He spun her back toward the limo before she could do it, startling another surprised cry out of her. “This is done,” he said against her ear, pushing himself hard against her body, trapping her against the car. He could hear that pulse rabbiting beneath his grip. “We’re not friends, we’re not lovers. You don’t know a fucking thing about me. You don’t have what I need, you’ll never have it. All your fucking useless dreams about me are just bullshit little-girl fantasies. That’s it. We’re done.”
He was hot and hard, a rutting monster fueled by watching Frank study her, Master L’s hands touching her skin, their eyes calculating how she would surrender to them.
“Let go of me,” she said. Her voice was a shaky whisper that would have wrung mercy out of a stone. He felt nothing. He knew how to be mean, so mean that nothing in the world would fuck with him. When she tried to break free, he twisted her arm higher behind her back. Sliding his other hand around, he squeezed her breasts with no finesse, pure brutal possession, intending for it to be uncomfortable, to take only his pleasure and give her none. She struggled, but that just increased the pain to her arm, a deterrent. A sob caught in her throat.
“I’m not the prince in your Beauty and the Beast fairy tale.” He wanted to die right now, because this was all wrong, but it had to be done. He had to do it. “You’re going home, and this is over. You take that job in Milan, and you don’t look back.”
Suddenly, he knew he wasn’t alone. Max stood to his left, just behind him. Tossing dark hair out of his eyes, Ben cocked his head. He gave Max a dangerous fuck-off look, but Max met it head on, his eyes cool. In control in a way Ben wasn’t. “It’s time to let her go, Mr. O’Callahan,” he said. “Right now.”
“Yeah. You’re right about that.” Ben released her, stepped back. He didn’t watch her sag against the limo. He pivoted, was walking away when Max caught her. She would push away from Max immediately, would try to stand on her own. He knew that about her. It would have made him smile if a rusty knife wasn’t cutting into his chest. He didn’t see the tears or the broken look on her face, but he didn’t need to do so. It was branded on his fucking black heart. He hadn’t needed to remove her mask to see every terrible emotion go through those beautiful brown eyes.
You can take shit off the street, dress it up, but it’s still shit. It stains everything eventually.
He didn’t look back, his feet pointed toward the darkest hole of night.
* * * * *
Max didn’t try to touch her again, but he did stay close. “Miss Marcie? Are you all right?”
Marcie stared at the shadowed edge of the parking lot where Ben had disappeared. “Isn’t that a funny thing to say?” she said, her voice high and strange. “When everything is obviously not all right.”
Max took a cautious step closer. Her legs were shaking hard. She had that lovely ass of hers pressed against the car door for support, but her wrist was red where Ben had gripped her, and she’d apparently hit her lip when he slammed her against the car. Jesus Christ, what was going on here? None of the guys had ever treated a woman like this. They’d kill any man who did. Yeah, Ben was into handing out the pain, but to women who craved it for the right reasons. Definitely not in this context.
“I guess people say that because the alternative is saying nothing,” he ventured. “Being silent when it feels like something needs to be said.”
Marcie’s gaze shifted to him then, her eyes brimming. “Yeah,” she said brokenly. “But sometimes there’s nothing to say, Max.” She took a deep breath that seemed to cost her dearly. “I need you to do me a really big favor.”
“No.”
Her expression flickered. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“Yeah, I do. I have to tell Mr. Kensington about this.”
“I’m an adult. It’s my decision to share or not share.” Her voice quivered again. “I swear to God, if you say I’m not an adult, I’m going to find a blunt object and beat you to death with it.”
Despite his best effort, his lips almost twitched. Jesus, she had spirit. Her eyes were actually flashing, even as she swiped at her tears with an impatient hand. “No ma’am. You’re as adult as they get. Hey, no. You stay here.”
She’d been about to push away from the car door, and from the direction of her look, he knew she was going to retrieve her shoes. Stilling her with a gentle hand and a firm look, he strode over to them. Picking them up, he marveled as he always did that women could walk in those things, but he bet Marcie had worked them to the nth degree.
She had a made-for-sex body, but one with a lot of strength to it. He’d seen that punch, was surprised Ben hadn’t spurted blood. She’d had the balance, aim and force that said she knew what she was doing. Which meant she shouldn’t have done it, but it was obvious there was a lot of emotional shit happening on both sides. Besides which, Max knew Ben was a way more lethal fighter than Marcie, even if she had ten black belts.
Since Ben had shown that side of himself in a way he shouldn’t have either, it made Marcie’s response now even more impressive. Max knew men who would have crapped themselves from that deadly backwash that Ben had dished out. They wouldn’t be standing on their own bare feet, trying to hold it together and talk their driver into all sorts of foolishness.
He set his jaw, reminding himself of the dangerous influence of tears and a determined woman. As he came back toward the limo, he could see her gearing up for another try. But Max had his own code. “No,” he repeated, before she could say anything. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Matt needs to know about this.”
“Because I’m a woman.”“Yes. And you’re one of theirs.” He nodded into the night, after Ben. “There’s nothing they take more serious than your well-being. He knows that.” Which opened a whole other set of interesting questions.
“Can you at least give me twenty-four hours before you tell Matt?”
He suppressed a curse at that look, part plea, part demand. Jesus, what the hell was the matter with Ben? He was half tempted to go kick his ass himself. Except Max knew Ben. When she’d landed that punch, something had welled up in the guy, something Max had sensed before from him, but had never seen unleashed like that. He had comrades with PTSD, when the dark shit came up and took over, spilled out like pus running from an old wound. What he’d just seen had felt a lot like that.
Unless he was gravely mistaken about Ben’s character, Max had a feeling that when the man’s head got back on straight and he thought about what he’d just done to her… Hell, he was probably going to figure out a way to kick his own ass, even before Matt Kensington could do it. Which was coming, Max was pretty sure of that. Unfortunately, Ben had probably intended that with this stunt tonight. It was as if he was burning his bridges deliberately. Fucking bastard was all over the map. This wasn’t good.
“I’ll think about it. No promises. Let me get you home.”
“Okay.” She seemed to accept that was the best she was going to get. “Let me go in and clean up my face first. I’m not going back to my sister’s looking like this.” She unlaced the mask, scratching her snarled hair. “Damn, I’m a mess.”
“Fucking hell. Did he do that?” When she raised a surprised face to him, showing the black eye even more clearly, Max was ready to discard any sympathy for Ben and lead the lynch mob himself.
Her brow furrowed, then cleared. “Oh no. That was work. An investigative case I was doing for Pickard. Security guy got the jump on me in an alley over at Pfeiffer. I was going through their Dumpster.”
“Of course. Jesus, girl. You’re a magnet for trouble.”
“Magnet for everything but Ben, apparently.” She stared off into the night again, and Max touched her arm.
“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home.”
“Max, I have to go back in. Ben didn’t let me get my clothes and purse out of the locker room. Asshole.”
Max pressed his lips hard against a smile, though it was balanced with something far more grim, looking at her strained face. No way she was going back into Surreal. Not in this kind of mood. “I’ll go get them. Tell me the number and the code you used.”
When she gave him an obstinate look, he chose a different tack. “Do you really want to go back in there?” he asked quietly.
“No.”
“Then let me go get your stuff. You can clean up in the limo. You’ll find mirror, wet towels, all that girl stuff in the storage compartments.”
“They’re always prepared, aren’t they?” She gave a bitter chuckle.
Not always, Max thought. When she slid into the limo, she gracefully accepted his steadying touch so she managed it without her knees buckling, but then she leveled a glare on him.
“If you engage the child locks while you’re gone, I’ll hotwire the limo and leave you here.”
His lips pursed. “Deal. Just promise me you’ll lock the doors until I get back.”
“Yeah, because stealing a stretch limo is so inconspicuous.”
It wasn’t the limo that concerned him. The passenger was the real treasure. Shutting the door, he pointedly waited until she used the sharp painted nail of one forefinger and jabbed the door locks, engaging them. The exaggerated gesture, the fact she crossed her eyes at him, almost made him smile. The same way the streaked tracks of her tears squeezed his heart in a vise. She was a piece of work.
He was pretty sure Ben was out there watching, probably within hearing distance. He’d wait until he was sure Max was taking her safely home, Max knew it. None of this made sense. He didn’t want to make Marcie unhappier, but he knew his responsibility. To her, to Matt Kensington…and to Ben.
* * * * *
Marcie held it together. She could deal with this. She’d get a good bath, a good night’s sleep, then figure out what to do next. But when Max turned into the driveway, a variety of emotions rose up, nearly choking her. She’d forgotten what night it was. While Cass and the other K&A women had that monthly afternoon tea, they also had the occasional girls’ night as well, which involved cocktails and lots of laughter. Unlike the tea parties, Marcie had never been home for one of those, because Cass made sure all the kids were at sleepovers or other activities on the night in question, probably so discussions could be far more adult.