Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Max was in trouble.
And he had no one to blame but himself. It wasn't the first time in his life he'd screwed up, but he suspected it might be his last.
He was tied to a wooden chair in the middle of Damien's opulent study.
A Persian rug was on the floor beneath him.
Gold leaf decorated the cornices overhead.
Paintings by Picasso hung on the walls, depicting images of women twisted and deformed.
It was exactly the kind of thing he expected to find on the walls of a monster.
"A gun?" Damien considered the weapon his henchmen had taken from Max, before tossing it onto the ornate desk behind him. "You were going to kill me, Maximillian?"
"The thought had crossed my mind, but no, I hadn't planned on killing you.
I want to see you rot in jail for the rest of your life.
I want to see your reputation in tatters.
And I especially want to find out how you'll cope when you don't have access to social media, because you have a serious addiction, buddy. "
Damien's fist came out of nowhere, striking his face and knocking his head to the side.
Max couldn't even lift his hands to defend himself because they were bound to the chair.
He probably shouldn't have taunted the madman, but he couldn't stop himself.
Violet was right—talking was a compulsion for him.
The thought of Violet, locked in the toilet where he'd left her, made his stomach clench.
Dumb move, he told himself. She was going to be so mad when he saw her again.
If he saw her again. At least she should be out by now.
He'd sent a text to Rodrigo once he was away from the bungalow, asking him to set her free.
Neither of them would be happy with him, but at least he hadn't left her trapped.
Of course, when he'd sent the text, he'd thought he was sneaking up on an empty estate. Not walking into an armed compound where the reigning king was holding court. Damien hadn't gone to the meeting on the boat after all. Talk about bad luck.
"I had you investigated." Damien perched on the edge of his desk.
"Twice now. The first time was years ago, when you tried to write that hack piece about me.
Second time was when you turned up on my island.
Gotta say, Maximillian, I didn't find anything of interest. Apart from writing, you're a pretty dull guy. "
"At least I'm not a criminal."
This time, the blow struck him across the temple and left him feeling disorientated.
Got to stop talking.
"Have to say," Max said through the haze. "I'm surprised you don't outsource your violence to one of your goons. Aren't you worried you're gonna break a nail?"
Damien's eyes hardened. "Oh, don't worry, they can take over when I get tired."
Guess Damien planned on making him suffer for a while yet. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Probably good, because then it would give Violet a chance to save him.
Of course, then Violet would probably kill him herself.
A guy just couldn't get a break.
"Tell me," Damien said. "Is the wedding real or did you hire a bride for the weekend?"
Whoa, that was far more perceptive than he'd given Poole credit for being.
"Violet is my wife," Max said firmly before lying. "The location of our wedding was purely coincidence."
"And you thought what? Since you were already here, you'd see if you could dig up some dirt on me?
You have no idea how to stay down when you're put on your ass.
You should have learned your lesson five years ago when I killed your stupid-ass story.
But no, here you are, trying again. It's pathetic.
Tell me, why are you so fascinated with me? Is it envy?"
"You really don't know, do you?" He wasn't sure why he was even surprised.
"Enlighten me." Damien leaned back and folded his arms, the picture of bored amusement.
Bile rose in Max's throat and, for a second, he wasn't sure he could reply.
But Sandi deserved it. "I had a friend in college.
Her name was Sandi Greyson. You raped and beat her, and she took her own life a few months later.
That's why I've been writing about you, and why I intend to bring you down. "
Damien looked genuinely bewildered. "I have no idea who you're talking about."
"Seventeen years ago. Toronto. You can't remember beating and raping a young college girl? What kind of animal are you?"
"Oh, I remember having a good time with many women, but the one you're talking about doesn't stand out. She must have been rather plain."
Rage washed through Max, cresting like a wave and exploding from his lips. "You're a bastard, you know that? You take and take, destroying everything in your path, and you don't give a crap about anybody. I hope you rot in hell."
Damien laughed. It was cold and hard, like the man himself.
"There's no hell, Maximillian. Look around you, because this is it.
It's all we get. That's something guys like you never understand.
It isn't about doing what's right, or fighting for some sad cause, it's about amassing as much as you can in the time you have left.
See, while you're worried about being noble, I'm doing whatever the fuck I want.
That's the thing, Max. When you have money and power, there's nobody to stop you from taking what you want, when you want it.
Nobody. And I'll tell you something else.
The woman you're so concerned about? She probably threw herself at me, and if she didn't, then she definitely wanted what I could give her. They all do."
"You're sick in the head, you know that, right?"
His expression became thunderous. "I'm the smart one here.
Look at you. An empty bank account, no job—yeah, I called your boss and he told me you'd been fired—and you're on your second marriage.
And I gotta say, I don't think this one is going to last either.
Face it, Maximillian, you have nothing." He waved a hand to indicate his kingdom.
"While I own my own fucking island. I've got all the beautiful women I want.
I have politicians scrambling to lick my boots.
They suck up to me, hoping I'll make them richer or ease their way.
My life is a party, you sad little fuck.
The only inconvenience I experience is when assholes like you try to take me down because you're jealous of my success. "
"Is that what you think?" Max exploded. "I'm jealous? You couldn't be further from the truth. You have nothing I want. Nothing. Everything you touch is contaminated."
"Really?" Damien smiled at Max. The expression made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Then, I think I'll add the new Mrs. Durant to the list of things I very much want to touch."
It was Max's turn to burst out laughing. It sounded brittle and desperate, but there was definitely a thread of amusement in it. "Violet Lee will castrate you, you moron."
Damien's face turned red with anger as he nodded to one of his men.
A guard stepped in front of Max, flexed his fists and grinned.
Then all Max felt was pain.
Violet peered through the foliage as rain hammered down on her head. The wind howled around her and overhead the sky flashed with lightning. But she wasn't aware of any of it. All she could see was Max, tied to a chair, while one of Damien's guards pummeled him.
She memorized the man inflicting the pain. He was tall, heavily built, and had a crewcut. He also smiled each time he hit Max. The guy was experiencing his last night on earth. He just didn't know it yet.
"What do you want to do?" her stalker whispered.
Violet stared at him for a moment, tempted to ask for his help to free Max. But she couldn't do it. Alan might treat her like his commanding officer, but it wasn’t her right to send him into battle.
"You know this isn’t the army, right?" she asked gently.
He frowned a little, concentrating. "I know that," he said at last. "You're the warrior. I'm your protector. Aren't I?"
"No, Alan. I'm a former cop and you're a former soldier." She hesitated, wondering if it was wise to push him. Who knew what would happen if she challenged his delusions. "You know you've done some things you shouldn't have, don't you?"
"I've only ever taken out the enemy, Ma'am," he said defensively.
And at some point, between one of his stays in hospital, Alan had decided that anyone who harmed her was the enemy.
There was no reasoning with him. He was firmly in his own little world.
She looked back at the house, at Max, and at the bastard beating him while Damien Poole sipped his scotch and watched with glee.
"I can't ask you to go in there, soldier," she said. "This is my battle, and I won't have you harmed because of it."
He straightened his shoulders. "I'm here to protect you, Ma'am."
Although he clearly believed what he was saying, she still couldn't drag him into harm's way. Alan Thomas needed help, not more danger.
"In that case," she said. "Your orders are to stay outside and man the perimeter. Am I clear?"
He nodded slowly.
"Don't let anyone past you," she said firmly. "I'm counting on you to have my back."
"Understood, Ma'am." For a second, she thought he might salute, but he didn't.
"Do you have any weapons on you?"
He lifted his fists.
Yep, exactly as she'd thought. He was a man who liked hand-to-hand combat. Had probably excelled at it during his training too, if what he’d left behind was any evidence.
"You know my team, don't you?" she asked.
"Your army? Yes."
"If you see them, fill them in on what's happened."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Violet indicated the far corner of the house, which gave her a better angle of approach toward the study. From there, she could sneak up to the patio doors and open them before Damien realized she was coming.
“We'll move to that position, and then I'll go inside,” she told him. "Don't come in after me. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am." The rain poured down his face, but he didn't seem to notice.
She glanced back at Max and felt sick at the sight of his bruised face.
"Remember," she said. "It's your job to stop more of Damien's men from getting into the building." Not that there would be many outside in this weather anyway. "And if you see my team, update them."
"Understood," he said.
"Then it's time to head out." There was nothing else she could do to keep him from harm's way.
Violet ducked under some low-lying branches and crouched as she made her way to the corner she'd picked out. She didn't look back to see if her stalker obeyed her. She didn't have time.