Chapter 5 #2
“No one,” I repeat. “Maddox and I were just friends,” I remind her. Best friends. “He’s messing with everyone, that’s all. That’s what he does. This is Maddox Hathorne you’re talking about, or has everyone magically forgotten everything is a game to him?”
“How can anyone forget he’s crazy?” Ivory twirls her finger around near her temple.
Well.
That instantly sets me off.
“He’s not crazy.” My shout draws the attention of a couple passing us by on the street. Lower, calmer, I repeat, “He’s not crazy.”
But he is, and he’s always been the first to admit it—openly, bluntly. Maddox has mental issues. This is a well-known fact. He can also be dangerous. But that doesn’t mean I’ll allow anyone, not even Ivory, to besmirch him in my presence.
Even monsters need a champion, and I’ve always been his.
That hasn’t changed, and it never will.
“Let’s agree to disagree, babe,” Ivory clips out. Then she glances at her cell phone. “Shit. I’m running late. Gotta get home. Are you hibernating tomorrow night, or will you emerge from your lair and join me at Folly House?”
Leave it to those two degenerates to give their house such an absurd name.
Naturally, Maddox and March are roommates.
And sure, living close to Briar Rose makes sense, but does it have to be only three blocks from Tiger Lily Manor?
It took less than twenty-four hours of me being home before I got caught up on all the gossip about the debauchery that occurs under that now notorious roof.
But come to think about it…
None of the sexy tidbits involved Maddox. Every raunchy tale I heard was about March O’Hare and his endless string of one-night stands.
No, it can’t be.
It’s logically implausible.
There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that Maddox, the filthy dog, isn’t burying his bone in everyone’s yard. For whatever reason—and I can’t even fathom what game he’s playing—he’s just been sneaky about it.
But it’s whatever. I’m done dwelling on this. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Translation. You’re going to hibernate as usual,” Ivory groans, then walks away.
“I didn’t say that!” I shout after her.
She’s right, though. I’ve been home for a month, and I haven’t gone out once despite my best friend’s efforts to drag me to some party or another.
“You can’t tell me you’re not even a teensy bit curious about getting inside that house.” Ivory unlocks the driver’s door of her silver Audi. “Come on, come with me, Alice, please.”
Hell yes, I’m curious, but I’m not ready to face Maddox. But even I inwardly cringe at my ridiculous answer when I say, “I’m saving all my socializing energy for my mother’s stupid party.”
“Coward.”
“Prudent,” I counter.
“You’re no fun,” Ivory quips.
“Not true. I’m loads of fun.”
No, I’m not.
“Remember when I had pneumonia, and I thought I was dying?” she reminds me as she hangs half in the car and half out.
Keys in one hand, garment bag in the other, I roll my eyes. “Oh, my God, the number of tissues and amount of snot and all the complaining you did was unreal.”
“Well, if those two miserable weeks were personified as a living, breathing human being, it would still be more fun than you.”
“Ha, ha. Goodbye.” I press the button on the key fob to unlock the vehicle doors. “Drive safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” She slams the door closed, starts the engine, and lowers the window. “Promise me you’ll at least think about it. I hate knowing everyone’s out having a good time, and you’re locked up in your room with your monsters.”
Because that’s what I enjoy doing these days, drawing monsters. Surrounding myself with beautiful, horrific, haunting creatures—my very own macabre army of nightmarish beasts.
“Fine.” The lie slides too easily off my tongue. “Promise.”
“You better!” Ivory speeds off because, according to her, being on time means she’s already late. Her internal clock runs faster than everyone else’s, and she’s always in a rush even when she’s standing still.
Anticipating the remainder of this fine Friday afternoon spent in front of my easel, I’m about to climb up into my SUV when the song “Don’t Dream It’s Over” by Crowded House grows closer, louder.
Too close. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I’m instantly on alert because this song is an oldie but a goodie, not something commonly heard these days—and among Maddox’s favorites.
Rightfully suspicious, I scan the area, growling, “Fuck,” under my breath when Maddox’s ostentatious purple Dodge pulls up behind my vehicle, parking sideways to block my escape.
The world seems to tilt on its axis when I see, with a clenched jaw, Maddox’s gorgeous smiling face. “Well, hello there.”
I shake my head. “Nope, absolutely not,” I spit out as I lay the garment bag across the backseat and then slam the door closed with a bang.
Maddox dares to look adorably confused. “Absolutely not, what? I haven’t done anything yet.”
Yet.
Yep, I caught that.
“This.” I gesture wildly at us before yanking open the driver’s door of my SUV. I toss my bag inside, then swing back around. “We’re not doing this. Not today. Not ever.”
He’s got the devil in his eyes when he slides out of his car.
We’re a handful of feet apart, making this the closest I’ve been to him since the morning after The Accident, when he visited me at the hospital against my wishes.
That day, we said our goodbyes…even as my heart broke at the prospect of losing him forever.
He lifts a roguish brow as he strolls toward me and rests his arm on my open door, caging me in. “What aren’t we doing, Alice?”
God, the way Maddox growls my name… His rumbling voice skids across my nerves, raising goosebumps along my flesh. “Pretend like you don’t know I want nothing to do with you.”
Lie!
It's a struggle to resist the need to fall into his arms, to kiss him and see if he still tastes of cinnamon and sin.
Perhaps if he'd changed over the years to be less.
..him. Perhaps if his skin wasn't still sun-bronzed, or the hint of mischief had faded from his eyes.
Or if his crooked grin was full of wicked promise as he passes that lazy gaze over me.
But he's still very much him, and god, I hate feeling vulnerable and small—and so very dull compared to the ever-dazzling Maddox Hathorne.
My heart does an odd little jump at how he still wears the top hat, reminding me of how I had to buy him for him.
The moment I saw it, I knew he’d love it.
His burnish-brown hair scrapes his shoulder in wild waves.
His style has evolved from thrifted, mismatched pieces of found fashion to striking modern Gothic without being overly formal or too dramatic.
The charcoal button-down with its rolled-up sleeves shows off tattooed hands and forearms and is the ideal contrast against the black brocade vest. Dark jeans and black boots pair well, but the gold chain hanging in a loop down his right thigh catches—and holds—my attention.
He still wears that as well—the gift I gave him for his sixteenth birthday.
“Oh, no, Alice, believe me, you’ve made that abundantly clear.” Maddox gives me a familiar, careless shrug. “Thing is, I’ve simply stopped giving a shit.”
“See? And that’s the problem.” I stab a finger at him. “You need to respect my boundaries.”
His smirk is adorable. Devastatingly adorable.
“I respected your precious boundaries for three fucking years.” He uses his fingers to count off each item as he barks out, “I didn’t call.
Didn’t text. Didn’t show up at your fucking doorstep.
” He grips the car door and leans in closer, crowding me behind the wheel.
“I left you alone like you wanted, and we were both miserable.”
“I wasn’t miserable,” I whisper, the lie weak even to my ears.
Smoothly, Maddox moves even closer until all I see is him. All I smell is the vetiver scent of his cologne. Until the manic energy radiating from him seeps into me, making each breath shallow and strained. “Bull. Shit.”
Stubbornly, I shake my head and look away. “No, I wasn’t miserable, Maddox, and we’re done here. I need to go.”
His audacity to cup my chin and turn my head to make me face him is astounding, but not unexpected. “I’m not done with you.”
“Really? Too bad, because I’m not playing games with you.”
“No games.” His tone is suddenly far too serious, and his expression is pure evil. His touch, however, is a scorching flame. “Unless you ask me nicely. Then I’ll play with you all you want for as long as you need.”
I drag in a shuddering breath and pry his hand off my chin. “Stop,” I breathe. “Please, Maddox, stop.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” He invades all my space, grabbing me and twisting my whole body, shifting me so that my legs dangle out of the SUV.
I try to close my legs, but he nudges them open and steps in closer.
Close enough for the heat of his groin to seep past the flimsy barrier of my panties.
“Admit you missed me, even if only a smidge.”
I shake my head again. “No, not even a smidge.” But the lie tastes like shit in my mouth.
“Sure you didn’t.” His lips graze the upper shell of my ear, sending a sublime wave of chills dancing over my flesh. “I’ve missed you, Malice, so fucking much it hurt more each day you were gone.”
That name—his name for me—does beautiful, terrible, treacherous things to me. It awakens emotions inside me that I wish would remain dormant. Sends diabolical currents rushing through my body that light me up in all the best—and worst—places.
I flatten my palms on his solid chest and try to shove Maddox away, but the tenacious man is a solid wall of immovable muscle.
When he grins down at me in a way that has a whole horde of butterflies beating their wings around deep within my belly, I shoot backward as far as possible so I can suck in a breath that isn’t saturated with him.
“Nothing’s changed because I came home. Please, Maddox, leave me alone.”
Why can’t he understand how much it kills me to be around him?
The trace of his knuckle down the bridge of my nose is a knife across my heart, bleeding my soul dry at this man’s feet. “Still stubborn, even now.”
I slap his hand away and stitch myself back together. “Not stubborn. Determined to keep the past behind me.”
A flicker of…dare I call it betrayal…flashes across his exquisite face. “Is that what I am to you, Alice, your past?”
Before I can answer, the sky seems to respond with a distant crack of thunder despite there not being a single cloud overhead. It’s as if I’ve stirred the wrath of some ancient god by rejecting this man.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” I stammer because, honestly, right now, with him this close, I want to get lost in him.
Let him kiss away the last three years. I want to use his strength because I’ve spent every ounce of my own.
God, I’m so tired, so weary, of carrying my burdens alone.
“We’re friends, okay? We began as friends, and we’ll always be friends.
Now, please, Maddox, let me go. You need to let me go. ”
For a man his size, Maddox is shockingly agile.
Graceful. His movements are fluid when he steps out from between my legs.
It’s odd how suddenly the air seems colder, ripe with impending rain.
I’ve always enjoyed the sweet zing of ozone, but I’ve always loved the smell of Maddox more, and I resist the annoying urge to yank him back for one more sniff.
Maddox wags a finger at me with a playful tsk.
“See, now that’s where you’re wrong. I have all the friends I need.
” He moves me, shifting my legs again, sliding them back under the steering wheel.
“You and I have always been a bit more, haven’t we, Malice?
You can’t change that, no matter what lie you tell yourself.
Drive safe.” His wink is positively devious. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Sooner than he thinks.
Because if Maddox wants to play, fine. I’ll play—but this time, it’ll be on my terms.
He closes the door, and I watch him through the rearview mirror as he saunters to his Dodge.
I mentally prepare myself to bring his game to him, because if he wants to ambush me, I can ambush him right back.
Saturday night, I’ll show up on his doorstep as bold as the devil herself.
Get all up inside his head and spin him around, the same way he does to me.
Two can play dirty ball—and he seems to have forgotten that he’s the one who taught me how to fight unfairly.
My only problem is that Maddox plays the game better, and he plays it filthier.
Also, he’s relentless.
But that doesn’t deter me from my newly formed (and probably terrible) plan.
But that’s not what scares me when I hit the gas and drive away.
What has my heart beating wildly against my sternum as I speed down Main Street is that a part of me is a demented glutton for agony who enjoys Maddox’s attention.
I prayed he’d have fought harder for me.
Hoped each text I got, each call, and each knock at my door was him.
Shutting him out of my life was a unique brand of torment…
even though being around him was equally painful because it forced me to remember the night my dad died.
To feel that night all over again, and again, and again, until I had to put distance between us to salvage my sanity.
But that never stopped me from wondering about the what-if.
What if my father hadn’t died that night?
What if I’d stayed in Wonderland?
What if I hadn’t pushed Maddox away?
And what if I dared to tear down the wall between us and let him back in?
What if…