Page 112 of Silent Ties

“So you’re just stupid.” He steps toward the same black SUV we drove here. “Because otherwise you wouldn’t have fucking stood there while Davison had a gun to you.”

“Did you miss the part where I shot his cock off?”

Max stills for a second before his rage swells. “Did you miss the fucking part where he had a gun on you? You fucking stood at the railing, like it was nothing.”

At the time it was nothing. Davison, for all the trouble he’s caused, is a fucking gnat.

“He’s a shit shot.”

Max’s hand balls into a fist, hanging at his side. I strain to hear his words. “I swear to God if you ever do something so fucking stupid again, I will see to it that you never see the light of day again.”

I step back, trying to understand.

“Next time you pull something as stupid as what you just did, I’ll make sure you never leave the house again. Do you understand?”

No.

“Russet.” I didn’t notice him step closer. He leans into my side, his muscles shaking like he’s holding back. Instead ofpulverizing me, he’s threatening to lock me up so I don’t get in trouble again.

His lips hover above my forehead. “You belong to me, sweetheart, and if you ever place yourself in danger again, I swear you’ll regret it.”

A beat goes by. And then two. I don’t stop shaking. “I don’t know if you hate me or not?”

“I don’t know if you hate me or not,” he shoots back.

What?

He steps away and I slide to the floor. “I’m not your precious Ghost, but I would’ve blown Marissa’s head off before she laid a hand on you.”

I awkwardly turn, staring up at him.

At first glance, he’s typical Max. Handsome, with stubble along his sharp jawline. Dark, mussed hair. Strong, veiny forearms on display with his hands nonchalantly placed in his pockets.

Disappointment mars his face, though.

His jaw spasms and the heat in his eyes burns me.

“You do not get to make unilateral decisions that involve you taking on an entire criminal operation by yourself.”

The words pelt at me, his voice hard and dark.

“Stand the fuck up.”

I curl my knees to my chest.

“Stand the fuck up,” he orders.

I haul myself up, my limbs stiff and sore.

He holds out his hand. After a minute of dumbly staring at it, he lifts it an inch higher, eyes flashing with a silent order.

I take Max’s hand, and he interlaces our fingers, dragging me over to the remaining SUV.

I think it’s just another way to assert power, his way of silently telling me I go where he leads. But when he slams my door shut and gets in the driver’s side, he takes my hand again, never letting it go as he drives us home.

CHAPTER 28

Maxim

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