Page 39 of Mad Max

urt. I think I feel hurt. I keep pushing whatever it is out of my mind to stay emotionally free, but my stomach is still the one acting up. I don’t feel like I can catch my breath. A part of me is sinking, and I feel hollow inside. I don’t get hurt—my feelings, anyway—very often. People try, but it doesn’t bother me ’cause I expect it.

I even expected this, though not this whole setup. I knew the club still didn’t trust me. Even agreed that what I presented to them would look sketchy to most. Guess I didn’t realize till just now that I put the beast above that “most” category.

“Did I at least pass whatever test you were trying for tonight?” I make no move to get up. I’m comfy, and no one has told me to leave. And I still have my drink to finish.

I really had fun tonight, beyond the constant death glares from more than half the club who probably knew everything. Well, everything the others told them, painting me in a bad light, I’m sure. The other half just pretended I wasn’t there, which I’m used to.

But the women? The old ladies? They treated me better than most. Sure, all we did was sit and chat, but I was included. No one spoke over me or tried to make me feel bad about myself or who I was related to. They even asked questions and tried to help me solve a problem. A problem I didn’t even know I had till I voiced it.

Seeing Mad Max, being around him, makes things complicated. And that’s the issue. I like things clear. Black and white. When there’s gray, I work it out till I can separate the two colors. Finding Candy is easy—I know where to go, who to talk to. The gray is how to say the right word to get things moving so I can help her back home. Mad Max is all gray.

Family shouldn’t mean anything to me, not with how my parents treated me. I should shun everything and everyone related, but I cling to my uncle in my own way. He makes me want to stay even though he does nothing much, just accepts me. Never asks me to change.

Like the beast. Not once has he told me to be something I’m not. Sure, he forced a few things on me, like getting new locks. Or told me to do or not do something, like at the coffee shop when he said to stop whatever I was doing before he even knew what I was involved in. But he’s never told me to stop being me. To stop acting a certain way or talking like I do. I know both have pissed off others in the past. And he’s never said I was odd or weird—two words used to describe me all the time, and the two words I hate most in the entire universe.

I have feelings for Mad Max. Never had that before. I’ve slept with people, had fun with others. But what I feel right now is different. I was hurt when I realized he doesn’t trust me. It took me a while, but waking to my lock being fixed because the beast demanded it made me feel taken care of it. Not even my uncle makes me feel that. Sure, he provides for me, and I never worried if I would get hurt, but he also taught me to take care of things for myself. Explained that no one was going to do something for you, and you had to put hard work and time into something to get it done. Nothing was a given.

But with Mad Max, he makes me feel like I don’t have to have all the answers. That I don’t need to be the smartest person in the room. That for once, there’s someone to lean on who will take some of that burden. I know no one asks me to do it, but I will always feel like I have to be perfect. Trauma my parents inflicted on me that I don’t think any person, even a shrink, could fix. But the beast does. A part of me knows—or maybe just wants—him to be the one to catch me if I stumble and fall through something I don’t entirely get. Which is more than people might assume about me.

“You passed the Ruby test, and that’s about as high a marker as you can get in this place. Girl’s got a knack for reading people. She might not have known everything when we sent her over here, but she knew her dad wanted her opinion, and thus the club.” He shrugs as if it explains everything. It doesn’t.

If they heard the whole conversation, then he must know it started because of him. Before I even knew it was about him, Ruby zoned in on it. I want him. I want him more than a one-night stand. He makes me feel safe in a way I didn’t know a person could feel. And he accepts me like my uncle. But more than that, I feel like I can take on the world because of him. When it gets cruel and spits me out, I feel like he’ll catch me, dust me off, and then lead me back into the fray, hand in hand.

It’s odd to take on so many emotions all at once as we stare across the table at each other. He’s still standing, a reminder of how much bigger he is than me. How easily he lifted me to the kitchen wall that first time flitters across my mind. We shouldn’t fit, but we did then. And again in my bedroom that night. Everything about us screams opposites, unsuitable, but that’s all wrong. The proportions are perfect for us. Odd for others, but that seems like our thing too. He doesn’t talk a lot, like me. And when we do, we don’t hold back. Short and straight-to-the point answers. He gets my way of thinking, and I get his.

“And yours? Did I pass your test?” Not sure why I asked. Not even sure if he had a test for me. I feel like I’m back trying to speak in code about black markets and human trafficking.

He holds my eyes for longer than most would before he speaks. “Come on. Party’s over. I’ll walk you to the room we have for you.”

He didn’t answer the question, so I drop it. Maybe he didn’t get what I was asking. I could only figure out half of it myself. I think I was asking if he trusts me. Maybe it was if he liked me? Who knows?

I’ve confused myself enough, so I just get up and follow him to the back where the other couples went. Guess they have rooms back here. I changed in a bathroom when I was told to get ready for the party. Don’t even know where my bags are now; I came out of the restroom and was sent to help Izzy clean up out back to make sure all the beer cans were picked up before the kids arrived. But as soon as we finished, I got ushered inside. At the time, I thought nothing of it, but now I know it was just to get me talking where the club could hear me.

Neither of us speaks, and when we turn the corner, the noise is instantly reduced. You can still hear the beating of the music through the walls, but the conversation is just a dull drone. It’s also darker back here. The clubhouse doesn’t use hydrogen lights or anything to brighten it up. There’s a much higher brightness level in the main room compared to the hallway with just one bulb lighting up the long pathway. It gives enough light that you can see others with you, but there are still dark spots that remain hidden.

Not everything is clouded by shadows. And definitely not the people down the corridor, which has Mad Max stopping and me following as I look to him and then back at the couple.

“Is that…?”

“Yup.”

I didn’t even know I’d taken a step forward as I watch them till an arm wraps around my waist, anchoring me to the spot in front of him.

I’m too fascinated to look away. I’ve never seen porn before. I saw Benny and that girl, but I’m not sure what they were doing, as it looked awkward as fuck. But there’s nothing awkward about the way Flint’s pushing his woman to her knees as he pulls his dick out and guides it into her mouth.

They don’t notice us, or if they do, they don’t care. What they’re sharing is something that has them only focused on each other and no one else. She takes him in with one swallow, and his groan of pleasure has him tilting his head back. The sight has me shivering in response.

I’m breathing hard. I feel parts of me pulsating. Flint’s got a grip on his old lady’s hair that looks so tight, but it seems as if it’s just to hang on and not to guide her. She’s moaning around him and squirming on her knees. I know she’s wet. I am too.

We don’t move. We don’t leave. We don’t look away. Not till my beast starts rubbing his thumb over my shirt, forcing it up till he’s touching my skin. Such a light touch, yet I’m shivering all over again as I lean back into him. My knees feel weak as he takes my weight easily.

“Please.”

It’s all I can say. I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask for, but Mad Max’s movements betray the stoic presence he’s been keeping with me of late.

He moves us back to the wall, nothing more than a step or two but enough to put us in our own little darkened alcove. I whisper my moan as he drags his teeth over my bare shoulder blade.

It’s not lost on me that the last time we were in a similar situation, I was wearing this same skirt. This might be my favorite piece of clothing I own as he hikes it up with his other hand and guides his thick fingers to where I need him the most.

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