Chapter Six
Max heard the shower running, and then about fifteen minutes later, nothing. Once he knew Quinn was asleep, he went on the hunt. At his door, he looked at his man.
“I don’t expect any problems, but you protect that woman with your life. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” his man vowed.
He headed to the elevator and a minute later, slid behind the wheel of his car.
Leaving his underground parking, he drove from Marina del Rey to Asshole Bryan’s apartment.
He never liked the bastard, but it wasn’t until he attacked Quinn that he fully understood why.
For the past year, he’d kept his distance from her.
His life was too dangerous, too consuming.
Too illegal. After all, his only purpose to be in Los Angeles was to launder the money coming from the Asian market.
Buying, selling and distributing art was a perfect way to scrub it clean.
Now, he had a new mission. Bryan was going to pay for putting his hands on Quinn.
Because of the background check he’d done on Quinn, he’d also checked Bryan out, which had provided the man’s address.
Parking on the street, Max made his way to Bryan’s building.
The two-story walk-up apartment was easily accessible and it didn’t take him long to break the door lock and enter the messy inside.
It was a pigsty. Clothes strewn everywhere.
Dirty dishes stacked on every available surface.
Unopened mail, newspapers, boxes. Odd and ends.
A ripped couch. Empty beer bottles. A lingering stench of dirt and grease offended his sense of smell.
“She dated this shithead?” he muttered to himself.
The sound of a shower turning off let him know exactly where his target was located. He leaned against the wall in front of the door, slipped on a pair of brass knuckles, and waited for Bryan to come out. A moment later, it opened and as soon as he saw Max, he jumped.
“Fucking hell!” Bryan yelled. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I’m glad you’re wearing a towel,” Max said blandly. “Last thing I want to see is your floppy dick.”
“What the—how did you get in?”
“Did you know this type of midcentury-esque building is called a dingbat complex?” Max asked, ignoring Bryan’s questions. “Interesting, since that’s what I consider you to be.”
“Just get out of here, man.”
Max relished the fear in Bryan’s voice. “Are you scared? Because Quinn was terrified, so I want to make sure your level of terror is the same.”
“Look, I’m in a towel.” The pitch in Bryan’s voice went up. “I-I promise I won’t touch her again—”
“You damn sure won’t,” Max stated harshly. “You go anywhere near her and you’re a dead man. In fact, you even think her name, and I’ll come back here and break your damn legs.”
“You’re threatening me?”
“You’re God-damn right I am. The only reason you’re still breathing is because Quinn doesn’t want me to get into trouble.
” He shook his head in bemusement. “Imagine that. She doesn’t give a shit about if I hurt you.
Instead, the only thing she’s worried about is me.
I can’t believe you fucked up with a woman like Quinn. ”
Bryan snorted. “I always thought there was something going on between you two.”
“Not until you blew it. She’s mine now.”
“Look, you can have her. I don’t want any trouble.”
Max pushed off the wall and took another threatening step toward Bryan.
“Then you should’ve kept your fucking hands to yourself.
But you didn’t, you piece of shit. You punched her.
Marked her. Terrified her. And now you’re begging for a reprieve?
I promised I wouldn’t kill you, but I never promised I wouldn’t make you bleed. ”
Bryan raised his hands “No, man. I’m sorry.”
“You’re gonna be.”
Before Bryan could move, Max hauled off and socked him in the face.
In the same place where Quinn was punched, and he didn’t stop at one.
Bryan went down between the toilet and the bathtub, trapped as Max hit him over and over again.
He didn’t want to stop, but Quinn’s voice continued to ricochet through his head.
Once Bryan was a blubbering mess, Max stopped his attack and straightened up.
“Quinn is under my protection. You better not show your face around her again, or I’ll be back to make sure you stop breathing. Understand?”
Bryan just cried, so Max kicked his feet.
“Hey, asswipe, understand?”
“Y-yes,” Bryan gasped.
“Good, because you don’t want me to track you down.”
Then Max left the motherfucker on the bathroom floor, crying and bleeding heavily.
****
Early the next morning, Quinn lay in bed, the left side of her face sensitive as she tenderly probed the area.
Shame and embarrassment rolled together in an endless tussle, replaying over and over in her mind all the crap Bryan had said to her over time.
How they would always do something he wanted to do.
Or how he would manipulate situations to favor himself.
Why hadn’t she seen through him? Seen that he had a vicious temper?
It made her question herself. Question any judgement she’d make in the future.
Two years she wasted on him, and it made her feel utterly stupid.
There was a knock on her bedroom door, and she hastily wiped the moisture from her face before telling Max he could enter. He came in carrying a cup of coffee and a little bag from the local pastry shop. She pushed to sit up, resting against the headboard.
“Got you a doughnut,” he said. When he spotted her face, he frowned.
“Are you in pain?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then what?”
“I’m feeling humiliated,” she mumbled.
He sat down on the side of the bed next to her. “Don’t feel that way. This is on his shoulders, not yours.”
“Easy to say, harder to feel.”
He took hold of her hand. “He’s never going to hurt you again.”
“Is he alive?” It was supposed to sound sarcastic, but there was a measure of unsure curiosity.
He studied her, head tilted. “Would you miss him?”
Now her heart pounded. There was an edge of steel in his voice. His gaze sharper than an eagle. The conversation they had the day before played through her head.
“Did you kill him?”
“No, but if he comes around you again, I can’t guarantee he’ll stay breathing.”
She relaxed at that. “Did you beat him up?”
“Yes. Are you scared of me now?”
His expression remained neutral, although he watched her closely, and she had this feeling he was waiting for something. As for his question, she shook her head.
“No. I will never be scared of you. You’d never hurt me.”
“You’re absolutely right about that. I’ll never lay a finger on you.”
“I won’t miss that monster,” she stated firmly.
He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but shut it at the last minute and shook his head. “I just wanted to make sure you’re over him.”
“Who, Bryan? Damn right I am. If I ever see that jerk again, I’m going to kick his balls up into his rectum.”
He smiled tenderly. “That’s my girl. Here, drink your coffee and eat your doughnut. I’m going to work in my office for a bit.”
“Okay,” she said, taking her breakfast. “Oh, by the way, I didn’t know you spoke French.”
He stilled. “How did you know that I spoke French?”
“I overheard you through the office door. Do you speak any other languages?”
“I know curse words in Italian. Does that count?”
She laughed then winced as the skin on her bruised cheek pulled. “Maybe you could teach me some.”
“What? Italian curse words?”
“No, French. It’s a beautiful language.”
“That it is. Helps when I’m talking business. Rest now. I’ll check in later.”
“Okay.”
He stood and, much to her surprise, kissed the top of her head. Then he left her in the beautiful bedroom with the sun shining through the sheer curtains.