4. Leona #2
His back went ramrod straight. I could practically see the hair on the back of his neck rise.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Yeah.” It was the only response I had.
His palm braced against his side. Perhaps absentmindedly, his hand felt his back to find it bare.
His muscles expanded and contracted while he sucked in a breath and slowly turned, scooting himself up on the bed to stare at me.
He rested his back against the headboard while I tried to keep my eyes from roaming over the ridges of his abs.
I hadn’t seen him shirtless since…I couldn’t remember the last time. Probably when we were kids, playing in the slip and slide in his parents’ backyard during the summer.
It had been a long time since then.
“Care to tell me about the tattoo on your back?”
He dragged a hand down his face to rub the sleep from the corners of his eyes, flinching at the black and blue swelling. Beneath the injuries, his face looked the same, but different. A transformed Max, brought low by the agony of a busted face.
“Not really, no.”
His voice was gravelly. I handed him the glass of water Cas had left on the end table. He drank the entire thing.
“Tell me.”
“It’s just a tattoo,” he said quietly while placing the glass down and avoiding my stare. “It means nothing.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Even now, you’re so full of shit.”
He peered at me, eyes empty and hard. His words were slow. “What do you want it to mean, Leona?”
My lips pressed together. I’d been asking myself that question for the last thirty minutes.
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Flipping it around on me. Dodging the question.”
He shrugged noncommittally. Frustration tightened my fists into balls.
“I don’t know what I want it to mean,” I said. My voice dropped to a whisper. “But I’m telling you the truth when I say that I’m getting so goddamn tired of the secrets and lies, Max.”
“I…” His throat worked, and he stared with those steely grey eyes. “Where are we?”
I folded my arms across my chest. I couldn’t stand here and pretend not to see that tattoo. Not to feel it like a knife in my gut. What would be worse? That it meant what I thought it meant, even though there was no way that was possible? Or that it didn’t?
I had to get out of here.
“A safe place, at least for now. There’s medicine on the end table. Take it. Go back to sleep.”
“Where are you going?” he asked while I walked to the door.
“I have work to do,” I said, not even turning around. It wasn’t worth my time or energy. We’d saved him, I’d give him safe harbor, but after that? No idea. We were playing this entire situation minute by minute.
“Wait—” he called as my hand closed around the door handle. “Wait, Leona.”
I paused. My voice was empty. “Why?”
“Thank you.”
My eyes snapped to his. His face was still swollen, but I saw the earnestness in his gaze.
“Thank you for saving me. Bringing me with you.”
“Cas carried you. And stitched you up.”
“I’ll thank him, too.”
“The guys protected you.”
His jaw clenched. “I’ll also thank them.”
My hand was still on the door handle. I leaned my head against the wood of the door and closed my eyes. “Be honest with me, Max. For once. Can you do that?”
I heard him shift on the bed behind me. “Yes,” he said softly.
“What is supposed to happen next? We’re safe, for now. The Camorra are probably taking over New York as we speak. Are you going to disappear, like when you left me after the Albanians kidnapped us? Just slip away without a word?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Do I have another choice?”
Emotion choked my throat. Did he? Was I offering him one? “You always have a choice, Max.”
“I don’t think your men would be happy if I didn’t leave.”
“You’re right. They won’t be happy.” Ryu had been vocal about his displeasure at Max being here, but both Ciel and Wynn seemed against it, too. Obi was planning something, the gears turning in his head were crystal clear, and Cas seemed to feel conflicted the same way I did.
Max had been our enemy for so long. Now we were taking care of him?
It didn’t make sense, even with the Camorra bearing down on us.
Obi had told me weeks ago that Max was a problem that required a solution, and I didn’t see an answer that didn’t leave one of us upset. So then, what was I supposed to do?
The six of us had to agree on whatever we did. I wouldn’t accept any other conflict.
“Then I’ll go. I don’t belong here anyway.”
“Is that what you want?”
His voice dropped. “Yes.”
My nails dug into the surface of my palms as I faced him. “You promised you’d be honest.”
He covered his face with his hands, then dragged them through his hair with a heavy sigh. “I…I don’t want to go. I have nowhere else to go.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to be here.”
He chuckled, staring at his hands in his lap. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
“I think I’m owed your true feelings for once.”
“I want to stay,” he gusted out, finally meeting my eye. “Please. At least for now.”
My lips pressed together. I let go of the door and came to sit on the edge of the bed. “You can stay. For now.”
He sighed in relief. “Okay.”
“I wouldn’t kick you out.” I meant the words, but if it came down to my men wanting him gone, he’d have to leave. “You’re hurt.”
He’d helped me get free of that godforsaken ship. He’d held me through my pain and brokenness. He’d wiped the blood from my wounds. The least I could do was return the favor.
An awkward silence stretched between us.
He shifted closer on the bed until he sat next to me, his long legs hanging off the bed beside mine.
Someone—most likely Cas—had changed him into this new set of clothes.
Athletic shorts, without the shirt. His hands braced against his knees, his fingers curled inward into his palms. Sitting up had to be painful with all his bruises and cuts, but here he was.
I decided a while ago that I didn’t want to kill Max, and I didn’t think he wanted to kill me either. I trusted that, but I didn’t trust him. All he’d ever done was lie, and any admission we’d gotten from him was like pulling teeth. Just because I let him stay didn’t mean my guard was down.
Not until he earned it—if that ever happened.
“Tell me about the tattoo,” I tried again.
His fists tightened, and his voice broke. “I can’t, Leona.”
“Max—”
“Not right now,” he added. “Please. You’re tired of the secrets. So am I, piccola. I just need time.”
His knuckles brushed against my thigh, just barely. I had no idea how to react or what to do. With the Camorra after us, did we even have time?
I wanted to reach out to him, to grab his hand or touch his cheek or do something that would put his skin in contact with mine. The ache inside my chest was painful. But I’d chased Max for most of my life, and all he’d done was hurt me.
“Rest, Max,” I said as I stood. “We’re going to make a plan in a little bit, and I’ll let you know what’s next.”
His eyes burned a hole in my back as I slipped out of his room.