Page 108 of Last Shot

Where was Luca?

‘Gotme? Greyson, I was in the room the whole time.’

‘He used you!’ Everything was caving in. ‘He used you to get to me. I was looking foryouwhen I should have been—’

‘Are you saying this is my fault?’ she hissed.

‘I wasn’t thinking clearly. You make me ... not think clearly ...’

‘For fuck’s sake, Grey, what are you trying to say? In case you haven’t realised, we’re sitting ducks in the middle of this fucking room. And Skinner—’

‘I’m going to say this once and I need you to listen.’

Her silence was as loud as a scream. It was easier, far easier than he imagined this would be, because he couldn’t see her face.

‘There is nothing between us. There never was and there never can be. Do you hear me?’

A beat.

‘Max?’

‘I fucking hear you,’ she said. ‘I know what you’re doing. You’re pushing me away like you push everyone away, because no one could ever possibly understand the Great Greyson Hawke, whose selfless sacrifice to the Barbaranis is actually just an excuse for him to never have to open up to anyone. It’s selfish. To never risk being hurt again. I know what you’re doing – you blame yourself, but none of this was your ...’

Her voice faded out. This had to end – there could be no resurrecting. This was his last shot. He had to shoot to kill. ‘You were right. I’m messed up from that night, but I haven’t told you the whole story. That kid? The one that I let go?’

She blinked and Grey’s heart stopped, but only for a second.

‘I pushed him. He had a photo of Luca snorting coke, and he was threatening to send it to the media. I’d had a few drinks myself – I hadn’t planned on driving down to Perth that weekend and I was technically off-duty. I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t bear letting you know you were right – that I’m no better than Skinner. I wanted you, yeah, but you don’t see me. You see this idealistic image of me that doesn’t exist. You’re too naïve, just like how you believed your friend would take the stand for you, take your side over her abusive husband’s. Just like you think Libby Johnston doesn’t know that you never planned on following through with your promise to kill Skinner. She knows you better than you think. But there’s none of that goodness in me, Max.’

She had strong principles. Her moral compass was so rigid she’d gone to jail for her friend. Her inner workings, however that car crash had rewired her to never rely on anyone else, to, like him, always be in control, would not allow her to fall in love with a shallow man who had callously killed for a morally corrupt Italian dynasty.

And even in the dark, he knew Maxella Conrad was still enough of a cop to work out he was telling the truth.

‘If I survive tonight’—her voice was a blade to his neck—‘I’ll know it’s so I can tell the world the truth about you and this murderous family. I’ll take you all down.That’show I’ll redeem my career.’

And it was as she moved to get around him that Grey realised someone else had been standing with them the whole time. They were cloaked in a dark hood and held a large gun at their side. The figure trained the gun on the back of Max’s head.

That was the last thought Grey had.

35

Max

She didn’t have a chance for the volcanic flood of anger to erupt before everything happened at once.

One moment the figure was coming at her with –wasit a gun? It looked wrong – and the next, it was twisted behind their back as they locked together with Grey in a deadly dance.

Max grabbed the gun-like thing. She tried to help but the choreography was designed for two.

He’d saved her. He’d ...

WHACK. Max swung the strange gun to the back of the hood. The fighter went still, then crumpled to the ground, almost falling on her heels.

Grey ripped off the hood and they both stared at the man’s face, their heavy breathing out of sync. He was white, with a thin mouth like a scar and a feathery moustache.

He was achingly familiar but Max couldn’t place him in the chaotic fury of her mind. She was a magnet with a dysfunctional pole, half of her ripping away from Grey, who’d just pulled out her heart and severed the arteries before the attacker jumped her, and the other half pulling towards him – to protect him, to close her eyes against his chest and pretend none of this was happening. Her pull to him was a nervous tic she had to grow out of; it could very well get her killed tonight.

The kid. The one I let go? I pushed him.

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