Dirty Boy (25 page)

Max stared at his cell phone, livid that Story had ditched him in favor of
whoever
. He turned from the hostess’ station to find the man who’d called him, standing at his side.

“I’m sorry, sir, but someone called and said it was urgent to speak to you.”

“Apparently, it wasn’t that urgent,” Max said in annoyance, stalking outside to find his car waiting for him.

Story was really gone, though. All his bitterness and hurt rose to the surface. Women were all the same. Saying they wanted one thing but thumbing their noses when they got it. Feeling his hard thing was all the incentive she needed! He wouldn’t soon forget that statement.

She felt compelled to go, as if she had no choice. Really? Everyone had choices. Unless she’d had a gun to her head…Max’s thoughts came to a halt and he went over the words she’d spoken once more.

Fuck. She hadn’t been bragging. She’d been giving him a message.

Driving out of the valet area, Max turned into the nearest parking spot, then dialed Story’s number again. It went straight to voicemail. Shit. He called two more times and got the same result.

He went over his options, regretting his outburst. Instead of yelling at her, he should’ve really listened to her cryptic words. But he’d been so overcome with fucking jealousy, he’d pounced. The evening had gone better than he’d expected. For a moment, he’d forgotten he intended to stay single forever.

Story did that to him. She was in a class all by herself. If he’d give her a chance, give himself a chance, maybe he’d find real happiness again.

What was he thinking? This wasn’t cops and robbers. He wasn’t a hero and she didn’t need rescuing.

After trying her phone again, Max decided to head to Natalia. Story hadn’t given him some type of message. She’d met another man and ditched Max. Believing he had a chance at love was little more than a pipe dream. Story would be leaving in a few weeks. It was better to return to the life he’d known, then to wish for a life he’d never had.

Just as he reached the halfway point to Nat’s house, his phone rang. Seeing Story’s name flash across his car’s sound system screen, Max refused to answer. She couldn’t lure him into her web. The phone stopped ringing, then started again.

Frustrated that he couldn’t ignore her, he pressed the button on his steering wheel to answer. “Date end so soon?”

“Max,” Story said in a small, teary voice. “I don’t know where I’m at. This man took me and he had a gun on me when he made me call you. I’m stuck in a tree. I jumped out of the car and ran from him. He kept shooting at me. Tico said he was going to cut chunks of me and send to Ryker.” She let out a sob.

“Tico?” he snarled. The motherfucker who’d followed him to Addie’s party? He’d taken Story? “Sweetheart, calm down. Stay quiet and wait until I get there.”

“You don’t know where I’m at,” she cried. “I don’t know where I’m at.”

“Shhh,” he soothed. “Trust me.” He almost choked on the words. He’d given her no reason to do so.

“O-okay, Max,” she sniffled. “I trust you.”

“I’m going to hang up, baby, but I promise I’ll have you safe and sound in no time.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but disconnected the call. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, his heart pounding.

He was going to fucking kill Ryker. If the motherfucker wanted to deal with drugs, then he needed to fucking pay his tabs. If he didn’t know that life was so short and too fragile, Max did. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if Story was killed because of his fuckhead brother.

Scrolling through his contacts, he dialed the phone number of a cop he knew, who sometimes served as his body guard when he made appearances.

Dillon answered on the second ring. “Max!” he greeted cheerfully.

“I need a phone number tracked so we can get a location,” he said without preamble. “Then, I need you to meet me and help me find my houseguest.”

Dillon had ways to track motherfuckers the department knew nothing about. “Fuck, Max, do you ever call with simple hellos?”

Max smiled. “Never, fucker. Get to work. We’re wasting time,” he said and recited Story’s phone number before hanging up.

Leaning over, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out his gun. He carried it with him to have on the day he finally decided it was too hard to live with himself and end it. Now, he’d use it to shoot off Tico
and
Ryker’s asses for jeopardizing Story.

That thought uppermost in his mind, he dialed Ryker’s phone number. “Yeah, Max?”

“You’re fucking dead, motherfucker.”

“Max...”

“I
told
you to pay your goddamn bill.”

“Shit.”

“It was bad enough when Tico confronted me, but he took Story.”

“I can explain.”

He didn’t want explanations. “For that, I’m killing you. If I get her back unscathed, I’ll do it quickly. If there’s one fucking scratch on her, I’m stomping the fuck out of you.”

“Max!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he barked.

“I paid him,” he got out. “I-I gave him his drugs back.”

“Then why the fuck is he after you?”

“I don’t know!”

“Ryker, if you’re lying to me, I’ll break every bone in your fucking body.”

“I-I’m not lying, Max. I swear.”

“Fine,” he said, as a beep indicated another call coming through. “Stay close to your phone,” he demanded, then switched lines. “Dillon?”

“You owe me.”

“And I’ll pay you. Tell me you’ve found her.”

“I have. I’m en route now,” he said, and gave Max the general location. The wooded area wasn’t far from the restaurant.

Max and Dillon arrived at the same time. He was in his patrol car and shone the lights on the deserted road.

Max quickly dialed Story’s number. “I’m here, sweetheart. Tell me where you’re at and I’ll come with the flashlight.”

“No. I’ll walk to you.”

She sounded exhausted. He didn’t want to upset her any further, so he agreed. Five minutes later, Story emerged from the trees. The short red dress with the plunging neckline was torn and dirty. Dirt smeared her face and leaves clung to her hair.

Upon sight of him, she started running to him. He opened his arms to her and she flew into them, clinging to him and sobbing against his chest.

“Get in your fucking car, Max,” Dillon ordered. “I don’t want to leave you alone and some other shit goes down.”

Max kissed Story’s forehead. “We’re going home.”

She refused to let him go. “Okay.”

“Stop by the studio tomorrow,” he told Dillon as he carried Story to his car. “I’ll reimburse you for your time.”

“I’ll be there,” Dillon promised.

Max tuned him out, focused on getting Story to safety.

For the entire ride back to the condo, neither of them spoke. Max couldn’t think of anything to say to comfort her or himself. If she hadn’t gotten away…he shut that thought down immediately. Instead of focusing on any one thing, he turned up the radio and let the music soothe him.

“Come on,” he said to Story when they finally reached his place, as he held the door open for her. She wore no shoes. Therefore, after he closed the door, he swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way, not stopping until he reached the sofa.

She hung her head, not meeting his eyes. Max wanted to hit something. Preferably Ryker and Tico.

“You were angry with me,” she said into the silence, the words shocking him. He would’ve thought she’d say something else. “How could you think I’d walk away from you after the wonderful evening we had?”

He didn’t have it in him to get angry. The entire day had worn him out. He sat in the chair across from her. “It’s what I expect,” he admitted, surprised at his brutal honesty.

Tears filled her eyes all over again. “Then you expect wrong,” she said severely, swiping at her eyes. “Fuck Kayleigh. Fuck what she did to you. You know you aren’t a murderer
or
a wife-beater. Most women aren’t out to hurt you.”

“Most women expect from me what I can’t give to them,” he said stiffly, refusing to address her statements on a deeper level.

“What
you
won’t give to them. You need to stop punishing yourself and shoot for a chance at happiness.”

“With you?” he asked coldly. “Suppose I would? You’d want what from me? At the very least, you’d expect me to seek new employment. Suppose I’d agree? Then, what? What if you’d been killed tonight? I’d have nothing but more heartache.”

Story through him a fierce look. Her eyes were red from crying; her cheeks were wet with tears; and her hair was wrecked. She was a warrior princess, just returned from battle. “I’ve taken you for a lot of things, but never a coward,” she charged. “That’s what you are. You’re afraid to move forward. Afraid to let go. Afraid to
live
. Where’s
my
Max? The one who befriended his stepsister? He wasn’t afraid of anything.”

“He hadn’t lost everything,” he returned, bitter. The Max she referred to hadn’t seen his son murdered in the worst possible way—plummeting to his death over a cliff at his mother’s hand. Simon’s screams, his fear in the moments before, tortured Max.

“Oh my God, you’re such a fucking jerk. A self-pitying, cowardly fuckhead,” she snapped, angering Max.

He clamored to his feet and she got wearily to hers.

“Save it, Max. You have more than you know.”

“Really? I lost my son. My wife. My reputation.” He stiffened as the word fell from his mouth. “Of course, Kayleigh would say I didn’t have a reputation to lose.”

“You must’ve loved Kayleigh a lot to let her control you as she does, even in death.”

“Love her?” he scoffed. “I despise her. So tell me, Story, what do I have left?”

“Your life,” she whispered. “And as long as you have that, you have infinite possibilities.”

“Why the fuck would I want any possibilities? My son’s memory deserves
my
everlasting misery. What did he get but a body broken on the rocks beneath that cliff? She could’ve killed
me
. But she knew that would’ve been too easy for me. My death would’ve just ended it. But killing Simon, having me
watch
her do it, and beg and plead for his life, she knew that would destroy me.” Nausea churned in him and he breathed through his nose, to calm himself. “I haven’t had any peace from that day to this one. Ghosts haunt my dreams. My days.” He dropped into his seat and hung his head in his hands. “I went insane that day and never recovered. Maybe, I am having a pity-party. Who cares if I do? Usually, I’m alone…”

He trailed his voice off, feeling Story’s nearness. When she slipped her hands through his hair, he leaned into her touch. Pulling away crossed his mind. After all, she was fragile, too. She could’ve been killed for something she was completely innocent of.

Just like Simon had been.

But he
needed
her. Tomorrow, when he wasn’t so exposed and angry, he’d distance himself again. Tonight, he rested his head against her, enjoying the tiny kisses she planted on the top of his head.

“I wanted to take you to the place where it happened,” he admitted. “To show you.”

She sat on his lap and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Point Fermin,” she guessed, unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants, and freeing his cock.

“Yes.” He pushed her dress above her waist and ripped her panties away, guiding his dick to her hot pussy and impaling her.

Moaning, she rocked against him, her hair curtaining them, her lips burning against his as she kissed him deeply. He rested his back against the chair and she moved along with him, relaxing into the curve of his body and grinding to the thrusts of his cock.

They said nothing more, lost in the feeling of each other’s bodies, reveling in being alive. For the first time, in a while, Max was happy he hadn’t died that day. He wasn’t bitter or hateful or hurt. He was just him, but then it was over. Story reached her orgasm and he came, too, reminding him all over again how vulnerable human life really was.