Chapter 5
Maxim
When I open the bathroom door, a delicious smell of cooking hits my nostrils. My mouth waters. There she is, busy at the stove, with two pans going.
I shove my hands in the pockets of some other guy’s jeans and wander over.
“Smells great.”
She turns to me with a pleased smile. “Nothing fancy, just eggs and bacon. But I figure there’s nothing better for breakfast.”
“Damn straight,” I say.
“Easy over.” She dumps three eggs on a plate and adds five rashers of bacon.
“Just how I like ‘em.”
“I know,” she says.
“Huh?”
“Once we talked about how we liked our eggs.”
I huff out a laugh. “We did?”
“Yup.” She looks solemn. “It was a serious conversation.”
My chest warms. I can’t believe she’s remembered all these years. I put the plates down on the table and bring the coffee cups over, too.
Everything is fantastic.
“I can’t believe how good all this tastes after all the prison food,” I say.
“I’ll bet,” she replies. “When I was cooking all the food yesterday I made a special effort, because I felt bad for all you guys eating prison chow.”
My jaw drops. “You cooked all that food yourself?”
“Yes,” she says, all sweet and self-conscious again, but with a hint of pride.
“I only tasted a few mouthfuls before—before all that shit went down, but it was real special, Emory. You’ve got talent.”
“I’m happy if you think so.” She sighs. “I used to dream of being a chef. Before… you know. And I love working in the kitchen at Sinner’s, but most of the customers are shifters—” She blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply…”
I bark out a laugh. “Most shifters prefer their meat raw, with the heart still beating. And they probably complain when the flavor is ruined with sauces and spices, right?”
She bites at her bottom lip. “Yeah, pretty much.”
My grin fades because now I can’t stop staring at the redness of her lower lip. The way it’s so plump and pretty. I imagine drawing it into my mouth, running the tip of my tongue across it.
Stop it, Maxim.
“Your talents are wasted there,” I tell her. “You should open your own place. Not a pub. A big, fancy restaurant in a big town.”
A light comes into her eyes, but it’s gone fast, and she shrugs.
A knife twists in my gut again. Because I know what that shrug means, and I hate it. It’s too dangerous. She’ll never be able to live a public life like that.
“So, tell me about the pub. Who are the staff, the customers?” I ask, desperate to distract her.
“My boss is Meredith, a bear shifter.” A smile plays at her lips.
“She’s like my surrogate mom. She and her sister, Carolyn, take care of all the waifs and strays who come to the town to hide out.
There’s a dorm upstairs where a bunch of them stay.
She’s been real kind to me. There’s a bartender—Jason—”
My beast snarls. “Who is he?” I demand between gritted teeth.
“Ohh…” she stutters, like she’s confused by the intensity of my question. I don’t blame her. I’m already thinking about running him out of town.
“He’s a guy. He’s nice. He’s good at dealing with the difficult customers.”
“Is he into you?” I spit the words out, my jaw aching as my canines lengthen.
She looks stunned. “No, he has a girlfriend or something.”
My beast snorts. Like that would be enough to stop him from going after Emory. She’s absolutely gorgeous. So ready to be claimed. He’s probably been lusting after her non-stop.
“The girls from upstairs work most of the bar shifts. There’s Kelly, Amber, Jennifer…”
I nod. They’re no threat to either her or me. “And the customers—mainly shifters, you said?”
“Yup. It’s a guys’ kind of bar. Rough and ready.”
My beast swells inside me. I don’t like the thought of her working there, one bit.
She grabs her phone and checks the time. “Uh-oh. I’m running late.”
I grab the empty plates. “I’ll wash up. You get ready.”
She starts to protest, then stops herself. “Oh, that’d be great actually. Takes me a minute to…” She gestures at her face.
To disguise herself, she means.
I wash up, dry the dishes, put them away. I’m just folding the dishtowel and laying it on the counter, when I hear the light sound of her footsteps behind me.
I turn around. She’s almost unrecognizable.
She stops short in front of me, her face tense with suppressed emotion. “I look awful, don’t I?”
A pain hits me in the chest. “What do you mean, Emory?”
“All this.” She raises her arms and lets them fall again. “This… armor.”
“N-no. You look great.”
Her eyes turn liquid and for a second, I think she’s going to cry.
“It’s not me.” Her chest heaves and her words tumble out fast. “When you knew me—as a kid—that’s who I was supposed to be.
Everything since then, has been fake. My dad shaping me to his will.
” She barks out a laugh. “Even when I’ve finally escaped him, he’s still influencing my appearance. ”
I stride over to her, and without stopping to think, I take her hands in mine. “Emory, I think you look awesome like this. Real—” I hesitate. Beautiful? Sexy? Desirable?
None of these words are appropriate.
“Cool,” I say at last. Like a real cool, badass chick.”
She goes still.
“And that’s who you are,” I continue.
She shakes her head miserably. “I’m really not, Maxim. All I do is run.”
“That’s not true. Look at the way you turned up all by yourself yesterday and served lunch to a bunch of feral prisoners.”
“What could I do? The guard refused to serve you all.”
I snort. “You could’ve dumped the food and driven the hell away. That’s what most people would’ve done.”
She sighs. “But you wouldn’t have gotten fed.”
A grin spreads across my face. “And that’s what makes you so special, Emory.
You’re not only badass, but you’ve got a beautiful heart.
” I cup her face in my hands. “Most little kids are scared of me. Guess it’s because I’m so big and gnarly-looking.
But you never were. I remember you tottered right up to me and started swinging on my leg. ”
“I always felt safe with you,” she breathes. “I knew you’d protect me.” Her darkened irises are looking right into mine and her lips are a little parted. I realize I’ve been stroking her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.
Like I’m in a dream, I bring my head closer, tilting my jaw. I hear her breath hitch, but she doesn’t pull away.
Holy hell, she has the skin of an angel. My callused fingertips are too rough to be touching it.
Fuck. What am I doing?
I jerk away from her.
“You must be late,” I mutter.
She glances at the clock on the oven. “Shoot. I am.” She keeps her head down while she grabs a purse from a coat peg, but I see her cheeks are an adorable shade of pink.
She wanted me to kiss her.
The thought runs through me like fire.
But that can’t be right. Can it?
I keep my distance as I follow Emory to work.
She’d attract a ton of attention if she was suddenly accompanied by a huge, scary-looking stranger.
That’s what I tell her, anyway. The truth is, I want to scope out the town, check out all the vulnerabilities, places where people could be hiding, watching her.
So, I cling to the shadows, a hundred yards back.
I told her to act natural, to forget that I’m there, and she does.
Most people wouldn’t manage it, but when you grow up the daughter of a crime boss, I guess it comes as second nature to be cool and collected under pressure.
She strolls along at a comfortable pace, arms swinging gently. Hips swaying. Damn. Her ass looks incredible in those tight jeans. Like a juicy, round peach I want to sink my teeth into.
Guilt pours through me. I’ve got to stop thinking these pervy thoughts about her. It’s not right. And I definitely had no right to try to kiss her when she was feeling vulnerable. I’m not that guy—
Mate—my beast insists.
No. She’s too young, too innocent, too perfect for me. I’m going to protect her, that’s all. I’m not going to kiss her, shove my cock inside her, or claim her. Even if I wind up with blue balls for the rest of my life.
My head swivels left and right. If I was looking for suspicious characters in Perdue, I’d be spoiled for choice.
Almost everyone is shady in one way or another, as befits a town of the lost. Eyes peeping between curtains, heads disappearing around corners.
It’s a darn minefield. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle as my wolf takes in one potential hazard after another.
My beast is on high alert, adrenaline pouring through its veins.
Every part of me is screaming, get Emory the hell out of here.
It’s almost impossible to protect her. But protect her is what I promised to do.
To let her live the life she deserves, after she’s been imprisoned and controlled by her father so many years.
I follow her down a side street, onto the main street, then into a network of back alleys. She slows down, giving me time to catch up with her.
Before long we’re standing in front of an old pub with Sinner’s Refuge written above the door. She strides through the front door and hesitates, her small hand hanging onto the door handle.
I speed-walk the last twenty yards and catch the door just as it’s closing. There’s a big bear shifter behind the bar, and as I enter the room, her gaze homes in on me.
“We’re not open yet,” she says, in a voice of flint.
“Meredith, this is Maxim. He’s my—” Emory has slipped behind the bar and is pulling her purse off her shoulder.
We haven’t discussed this part. I was so stirred up by almost kissing her, that I forgot my usual rule—always be as prepared as humanly possible.
Meredith waits silently, watching me with shrewd eyes.
“I’m her bodyguard,” I tell her, sensing that only the truth will do.
“Bodyguard?” she repeats.
“That’s right.” I nod my head respectfully at the older shifter. “So, if it’s all right with you, I’ll just sit quietly in the corner, mind my own business and keep an eye on things.”
Meredith’s attention darts to Emory, whose eyes are wide with uncertainty.
“Is that right, Tiana?” she says.
Tiana. My angel has a new name to go with her new identity. Of course, she does.
“Yes, that’s right, he’s a good guy,” Emory says.
“O-kay.” Meredith draws out the word and I can almost hear the cogs of her brain turning. “In that case, you get a coffee on the house. How do you like it?”
“Strong and black,” I tell her, getting the feeling that I just won an important battle. I take a seat at the least obtrusive table possible.
A few minutes later, Meredith dumps my coffee in front of me. “How long have you known Tiana?” she demands.
“Nearly all her life,” I say, with no hesitation. And tense as this moment is, my chest warms at the thought. “She needs me here. She’s in a lot of danger.”
“Figures.” Meredith looks me up and down. “You look like a big strong wolf.”
“I was her father’s head bodyguard.”
She gives a grunt of approval.
“You got anyone else who can cook for you?” I ask.
She sighs. “Not like Tiana. But people come and go a lot here. I’m lucky to have had her this long.”
We exchange a look, then I head out the back to check on Emory.
And my heart just about stops. Because there she is, doing what she was meant to do.
She’s wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron and a chef’s hat.
And she’s pulling things out of the fridge and laying them on the counter.
She’s a chef, a real chef, I think, and a fantasy pops up in my head of her running a big fancy restaurant, with a whole team of staff working for her.
There’s a weird feeling in my chest—part pain, part pride for her. I make a promise, right here and now, that I’ll help her get her dreams.
“Need a hand?” I say.
She whips around. She didn’t hear me coming. I’m light on my feet when I need to be.
“I’m just doing salad prep,” she says.
I shrug. “I’m good at chopping. I can even handle the onions if you like?” I take in her heavy eye make-up, wondering how she usually handles it.
“Oh, that would be great. I usually get in a real mess.”
Truth is, I hate the sting of onions, too. But I’ll be glad if I can save her the discomfort. I get her to explain how to chop up the pesky critters without screwing them up, and I get to work.
Five minutes later, my eyes are burning like hell. But in front of me is a pile of perfectly minced onion flesh.
“Oh, wow, you’re real fast,” Emory exclaims. Then she tilts her head and fixes me with a mock-serious look. “Didn’t mean to make you cry, though.”
I rub my knuckle in my eyes. “It’s okay. Even tough guys cry sometimes—” I break off. “Where did that come from?”
She laughs. “You used to say it to me when I was crying. My dad always said tears were a sign of weakness, but you convinced me that it takes a strong person to show their emotions.”
There’s a prickle in my chest. The last few years have been tough. I’ve achieved a lot of success, but it’s come at a price, and there hasn’t been much time for laughing and softness. Being with Emory, though—it’s like the sun coming back out, when I thought it was gone for good.
“And I stand by that—” I start to say, but a ringing phone cuts off the end of my sentence. It’s an old landline style, coming from the hallway.
“Ti, can you get that?” yells Meredith from the bar.
“Sure thing!” Emory skips out of the kitchen and heads towards the hallway. I follow her, staying at a distance, so I’m not in her line of sight.
“Sinner’s refuge, this is Tiana,” I hear her say. Then some music starts up and I miss the next few sentences. But then she turns toward me sharply, eyes full of worry. She’s talking about me, and it’s not good.