Page 34 of Property of Max
My gaze stays locked on mine and Cody’s hands, fingers tangled together. My palm is damp, trembling, but he doesn’t let go. He holds on tighter, like he knows I’m hanging on by threads.
Still, I can’t lift my head. Not with the silence pressing in. Not with all of them watching.
And definitely not with Max sitting there. I can feel the weight of his eyes on me, heavy as chains, and I know if I look up, I’ll break.
“This still doesn’t prove that her boss was the one who sent the message,” Knuckles says. His voice is low, but sharp enough to cut. “Or even if he did, isn’t it possible Lila’s the one who posted the video? Maybe to get some sympathy. He humiliated her, and she’s pissed. Rightfully so. But still… makes sense.”
“That’s one possibility,” someone says. Crusher, I think.
“Let’s say that’s true,” the man in the shadows adds…Maverick? Michael? His voice is measured, dangerous. “What could she possibly gain?”
They’re speaking about me as if I’m not even in the room. As if I’m not sitting here, flesh and bone, trying not to come apart at the seams. It’s humiliating. Infuriating.
“Hush money,” Crusher offers. “Like she said, she had no idea Cody was bringing her here. I bet she even tried to stop him.”
“Enough.” Spike’s voice cracks like a whip. “Show some damn respect. She’s right here.”
“Spike, we really can’t afford to get involved in this shit,” Tank cuts in, his tone grim. “We’re still cleaning up from Riley’s ex. The cops are watching us closer than ever. The last thing we need is some kind of… publicity stunt.”
“You saw her face in that video,” Knuckles says. “You saw her slight nod. She was about to step forward if they hadn’t been interrupted. No one in their right mind would believe her story.”
The humiliation burns hotter than the tears in my eyes. Nearly blind, I fumble for my phone, order a ride, and shove it back into my pocket with clumsy fingers.
Taking a shaky breath, I let go of Cody’s hand and rise. My knees wobble, my pulse hammers, but I force myself to stand tall. One by one, I meet their eyes. Every single one of them. Not to plead. Not to beg. Just so they can see me.
“You’re right,” I say quietly, my voice calm and steady. “I did nod. I did agree. But not because I wanted to. I knew that if I said no, I’d lose my job. And if I lost my job, I’d lose the roof over my kids’ heads. Then I’d lose my kids. That’s not consent. That’s survival.”
I pause, let the words settle. “Do you haveany ideahow many women make that same choice? How many of us choke down our pride, our fear, because the alternative is homelessness or hunger? Do you know how many women speak up about men like him, only to be ignored? Not believed? Until one day, that same man rapes or kills them and then moves on to his next victim. And still… people look at us likewe’rethe ones who should be ashamed because we agreed to get our knees in order to keep our job.”
Their faces blur through my tears, but I see enough: the tight jaws, the flickers of guilt, the way none of them can meet my eyes for long.
Max’s blank expression.
I draw in another breath, forcing my voice not to shake.
“I may be scared. I may be exhausted. But I… am not… weak.”
Each pause is deliberate, each word honed sharp enough to cut.
“I’ve been surviving battles many will never have to fight. I survived the death of my parents and the destruction of my brother, all in the same night. I survived a divorce. I’ll surviveGumphrey. I’ll survive the threats he threw at me. I’ll survive losing the job that paid for the lives my kids live.”
My gaze sweeps across the table, sharp and unflinching now.
“And I’ll survive this. With or without your help.” I tip my chin higher. “And honestly? I’d rather it bewithout.Because right now, the only thing I see in this room is men so wrapped up in their own rules and their own pride that they can’t tell the difference between a woman choosing and a woman having her choices taken away.”
I glance at Cody. His jaw is still tight, his whole body coiled, but his eyes are fixed on me, hot with fury and something softer beneath. I give him a small, tired smile.
“Thank you for being such a good friend. For trying to protect me,” I whisper. “But I need a little time to myself. I called a taxi. I’ll be fine.”
I turn toward the door, my pulse pounding. The silence behind me is deafening.
When I reach the exit, Sunny and two other women who weren’t there before stand shoulder to shoulder, their eyes locked on the men I’ve just faced. Their gazes burn, sharp with betrayal, heavy with knowing. And then, without a word, they shift aside, opening a path just wide enough for me to walk through.
For the first time tonight, I don’t feel scared. I feel fury.
How many women have been raped or killed because no one believed them?
If these men didn’t believe me… will the cops? Will anyone?
