by T. S. Ryder
Scarlett knew how that felt. She sat down across the table from him and nodded. "We do need to talk."
Max cleared his throat. "So…"
"I'm pregnant."
Max swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I know. Vanessa found a positive pregnancy test in your bathroom."
"I thought I’d thrown them all away." Scarlett ran her fingers through her dark hair. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have found out like that. I should have told you. I should have told you before I left. I shouldn't have left at all, but it was especially wrong of me to just leave the way I did, and I'm sorry."
"I understand why you did it." Max paused. His hand crept towards hers, and Scarlet closed the distance between them. He let out a deep lungful of air, visibly relaxing. "I was angry. I might still be a little angry because you didn't tell me. But I understand. You needed space to decide what to do."
Scarlett shook her head. "Not about the baby. I'm going to keep it. I just needed to figure out how I felt about… what you can do, and figure out where that fits in my life now. But I am going to keep the baby, Max, and I want you to be a part of our lives. I want him or her to grow up knowing about your heritage, and have someone who understands there to help out."
Max swallowed again, this time also blinking rapidly. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."
Until he said that, Scarlett hadn't realized that she had feared his reaction. She smiled at him, feeling a weight lift off her shoulders. Tears actually pricked her eyes. "It makes me happy that you're happy. I know that it's an unexpected pregnancy, and I… I was a little afraid you wouldn't want to be part of the baby's life."
"Is that why you left?"
Scarlett hesitated and shook her head. "No. I left because you turned into a gorilla and beat a man to death in front of me. It frightened me, even though you were protecting me."
Max flinched. "I'm sorry that I frightened you. I wasn't thinking when I attacked them. I only knew that I'd die before I let either of them lay a finger on you. You have to understand, I haven't turned in years. I have tried to pretend I’m a normal person. But it never works. Having to keep such a huge part of my identity a secret always destroys my relationships. But when that monster threatened you—"
"I know."
Silence fell between them. They were still holding hands across the table and Scarlet absently rubbed his knuckles with her thumb. She liked the feeling of his hand in hers.
"I'm sorry," he said again.
"I know. And I wish I could say I was over it but the truth is, I'm not. I might need therapy."
Max coughed, although it sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
"I'm not scared of you," she whispered, growing serious again. "And I promise you, I will never tell anybody your secret. I’d just never seen anybody die before and to see someone as gentle as you...."
Max looked at the table. He looked so ashamed that Scarlett circled the table, sitting next to him so he could see that she meant what she said, that she wasn't afraid of him.
"I wish I could say I had never killed anybody before. But when I was in the Marines…"
"I understand."
"I don't know if you do. It weighs on you. It’s like carrying a backpack of bricks. The only thing that makes carrying those bricks worth it is the ones you love. The ones I love," he corrected, his voice going soft. "I love you, Scarlett Brenan. I'm not saying that just because you're pregnant. I love you. I've never wanted anybody to know who I am more than you. I—"
Scarlet cut him off by pressing her fingers to his lips. Her heart pounded shallowly and she felt like she was dancing among the stars. When Vanessa had told her that Max loved her, she had been too afraid to believe it. But hearing it from his own lips lit a realization in her own mind.
She, the Gentlewoman Thief who abhorred the rich, was in love with Maximillian Barnes, the billionaire.
"I love you, too."
Max's eyes widened. "What?"
"I love you."
Max trailed his fingers down her cheek. He stared into her eyes as he moved in, brushing his lips against hers. Apparently, it wasn't enough for him, because he came back, harder, wrapping his arms around her waist. He lifted her easily as they continued to kiss. Scarlett cupped his face, sucking on his lower lip as he carried her to the couch.
"You're so beautiful," he moaned, laying her down.
"You are, too," Scarlett replied, mindful of her manners. "So, so beautiful."
His sculpted torso felt wonderful under her fingertips. Max buried his face into her neck, kissing and sucking on her sensitive skin. It sent tingles throughout her body, making her flesh tighten and heat. Max's hands grasped her voluptuous hips while he gently rocked against her through their clothing.
Scarlett let out an eager, mewling moan. This was exactly what she wanted, what she needed, after everything that had happened: to find her relationship with the father of her child again. She dug her fingers through Max's curly brown hair, reveling in the texture between her fingers. His mouth moved to her clothed breasts, making her moan again. Heat spread up her arms and legs, filling her, making her eyes brighten.
Max popped the buttons off her shirt, tracing the line of her lacy bra with his tongue while a hand worked at her jeans, and Scarlett threw herself into the sensations, letting her animal instincts take control.
She snarled, tearing at her lover's clothes. She rolled, bringing them both heavily to the floor and trapped him under her body, thrusting her tongue into his mouth while she yanked his jeans off.
"Careful," Max moaned, his eyes dark with lust.
"You be careful," Scarlet laughed huskily, as she found him with her hand. "Or you might end up stuck with me forever.”
His eyes slid shut and he arched up to her, whispering her name.
Some part of her brain reminded her that it was most ungentlewomanly to make love in an apartment where she was a guest, but she didn't care. Her body called for Max's to join her, for them to share the build of heat and passion, that feeling of turning from two to one, moving in sync and knowing every physical vulnerability they shared with one another.
Max grabbed her hips, flipping her onto her back once more. He smiled as he thrust into her and Scarlet forget to think as their bodies pulsed and writhed in perfect harmony.
Chapter Eight
Scarlett relaxed in the tropical breeze. A giant floppy hat, a pair of polarized sunglasses and SPF 40 sunscreen shielded her from the bright sun that blazed overhead. The hammock she lay in swung gently from side to side, while overhead Max sprawled over a tree branch, one hand dropping lazily towards her. His fingers were slightly curled, knuckles wide and flat. His bright blue eyes looked strange peering out at her from a gorilla's face.
"Your fur is softer than I expected," Scarlett mentioned, reaching up to brush her fingers through the hair on his overly long arms.
Max grunted in reply, made a small hooting noise and closed his eyes in contentment. They had flown out to his private island only a few days earlier. It was the only isolated place where he could take his gorilla form free-range. Here, there were no cameras, no paparazzi searching for some juicy tidbit to give to the newspapers. It was peaceful, allowing Scarlett to get used to him shifting seamlessly from one form to another, and to get used to being with him while he was in his gorilla form. It was a chance for him to reclaim that part of his identity, as well.
"Does it hurt when you change?" she asked.
He shook his head and rolled up, signing slowly towards her. Since gorillas did not have the vocal cord configuration humans had, and so couldn’t speak, he was teaching her American Sign Language. It was through his use of signs that she learned his mother had been Deaf. Max had a lot of great stories about his parents, especially his mother.
"It feels good?" Scarlett guessed, watching his hands as he signed. It had only been a few days since he had started teaching her and she was just learning words beyond the basics.
He shrugged and slippe
d from one form to the other. It was so quick and seamless that he might as well have been replaced, rather than shifted.
"It does feel good," he said, his feet swinging over her. "You know that feeling when you just step out of the shower and towel off, and you're still slightly damp but you feel clean and cool, so you just want to walk around the house naked?"
Scarlett laughed and shook her head. "A gentlewoman does not walk around the house naked."
Max rolled his eyes and climbed into the hammock next to her. "You know, for a woman who is eager to call out sexism in the media, you seem very concerned with how to act like a lady."
"Wrong, sir," Scarlett contradicted, emphasizing her Southern accent. "Completely wrong. A lady exists to be pleasing to men and is limited to the actions that would make her an object to be admired. A gentlewoman is only restricted by the same rules as a gentleman. Tell me, would a gentleman walk around the house naked? Is arrogance attractive in a gentleman? A gentleman does not lie, nor does he vomit in public, and so neither does a gentlewoman."
"You have a point there, madam," Max said, putting his own Nebraskan accent on more strongly. "But, if I may challenge you further, perhaps I will point out that you still base your behavior on men. Is that not elevating them to the pinnacle of good grace, and leaving your own gender's inclinations as secondary?"
Scarlett opened her mouth to refute it, but couldn't think of how to respond. She inclined her head in defeat. "Sir, you do best me."
Max laughed. He rolled from the hammock. "To the victor goes the spoils!"
He scooped her up. His naked chest was hot with the sunshine, and Scarlett giggled, putting her arms around his neck. This was something that she was never going to get used to, the ease with which he carried her. It had never particularly bothered her in the past that her size meant that whatever lover she had wouldn’t be able to carry her like this, but now that she had been proven wrong, she liked it.
He carried her back into the little house–really, more like a cabin, with nice, large windows and a wraparound patio–and took the stairs to the bedroom two at a time. Scarlett nuzzled into his neck, her heartbeat increasing with desire.
Max set her down on the bed and removed her hat as he pressed a deep kiss to her mouth. Scarlett moaned, holding him closer. To her disappointment, he pulled away.
"So what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" she asked, trying to sound demure.
"Oh, I think you know. But we have to get your hair out of the way. I felt like I was eating it all last night." Max picked up a brush. "Turn around."
Scarlett did so, bouncing on the bed in her excitement. Max returned to her and began untangling the knots in her hair. She relaxed under his soothing touch. She always loved it when he brushed her hair, and he seemed to enjoy it as well. The feeling of his fingers running against her scalp after the brush was so comforting that she found her eyes drifting shut.
They sprang open at the sound of a gunshot. And another. And another.
She wasn't sure how many shots there were before the room fell silent. But as she turned, she felt Max jerk. He grunted in surprise and pain. Scarlett saw his eyes: they were wide, shocked and a little afraid. He gripped her arm, and his mouth opened. Nothing came out as he slumped over. Scarlett tried to catch him, and for a moment she thought she was going to be able to, but then he slipped through her arms and collapsed facedown onto the bed.
Blood fountained out of five holes in his back. Scarlet screamed his name, pressing her hands over the bullet holes uselessly.
Was he breathing? Blood pooled around her fingers as she thoughtlessly tried to stem it. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. What was happening?
"Max!" her voice was high-pitched.
No response. Was he breathing? He wasn't breathing. Scarlett felt bile rising up in her chest and her head spun. He wasn't breathing. What was she supposed to do?
She rolled him onto his back. Her hands left vivid red stains on his pale skin. Scarlett cupped his face and kissed him desperately. He wasn't breathing.
This isn't helping anyone. Stop panicking. Think.
Shaking herself from her panic, Scarlett pinched his nose and breathed into his lungs, desperately trying not to think that the wounds in his back might already have been fatal. If the bullets had pierced his lungs or heart—
Where had the bullets come from?
Scarlett's head jerked up just in time to see the men ascend the stairs, all carrying semiautomatic weapons. Outside the window, she saw a glint in a distant tree. A sniper rifle. This was planned. They had come to deliberately kill Max. She surged to her feet, raising her hands and clenching them into fists. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to defend herself against these men.
They all pointed their weapons at her but didn't fire.
Why?
"Y'all aren't going to kill me?" she spat at them, eyes shifting between them. None of them wore masks, letting her see their faces. So they were planning on killing her. Why wasn’t she dead already? Her stomach clenched. What were they going to do with her? "What do you want?"
"Put your hands on your head and kneel," one of them ordered.
Scarlett laughed. "You are going to kill me, so if you think I'll do as you say—"
The man strode forward. A fist flew at Scarlett's face but she ducked it, slamming her palm into his nose. By that time the other men were there as well, and something hard hit her head. Scarlett collapsed, black whirling through her vision. She tried to fight back as her hands were yanked behind her back. One strap of her sundress snapped.
She snarled, kicking, even though the pounding in her head was like a heard of wildebeest trampling on her brain. Zip ties bit into her wrists, pressing them together. The men jerked her to her feet again, looking pleased with themselves. Scarlett spat in the nearest man's face, earning herself another slap in the face.
They didn't speak as they marched her out of the room, leaving Max's still body behind. Scarlett fought against her captors, screaming and howling as she kicked. Her head pounded and more than once she thought she was going to vomit from pain and fear. She couldn't get free. If she wasn't so frightened about what would happen now, she would be a sobbing mess.
Max was dead. He was dead and there was no coming back from that.
The men dragged her down the stairs to the main room. Sitting on the couch was another man. Scarlett froze, her fear overwhelming her for a moment. She knew the man. His face was etched into her mind from the times she had watched the news about the police investigation about the two bodies that had been found stuffed into his safe.
That she had found stuffed into his safe.
Scarlett forced herself to straighten, walking rather than making her captors drag her along. So this was why they hadn't killed her. Because Ken Madoc wanted to kill her himself. He had finally found her, and this was the end of it all.
"Hello, Kitty Cat," he said, with a wide grin. "I have been looking forward to meeting you for a long time."
"I prefer the Gentlewoman Thief," Scarlett replied, working hard to keep the tremor from her voice.
"I prefer Kitty Cat." His gaze ran down her body, clearly trying to intimidate her.
It worked. Her skin crawled. "How did you find me?"
Madoc shrugged. "A friend of mine has been investigating you. When I learned that Kitty Cat burglar might be Maximillian Barnes' fiancée… well, I had to come see for myself. And here you are. And here I am. Together at last."
Chapter Nine
"What should we do with the other one?" the man who had dragged Scarlett down the stairs asked Madoc.
"Barnes? Toss him into the ocean. Give the sharks a little snack."
Max. Scarlett whimpered, hating the thought of him being tossed away like so much garbage. He was kind and gentle, he deserved so much better than to be shot down like a dog and fed to sharks. But that was what was happening, and it was all her fault.
Don't be silly. There was n
o way you could have known any of this was going to happen, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, but it was cold comfort. The fact was that she knew Madoc had been after her, and Max had got in the way. If it wasn't for her, he would not be dead.
"Are those tears, Kitty Cat?" Madoc peered at her and laughed aloud. "Those are tears! Imagine that, you're actually crying for him. What's the matter, did you fall in love with your mark? Or are you crying because you won't be able to steal anything from him now?"
"I was not scamming him," Scarlett said. For some reason, it was really important that Madoc understood that. "He was a good, kind man and—"
"Spare me." Madoc held up his hand and rolled his eyes. "If I wanted to hear a woman's whining, I would have brought my wife along with me."
Minutes later the men came back down the stairs, lugging Max's body with them. Scarlett couldn't stop another cry. Her legs gave out and she collapsed to the floor. Max's face was white, his eyes glassy. Up until this moment, she had been hoping against hope that somehow he had survived the onslaught, that he would heal…
But he was dead. And she would be dead soon enough. It might have been comforting if it didn't mean their child would also die.
Madoc strode past her, towards the man who was directing the others who were carrying Max's body. Scarlett watched him, pure hatred filling her chest. She yanked at the ties that held her bound, slicing them into her skin as she attempted to free herself. Madoc would die. She had never killed before, but right now what she wanted more than anything else was to see him dead on the floor, for his blood to coat her hands and to see the life leave his body.
"How many rooms are up there?" Madoc didn't bother to lower his voice.
"Two."
Madoc turned back towards Scarlett, a cruel smile twisting his mouth. Scarlett shrank back, her anger freezing into cold dread. His meaning was clear. Bile rose and she choked it down–maybe if she waited until the right moment to vomit he wouldn't…