The impact vibrates through me, distant and muffled, like it’s happening to someone else. My vision blurs at the edges.
Her fingers brush my cheek in a gentle caress that feels like possession, like ownership. The final insult after total defeat.
Then the darkness claims me, and I’m completely at her mercy.
Chapter 9
Max
Reality crashes back with the force of a slap to the face.
My head throbs twice for every heartbeat. A sticky, metallic taste coats the inside of my mouth. I want to rinse both that and the thick feeling on my lips, but I can’t move.
When I try to lift my arms, a cool, thinsomethingbites into my wrists. Not rope or cable ties, but plastic-y.
Opening my eyes, I spot three broken lamps on the floor. All without their cords.
Fuck.
I’m propped up in a dining chair, the stiff wood digging into my back whenever I shift, my hands strapped to the chair’s arms.
I’m also still in the damn suit with the top two buttons of my shirt popped open, baring my chest like I’m some kind of frat boy on spring break. At least I’m still wearing pants.
Silent rage consumes me as I envision a dozen satisfying ways for retribution.
When I raise my head, the world tilts and wobbles. The wrecked penthouse suite swims into focus through a haze of rainbow streamers and black dots. My throbbing eyes burn with the arc of brightness.
In the maelstrom, a ghost appears. Pale skin, dark eyes, white hair, and black cocktail dress form a striking contrast against the gray paisley chair she occupies like a throne.
“You’re awake.” She rises and begins to pace.
I test my bindings. The knots are firm, but all appliance cords will break if you work them long enough. They’re just twisted copper wire.
As she wanders behind me, I stretch my feet up and rotate my ankles, arching against those restraints too. She’s thorough but clearly still new to this.
As long as she wastes time, I’ll be fine.
She completes her circuit and halts in front of me. “You were out for so long, I was starting to worry I miscalculated the dosage. I suppose I did overestimate your size. In the stories, Mad Max sounds larger than life. But you’re just a man.”
“Hilarious.” I roll my eyes, regretting the action instantly when my head throbs. “Add that to the list of your attributes.”
She doesn’t flinch. “It was a fast-acting but temporary sedative. You should be fully functional soon enough. Though I suspect the headache will linger.”
I stay quiet, watching her while subtly working my hands and ankles.
She regards me with a cool and calm expression, but the clenched fists at her sides expose her frustration. “I don’t actually want to kill you, Max, but I will if you make me. Tell me where the locket is. I’ll take it, leave, and you can go back to your life.”
“You think I believe that?” I bark a laugh and regret that too. “It’s not that simple.”
“It can be.” Anger flickers across her features, and her voice hardens. “The locket, Max. Where is it?”
I lean back and flash her a dark smile. “You really want it? It’s down my pants.”
She stares, her lips pressed in a thin line. I can see the wheels spinning in her head.
Then she inches forward, close enough that I can smell her again. Roses and rain. A scent that’s uniquely her, and the one my body has started to recognize and respond to despite the circumstances.
She drops to her knees, which puts her face level with my groin, and places her hands on my thighs. The higher she drags her palms up my muscles, the tenser I get.
