Chapter 14
The void inside Max has been more tamed lately. Moments alone used to feel unbearable, like he was in the middle of the ocean with his head barely above water. Now, those moments are just filled with thoughts of her.
It’s late. Way past his bedtime. Max should have been in bed hours ago, fast asleep. Instead, he waits in the shadows behind a club, hidden in the filthy service corridor where the streetlights don’t quite reach.
The only bright light comes from his phone as he checks the time for the umpteenth time. Each minute drags, irritating him a little more with every glance. He looks up toward the exit, letting the cool night air wash over the bare skin of his face. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this.
He’d thought that taking her a few times would calm whatever was wrong with him. Instead, it only intensified the craving.
The thought of her leaving work alone through this secluded passage at night bothers him. She seems wholly unaware of just how dangerous the night can be in the big city. He’s been told she usually ends her shifts casually walking to the bus stop with both earbuds in.
She’s a bit too oblivious, and while that would annoy him in anyone else, he finds it oddly endearing in her.
So here he is, standing just outside, eyeing wayward drunks and sketchy passersby until they catch sight of his imposing frame and flinch, scurrying off like rats.
He’s here so she doesn’t have to face another drunkard alone.
And because there’s something he’s been dying to tell her.
He wonders if he’ll look creepy to her, standing in the dark, when another passerby catches sight of him and gasps.
“What the fuck, man?” the stranger complains before walking away, shaking his head.
Hearing that, Max steps forward into the edge of the dim light, just enough to let her see him. The last thing he wants is to scare her the way he scared that guy.
Standing alone in the shadows, dressed head-to-toe in black, definitely isn’t helping. He presses his lips together, annoyed with himself for not choosing something less threatening.
He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, imagining her expression when she sees him again.
Maybe she’ll be annoyed, her soft brows furrowing with wariness like they did when they met at Will’s place.
Most likely, she’ll be mad and hurl terrible names at him, like she did before he took her in his shower.
But he hopes there’s a slim chance she’ll see him and, remembering how good it felt to be held in his arms, grace him with her smile.
He likes the idea of her face brightening at the sight of him.
He knows how ridiculous it is to obsess over a woman who barely wants anything to do with him, but apparently, he isn’t immune to making a fool of himself.
She has no stake in his power struggles, no link to the wounds that shaped him. This should feel like a waste of time. Yet he keeps showing up for her anyway, fully aware of how irrational it is and unable to stop himself.
He can't deny any longer that he's deeply infatuated with the woman who keeps rejecting him; she acts like she can't be bought, yet grinds so hard just to overpay for a sublease in some filthy, rundown building, sharing a cramped unit with a roommate who is clearly exploiting her. It’s almost laughable if she weren’t so adorable.
More time passes, and he starts to feel a little bored. He watches people file out through the back exit, growing increasingly disappointed. Their meaningless chatter fades as they disappear down the corridor.
Still no sign of Lila.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
His foot taps against the ground before he lifts it and brings it down hard, crushing bits of broken asphalt beneath his shoe.
At least everything else is going according to plan, Max thinks, quietly mulling over the information his latest hire managed to dig up on everyone with a stake in CTEC.
When Gunther brought her to one of the club’s hidden rooms on the top floor, he revealed exactly what kind of man he was.
There was no hesitation, no questions—not even a flicker of concern.
For the right price, he handed her over as if she were just another line item in a ledger.
That was all Max needed to see. In that moment, Gunther proved himself useful, and Max got exactly what he came for.
Max knows better than to waste time on people who claim to have principles. Those who talk about morality always believe theirs are unbreakable. But everyone breaks eventually. And what breaks them matters far more when it comes to understanding a person.
Men like Gunther, who treat morality as nothing more than a suggestion rather than a rule, are the most reliable of all.
They are predictably transactional. They aren’t vulnerable to guilt, remorse, or inner conflict.
They understand only two simple currencies: payment and consequences.
As long as those terms are clear, they rarely stray. And Max has both in abundance.
Beyond the dossiers on CTEC’s inner circle, he made sure Gunther found out everything worth knowing about her.
After her mother’s passing, when Lila was thirteen, she went to live with her maternal grandmother—a woman who kept a strict household shaped by heavy religious expectations.
Under that kind of watch, Lila likely had little room for dating.
She attended a private all-girls Catholic school in a nearby town and graduated near the top of her class.
The only boyfriend she seemed to have had was someone she met in college, but by the time they got together, he had already graduated, so their time together was limited.
Tame as things might seem on the surface, Max has a strong inkling that a girl who abruptly left her hometown to start fresh thousands of miles away in a city where she knows no one must be hiding some secrets.
Every little piece of the puzzle is slowly falling into place, and the knowledge that he is close to unraveling the enigma that is Lila Thorne excites him.
Lila’s roommate finally exits, followed by a few others, all dressed in revealing outfits. Their shrill laughter and the way they playfully choke and shove one another unsettle him as his eyes scan the group for a familiar face.
Lila is still nowhere to be seen.
At last, the piercing noises of the group dwindle as they reach the end of the walkway.
He watches the last of them disappear into the distance, a disapproving look on his face as he wonders why her roommate would leave without her.
The heavy metal door creaks open again, snapping his attention back.
Lila, finally out, quickly descends the stairs, her annoyance palpable. The door closes behind her with a hard thud.
“Ugly, miserable prick,” she mutters under her breath as she makes her way down the dimly lit passage.
His heart surges when he catches sight of her pulling on his hoodie, as if she can’t get it on fast enough. She wears simple black leggings and a thin T-shirt underneath, one hand gripping a plastic bag holding her heels, choosing instead to walk home in white sneakers streaked with mud.
She nearly walks right past him, steps quick and purposeful, until something in her gut stops her cold. Spinning around, her hazel eyes lock onto his.
She freezes, expression strained.
Gripping the shoulder straps of her battered crossbody bag, she holds it tightly to her body, as if he were a street mugger in disguise.
“Lila—”
Without hesitation, she spins on her heel and flees.
Down, down, down the short passageway, which somehow feels endless. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears with each frantic step.
But it is all for naught. His hand clamps around her arm, yanking her back toward him.
“Lila! Stop,” he urges. “It’s me!”
She whips around and, in a strangled whisper, cries out, “What do you want?” She gazes up into the bottomless eyes that have haunted her dreams for the past week, feeling an unsettling churn in her stomach.
“I’m here because you haven’t been answering my calls. What took you so long to come out? I was starting to worry.”
She had hoped that by ignoring him, he’d take the hint and leave her alone. Summoning every ounce of courage to appear brave, she snaps, “Newsflash, asshole: if a girl doesn’t pick up your calls, she’s not interested.”
For good measure, she adds, “So, fuck off.”
“Careful, Lila,” he cautions, a small smile spreading across his face. “I’m a human being with feelings, you know.”
“Well, that’s news to me,” she fires back, prompting a low chuckle to rise from his throat.
“Do you like arts and crafts?” he asks.
“What kind of question is that?” she replies, confused, clearly caught off guard.
“A very benign one, if I must label it,” he says, tapping his chin in mock contemplation.
She starts to walk away, quickening her pace toward the main street, planning her escape, unaware that both his personal driver and bodyguard are waiting just outside.
“I’m just wondering,” he continues, effortlessly keeping stride beside her, hands tucked casually in his trouser pockets. “I want to know everything about you. I find you very, very interesting.”
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re very, very wrong, and I’m very, very boring. So please, please kindly fuck off and find someone else to stalk.”
She tosses him a glare over her shoulder but doesn’t stop walking. She’s nearly at the edge of the corridor.
He grabs her arm so suddenly she almost stumbles.
Furious, she whirls around and shoves him with all her might.
His chest, solid as granite, absorbs the blow with ease. The impact reverberates through her bones, jolting adrenaline through her limbs. It’s like hitting a brick wall.
“Do you do this often?” she yells. “Lurk in dark places, waiting for tired, innocent women to get off work just so you can mess with them?”
She had braced herself for anger, for a raised voice, a threat… but he remains calm. Too calm. Unsettlingly so. As if this is all perfectly normal.
“No. Just you,” he replies, disturbingly earnest.
Then he releases her.
“A little birdie told me your boss has been having some car trouble,” he adds casually.
The mention of her manager’s car snags her attention immediately. She pauses, eyes narrowing, waiting for him to elaborate.
“The nights are getting colder,” he says softly. “You should dress properly for the weather.”
Despite the urge to snap back with sarcasm, her energy drains as she watches him lean in, pull the hood over her head, and adjust the drawstrings. The absurdity of the moment makes her head swim. He shifts from forceful monster to tender giant with unsettling ease.
She knows she may regret asking, but the question slips out anyway.
“Why are you bringing up my manager’s car?”
“I thought you might be interested to hear that, fortunately for the culprit, your manager isn’t very popular with the people on his street.
A neighbor’s been sitting on some neat footage of an extremely cute little vandal taking her time to deeply carve ‘Fucker’ into his black BMW.
It’s a little juvenile for my taste, but I appreciate the DIY attempt at customization with the added touch of slashed tires. ”
Her eyes widen as realization dawns.
“…Hence my inquiry about your hobbies. First time fixing up a car?”
“You fucker!” she curses under her breath, voice tight with emotion.
“I thought that’s your manager?” he asks, grinning, completely unfazed.
She shakes her head in disbelief, stepping back, wary, and furrowing her brows.
“Now that I have your attention, let’s talk.”
“Are you insane?” she says, flabbergasted, fingers gripping her shoulder strap tighter. She glances sideways, considering escape. Her heart hammers against her ribs, begging her to bolt, but some invisible force pins her in place.
What actually happens to people who vandalize property? Would he tell Tony? Would I be fired? Fined? Jailed? All three?
“Lila, even when you think no one’s watching, it’s crucial to make sure nothing can implicate you before engaging in illicit activity. Overlooking security cameras is the mark of an amateur.”
“I’m sure you’re quite familiar with illicit activities,” she replies, tone sharp with anger, clearly bothered by his critique.