Chapter 35 #4
“Enough is enough, Matty. These muscles aren’t just for show, you know?
You might have been the favorite, but Daddy’s not here anymore to help you fight.
And you weren’t his only child, yet you keep acting like you were.
It’s really fucking weird. Don’t you think it’s time you learned to share, old man? ”
“I’m going to fucking bury you,” Matt rasps, voice choked as Max’s grip tightens around his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Max looks at him with cold, unflinching eyes. “You can try, but you’ve never been very good at strategy.”
He releases Matt, who collapses to the floor, hacking and coughing as he struggles to catch his breath.
Max cups his face with both hands and shifts into an exaggerated falsetto. “Oof, bested by a silly junkie! That’s gotta hurt real bad!”
He drops the act and sighs, his voice returning to its usual detached calm. “Go home, Matty. You're drunk. Enjoy your early retirement.”
Soon after, Matt leaves with his shoulders hunched, a mere shadow of the man who had stormed in.
Max slowly turns around, his eyes settling on Lila, who is still partially hidden behind the wall. He had heard her scream, and he can see the tension in her body. He studies her for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face as he takes in her timid stance.
“Hey there. Were you scared?” He approaches her cautiously, placing a hand at the small of her back to guide her gently but firmly toward the dining table. “I’ve been thinking about taking us on a nice vacation soon. Where would you like to go?” he asks casually.
“Anywhere far from you,” she replies coldly, her voice barely masking her contempt.
“That’s not an option,” he says calmly.
“You’re really disgusting!” she snaps, her eyes narrowing in defiance as she stops abruptly, refusing to take another step.
“I know,” he replies evenly.
“Does it hurt you when I say that?” she asks, searching his face for any flicker of emotion, but his stoic mask remains firmly in place.
“It does,” he admits, much to her surprise. Instead of the satisfaction she expects, she is hit with a wave of conflicting emotions, including an unexpected mix of sympathy and hurt for the man standing before her.
“Good!”
Max only shrugs, his silence deepening her frustration. She trembles, anger rising like a tide, fueled by isolation and helplessness. The hatred she clings to is all she has left, the only sense of control in a situation that feels overwhelmingly bleak.
“Do you hear me?” Lila presses on, her voice shaking. “I’m so glad that you’re hurt. Because you keep hurting me, and I fucking hate you!”
Her chest tightens as the words leave her mouth.
Her eyes continue to search his face, desperate to see whether they’ve struck a nerve.
Hearing it once isn’t enough. She needs him to acknowledge his pain again and again.
She wants to see him crumble, to know that she has the power to hurt him just as deeply as he has hurt her and everyone else around him.
“How about Fiji?” he suggests casually, his voice smooth and unyielding, as if her outburst hadn’t even registered.
Lila lightly scoffs, her shoulders dropping.
Her explosive episode dissipates almost as quickly as it had taken over her, leaving her with the crushing weight of her exhausting reality.
What is the point of trying to rile him up?
It’s just another attempt to shout into an empty void, hoping for a genuine apology that will never come.
“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice lacking any real conviction.
“Good girl,” he says softly. Pulling her into a tight embrace, he presses a long, deep kiss to her forehead.
She can feel the rigidity in his body slowly beginning to ease.
He exhales deeply, a long, shaky breath that seems to come from the very depths of his chest. His face, buried in her thick hair, draws in the faint floral scent of her shampoo.
She wonders what expression he’s hiding as he nuzzles the crook of her neck.
Despite the hatred she feels for him, she can’t ignore the turmoil radiating from him, a silent plea for comfort.
And despite everything she believes about her feelings, she finds herself wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, holding him tightly in return.
“Lila, you’re so sweet to me,” he murmurs gently into her ear as he carries her toward the dining table. He sets her down carefully, his movements almost reverent. The air feels heavy, charged with the confusing mix of resentment, pity, and exhaustion that binds them both.
Gently pressing on her shoulder, he lays her down on the table and adjusts her legs so that they drape around his waist. His hands glide up her bare thighs, slowly pushing up the hem of her dress as he relishes the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips.
“Max, wait!” she blurts out. Startled by the sudden turn of events, she presses her hands against the center of his muscular chest. He easily removes her hands and pins them above her head in a tight grip, while his other hand continues its crawl up her thigh.
Leaning down, he gently brushes his lips against hers, testing the waters with a soft, tentative touch.
To his surprise, she responds with unexpected intensity, leaning forward and crushing her lips against his.
The kiss deepens quickly, her urgency matching his as if all the unspoken emotions between them have finally found an outlet.
“Just… don’t go too deep,” she instructs headily. “Be gentle. I’m sore.”
“Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle,” he says, removing his hand from between her legs to cup her face gently. She melts into the touch, eyes closing as he covers her with light, tender kisses.
Her emotions churn in a tangled blur, each one clashing against the next.
Logic feels distant, slipping further away with every breath she takes around him.
Holding on to it seems pointless. Instead of fighting, she chooses to give him what he seeks, allowing herself to be his refuge.
She knows she might regret it tomorrow, but right now, all she wants is to quiet the storm in him, even if it means losing a little more of herself.
33
Mason can see why his boss is obsessed. Lila isn’t Max’s usual type. She’s smaller than the leggy models Max used to bring home, but she has curves in all the right places.
Tight ass. Strong thighs. A perky chest.
Christ.
Mason realizes he’s noticing the things he shouldn’t—and shuts the thoughts down quickly.
She’s undeniably pretty, not even in a subtle way, with those shapely legs his boss loves to show off in the miniskirts and short dresses he buys her.
She’s been trying to talk to him more lately. He can tell she’s bored out of her mind.
Mason isn’t the type who attracts attention—unlike his boss.
He doesn’t care much about his appearance beyond meeting Max’s standards, and even then, it’s purely functional.
His dark hair is buzzed short against his tan skin, face clean-shaven aside from the thick eyebrows he’s never bothered with.
The long scar running down his left cheek and the tattoos on his neck and face tend to do the rest, keeping most people at a comfortable distance.
So, he notices when she doesn’t keep her distance.
He isn’t used to it, let alone from a woman as pretty as her.
Most people take one look at him and find somewhere else to be.
She looks like she wants to do the same, if he’s being honest. There’s a slight hesitation before she speaks each time, like she’s willing herself forward, but she keeps coming back anyway.
He’s not much of a talker himself, but he can appreciate that.
The effort it takes to approach someone who looks like him.
Still, he doesn’t let his eyes linger and keeps his responses to her to a minimum.
Max is certifiably unhinged, and recent events have made him question his career choice.
He didn’t sign up to harass a helpless girl.
But the money is too good. And she doesn’t seem mistreated.
That’s the story he tells himself to justify it all.
He just hopes she doesn’t hate him for it.
After all, his boss keeps him on an invisible leash, too.
He didn’t find this job through some shady posting on Indeed or Craigslist. Max found him.
Nearly a decade ago, strung out on coke and paranoia, Max showed up with an offer Mason thought was too good to be true.
At first, he assumed Max was just another well-dressed lunatic since New York was full of them.
Or maybe it was part of some bizarre prank show.
But no, Max’s offer was real—and dangerously tempting.
Max had made plenty of enemies climbing to the top, and staying there meant surrounding himself with men society had written off, men with nothing left to lose.
Mason, a remorseful ex-con with a sick mother to care for, fit the bill perfectly.
He went from robbing mom-and-pop corner stores to working a cushy job alongside the Devil himself.
He isn’t sure if it’s morally better, but his mother—now several years cancer-free—has just returned from Turkey to her quiet home in Cape Cod, where she spends her time with his nieces and nephews.
Turkey had always been a dream of hers, something she’d longed to see while working herself to exhaustion in a dingy Brooklyn kitchen.
Mason may have disappointed her in his youth, but he’d changed.
It had cost him more than he’d like to admit, but he’d turned his life around enough to take care of her—even if it meant digging himself into darker and darker holes along the way.