. She deals with
her first experience being dumped as anyone would. She becomes totally
inebriated. After leading two rounds of the Chicken Dance in the ring,
she races Hammer Fist up and down the bleachers, challenges Rampage
to a wrestling match, and makes it through a few rounds of beer pong
and quarters before collapsing on the bed in the first aid room. Max
insists we take her home together in his limo. After I’ve tucked her into
bed with a jug of water and a bottle of aspirin, we go back to his house.
This time we don’t make love. We have sex. Wild, wicked, passionate,
soul-cleansing sex. Afterward, we cuddle. We are back to normal. There
is no more talk of love. I like it better that way. I think.
Chapter 21
I Want Minx
It’s Saturday morning and I have a post-party hangover. My
mouth tastes like glue. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I have a pounding
headache and my face is greasy with makeup. At least Max took off my
dress, although if I remember correctly his reasons were totally selfish.
Max pushes a button and his electric blinds go up, lett
ing in the
evil sun.
“Bad sun. Bad Max,” I groan into the pillow. “Turn it off.”
Max chuckles and skims his hand down my bare back. “I have to
be in Fontana at noon for work. One of our target companies is testing
a new remote control device at a racetrack.”
“So is this the ‘wham bam thank you ma’am, get out of my bed I
have to work on a Saturday good-bye’ speech?” I groan.
“This is the ‘you wanted to know about me so now you get to see
my work and you’d better get your ass out of bed and come with me or
you’ll be sorry’ speech.”
“Too many words. Hangover brain overload.”
Max chortles and slaps my bottom. “Get up. We have to get you
dressed, fed, and in the limo in an hour.”
“Fontana is at least a seven-hour drive,” I moan. “I’m not so good
at sitting still for long periods of time while hung over and with a
slapped bottom.”
Max rips the covers off the bed, exposing me to the cold air. “We’re
going by plane. The flight is just over an hour. There’s more bottom
slapping in your future if you don’t get up.”
I don’t budge.
“Makayla.” His warning tone makes me giggle.
“I’m thinking.”
“Don’t tempt me, baby. I’ve been waiting a long time for suffi-
ciently bad behavior to warrant a spanking.” He caresses my bottom and
my body heats up, yet again. Will it never end? Will we get to the point
where I’ll come just from him looking at me? I flip over to remove the
temptation of my overly round cheeks.
“Your personal plane, oh rich society dude?”
Max chuckles. “No. We chartered a plane for the trip, but Jason
told me last night he can’t make it.”
“I was planning to wash my hair today, but I suppose I could come
with you on a private plane to a racetrack, but I…uh…need underwear
and clothes that aren’t covered in beer.”
“We’ll stop at Angel’s Bike Shop, just outside the airport. We’ll buy
you some panties, and once we’re in the plane I’ll rip them off you.”
“How romantic.”
“I’m all about romance.” Max leans down to suckle my breast, and
pleasure licks up the inside of my thighs.
“You’re all about sex.”
He raises his head and locks his dark, dangerous eyes with mine.
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