by Max Henry
“You said it yourself, April,” Camille says. “You said there’s nothing right in what he does, taking people’s lives.”
“What did you do?” I ask again, my body vibrating with barely restrained anger.
“Camille?” Dallas prompts.
She steps out of his hold, into the hallway. “I … I need to call Dad.”
“Why?” Dallas calls after her as she turns and heads toward the front of the house. He steps through the doorway after her. “Why do you need to call Dad, Camille?”
He limps after her, but it’s no use—he’s got no speed with that injured leg. I overtake him and break into a run as Camille jogs through the living room doorway. There are bodies left and right, at least one man who is indistinguishable thanks to his gunshot wound. Yet my focus is on Dallas’ sister as she stoops down beside one of the fallen officers and retrieves his weapon.
“Stay where you are,” she threatens, pointing the gun at me with one hand while retrieving her phone with the other.
I watch in horror as her thumb taps out the pattern for 911. “Don’t,” I urge. “Don’t do this.”
“Why have you changed your tune, April? You were the one who said he needed to be stopped only this morning.” She chuckles as the operator picks up on the other end. “Police, please.” Camille’s eyes narrow on me as she tucks the phone to her chest, pistol still pointed directly at me. “I had to play it so cool so that you wouldn’t know what I’d done. I couldn’t have his latest fuck-toy ruining everything I’d risked my life to set up.”
“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Dallas says from the doorway behind me. I turn to see him limp into the room, drawing the attention of Camille’s gun. “I thought I could trust you.”
“Surprise,” she says jovially despite the fact she looks as though she’s ready to cry. “Every good person has a breaking point, Dallas. I couldn’t look the other way anymore. I couldn’t pretend your crimes didn’t keep me awake at night.” She lifts the phone to her ear, speaking to the operator as she moves the gun between Dallas and I. “Yes, I need help, please. There are officers down, and I have the perpetrator at gunpoint.”
Dallas sighs, shaking his head as Camille continues to direct the responder to their address. He backs away, turning side on to her as he rubs a hand over his head.
I want to help. I want to stop this. But how?
My gaze falls on the officer Camille removed the weapon from, and an idea sparks to life. I study the guy, at the way he fell, the blood that shows where the bullet hit him. I let it sink in, imagining how he must have felt when he realized that he wouldn’t be making it home tonight.
My gut clenches in anguish. Success. A cold sweat washes over me from head to toe as I repeat the process, ingraining the horror that went down here today in my mind.
“Are you okay?” Dallas asks, moving my way.
“Stay right there,” Camille warns, thrusting the gun at him.
He freezes at arm’s length, the conflict clear in his eyes as he presses his lips together with a heavy sigh out his nose.
“I don’t feel so good,” I say, lifting a hand to my stomach. “I … I’m not good with blood.”
Dallas frowns, yet schools his features just as quickly when I look his way. Hopefully, he understands what I’m doing and will play along.
“You’re not going to vomit are you?” Camille curls her nose up, phone still to her ear.
“I …” I move my hand to my mouth for effect and take two quick steps back to gauge her reaction with the gun.
She continues to frown; the barrel pointed at Dallas as I turn and make a run for the bathroom. I stop when I reach the dead guy in the hallway, out of sight. He holds a rifle in his hands, which as ridiculous as it sounds, I don’t know how to shoot.
“Let me go check on her,” Dallas complains from the living room.
“No. Stay here. I don’t need both of you running around loose.”
I’ve got a minute, tops, before she gets suspicious. Writing off the man in the hall, I swing into the bathroom and fill the cup on the basin with the barest trickle of water. Think of rotten meat, moldy cheese … The sound of my dry-retching bounces around the room. I follow it up with a splash of water to mimic the sound of me throwing up, and then repeat a couple more times for good measure.
Camille mutters something to Dallas about me being soft as I hesitate by the door and check the way is clear. In three swift steps, I’m across the hall and into Dallas’ room. The officer stares at me from his expired position on the bed.
“Sorry, buddy,” I whisper as I round the bed and squat down to retrieve the gun I know is there. “But to be honest, you did sound like a bit of an asshole.”
I silently rejoice as I pull the pistol out and note its basic design. I know where to find the safety on this, and provided it’s loaded, I’ll be good to go.
My feet glide over the floorboards as I hustle my way back up to the kitchen and slip inside. Camille’s voice is louder as she talks through what to do with the operator on the end of the line. I catch a glimpse of Dallas in the reflection in the window. He stands in the living room doorway; his arms braced either side, above his head, as he appears to take the weight off his bad leg. The hate in his eyes as he stares at Camille leaves my chest tight; I can only imagine how she feels.
My palm slicks as I grip the pistol tight, mentally psyching myself up for the act. I can do this. Dallas needs me to do this. I crouch down where the cabinets stop, and the kitchen/dining opens out into the living room, staying tucked behind the end of the wall.
Camille walks into view, the back of her head to me while she stays trained on Dallas. I sidle further around the wall and find a set of dark eyes fixed on my position. Dallas doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle as he slides his gaze back to Camille.
Line her up, squeeze the trigger. Simple.
My blood whooshes in my ears as I lift the gun and steady my arm against my bent knee. Camille shifts her weight, forcing me to realign her all over again. It would be so easy to just let off round after round at her and hope for the best, but unlike Dallas, I’d rather shoot to kill as a last resort.
Keeping one eye closed, I pull in a deep breath and then hold it while I make sure the sight marker is still lined up with her shoulder. One, two, three … I squeeze the trigger, startled by how fucking loud a gun is when the damn thing is in your hand.
She jolts forward as though slugged with a baseball bat, the phone falling from her hand as she cries out. My heart beats so fucking fast it threatens to sprout wings and fly away. My hands shake as I push to my feet and carefully approach her.
Dallas hasn’t moved at all, apart from a lazy smile that now graces his gorgeous lips. “Nice.”
I just shot his fucking sister, and he’s praising me?
Camille rolls to her back, groaning as tears streak her face. I rush forward and kick the gun and phone toward Dallas, the pistol in my hands pointed at her chest. He leans down and ends the call before resuming his position watching what I do.
“Fucking hell.” Camille giggles through her pain. “I didn’t think you’d have it in you.”
“Surprise,” I say, mocking her earlier statement.
“What’s next, April?” she asks. “Do you finish me off and make Dallas proud to call you his, or do you go with your conscience and get me to a hospital?”
I glance over at Dallas before I answer. “You choose.”
Camille moans as her eyes roll back in her head. “Great.”
“Why were you going to call Dad?” Dallas asks as he steps forward. “Did he put you up to this?”
She snorts. “Come on, little brother. How long did you think his career would last if he kept fighting fires for you? Do you have any idea how much he’s shelled out in bribes the past six years?”
“Any money he wasted was his issue,” Dallas bites back. “I didn’t ask for his help, didn’t ask for him to assume he still had a role in my life.”
>
“Help is what you do for family, whether they want it or not.”
He huffs a short laugh, smiling as he rubs a hand over his chin. “You aren’t family to me anymore, Camille. You’re nothing.”
“And you’re sick,” she counters, pulling herself onto her side with a grimace. “You need help.” Her hateful eyes find mine. “You both need help.”
“Correction,” he sneers, leaning down to point a finger at her face. “You think I need help. Me on the other hand? I like who I am.”
“So you run,” Camille says. “For how long? How many more people will die so that you can be free?”
“As many as it takes.” Dallas straightens and holds a hand out to me, palm up. “Gun, baby.”
“Go on, you coward,” Camille taunts as I hand it over. “Kill me because it’s easier. Kill me because you don’t know how else to deal with your problems.”
I jolt as Dallas whips his arm straight and promptly unloads two rounds, one into each of Camille’s knees. She screams out in pain as he calmly limps to the doorway and retrieves her phone. He itches the underside of his jaw with the gun as he brings up the keypad and dials 911 again.
“I won’t kill you,” he says, dropping the phone beside her, “but I’ll make sure you can’t go anywhere after we leave.” He gestures to the open call with the gun. “You might want to ask for an ambulance this time.”
NINE
Injuring Camille gave us a two-hour head start before our faces were plastered over news reports on social media, our names the top of the hour on the local radio station’s hourly report.
We drove until the tank ran dry, and then spent fifteen minutes finding a car old enough that it wouldn’t have the anti-siphon system in the fuel tank, let alone an alarm.
I lean against the rear panel of Dallas’ car and watch as he sucks on the crude length of hosepipe to pull the gas up the line. His leg gives him hell, but he’s adamant he can sort it out himself once we find a town small enough that the drugstore will be easy to knock over in the early hours.
“Why didn’t you tell me your dad is the Governor?”
He jams the hose into the fuel line and spits to the side before answering. “Didn’t seem important.”
“Do you talk to him often?”
“I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to him in the last five years.”
“And yet he paid off the law to keep you safe?”
Dallas’ eyes flash with warning as he steps in between my legs and places his arms on the roof of the car, caging me in. “Your point?”
“My point,” I say, running my hands over his strong shoulders. “Is that he must love you if he cares enough to risk his career protecting you.”
Dallas sighs, his expression null. “Even if he does, all the money in the world can’t change what he did by leaving us.”
“I guess not.” My fingers knit over the back of his head. “Where do we go from here?”
“Anywhere you want to, baby.”
I close my eyes as he leans in and runs his nose up the side of my neck, finishing with a nip to my earlobe. “You know, even Bonnie and Clyde couldn’t run forever.”
“Good thing we ain’t them then, huh?” He kisses a line along my jaw, finishing at my lips.
“I’m serious,” I protest, pulling my head away. “I’m scared. What if you get caught?”
“What if you do?” he counters.
“You have a hell of a lot more going against you than I do.”
He pinches his bottom lip between his teeth, pulling the soft flesh through his bite as he moves his gaze between my eyes. “I’m going to tell you this one last time, okay?”
“Sure.” I sigh, certain that it’ll be more cocky “I’m untouchable” bullshit.
“You,” he says, punctuating the word with a rock of his hips, “belong to me. I own you, so that means all your fears, all your desires, all your worries—I own those too.” Dallas drops his hooded gaze to my chest as he runs a hand from my side to cup my breast. “I said it the night we met, and I mean it more than ever now: I’ll take care of everything, baby.”
“What if you can’t?” My breath catches as he slides his hand lower, cupping my pussy through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.
“I can.” He bunches the hem in his palm, giving himself clear access to my wet folds. “And I will.” He seals his promise with two fingers thrust in my pussy.
I grind against his hand without shame, not giving a single fuck if anyone were to stumble across our low-key fuel heist at this moment. If I knew going without panties could be this much fun, I would have done it ages ago.
Then again, I didn’t have Dallas, and he’s the best part of what makes it fun.
“Always wet for me, baby,” he grumbles as he buries his face in my neck.
I arch my back against the car, bracing a foot on the side to give Dallas better access. He pumps his fingers inside of me, teasing, stoking my desire for him in the oddest of circumstances.
Two days ago I ran from my boyfriend, one hundred percent certain that if he caught me, it was the end of my life. Little did I know that incident would turn out to be the start of a whole new life with a man who’s ten times as dangerous as Terry was.
“Dallas,” I say, cupping his jaw in my hands.
“Yeah, baby?” He brings his face level with mine, his intense gaze locked on me as he continues to bring me to the brink with his hand.
“I love you.”
He slows as a smile spreads across his handsome face. “I love you too, baby.” His fingers resume their intensity as he adds his thumb against my clit. “But you know what I love even more?”
“Tell me,” I say with a sigh as my muscles tighten, my release so close.
“That I’ve finally found the one thing in this world that I care about—you. And I fucking love how that feels” He grins. “Now come for me, April.”
ALSO BY MAX
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FALLEN ACES MC SERIES
Unrequited
Unbreakable
Tormented
Existential
Misguided
COMING SOON
Redundant
BUTCHER BOYS SERIES
Devil You Know
Devil on Your Back
Devil May Care
Devil in the Detail
Devil Smoke
BANJAXED SERIES
Pistol
Loaded
Recoil
STANDALONE
Malaise
Tough Love
Echoes in the Storm
OTHERWORLD DESIRES (Paranormal)
Battle to Become
Methods for Mayhem
THE MUSIC
Listen to the songs that inspired the book here: https://open.spotify.com/user/Sloth
“Bad Motherfucker” – Biting Elbows
“Out of Control” – Hoobastank
“Freak On a Leash” – Korn
“Bodies” – Drowning Pool
“Last Resort” – Papa Roach
“When Worlds Collide” – Powerman 5000
“So Cold” – Breaking Benjamin
“Getting Away With Murder” – Papa Roach
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” – Marilyn Manson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
For as long as she can remember, Max has always had a love of the macabre and thought provoking side to life.
Which probably stands to reason why each of her books takes the reader on an emotional journey that not only promises twists, turns, and suspense, but a heart-wrenching journey where her motto holds true:
Love never comes easy.
When she's not lost in an alternate world - fuelled by coffee and the odd sneaky bowl of chocolate (preferably M&Ms) - she spends her days as a wife to a dedicated husband, mother to two rambunctious boys, and an obsessive petrolhead enjoying the muscle on display
at the local car shows.
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