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He doesn’t budge an inch. His hand remains on the small of her back. His rigid, clean-cut appearance does nothing to make me trust him. That’s why he appears the way he does in a suit and tie; he looks like a trusted businessman instead of the scum I know he is.
“Langston, it’s so nice to see you again.”
“Let her go,” I roar through gritted teeth.
He chuckles. “Liesel is the one who called me. I’m not holding her hostage.” He waves his hand, showing he has no weapon pressed a
gainst her back. “I’m here to help her.”
“It’s the truth. I called him,” Liesel says.
“And why the hell would you do that?” I spit in her face. How dare she pull a move like this without talking to me first!
Her eyes implore me to trust her, but we’ve already established that I don’t.
“Waylon wasn’t the one in charge at his organization. He was second in line. The man in charge is still after me. He still demands that I give him what he wants. Now that Waylon’s dead, he’s impatient. He wants this over. Maxwell has met him before. I told him to meet us here so we could talk to him about what he knows,” Liesel says, giving me more information that was in that damn letter.
She’s lying. Or at least, she’s hiding something—from me or from Maxwell? That’s the question.
“What is this man’s name?” I ask Maxwell.
“Corbin.”
I square myself, looking at Maxwell. He has a couple of inches on me. At first glance, it would seem he has bigger muscles than me. But he doesn’t know I grew up fighting Zeke, the biggest, physically strongest man I know. I know how to fight hulks, and I know how to win.
I want to order Liesel to go to the suite, so I can beat Maxwell’s ass into telling me everything he knows before I kill him. But I know that she will never allow that.
Instead, I flag down a waitress.
“Table for three, please.”
She smiles at the three of us. “Right this way, please.”
We sit at a table near the bar, surrounded by people. The only good thing about sitting at a restaurant this crowded is that Maxwell is less likely to make a move.
We each order a drink, and then I say, “Start talking.”
9
Liesel
The vein on Langston’s forehead is bulging as he glares at Maxwell. I’m surprised Langston hasn’t already climbed across the table and strangled him. Right now, all of his anger is focused on Maxwell, but soon his intimidating glare will turn toward me. But he won’t do it, not as long as Maxwell, the bigger threat, is sitting at the table.
Langston doesn’t know why Maxwell is really here. I’m not even sure why he’s here. Call it a hunch. After I got the threatening note, I knew that Waylon was behind it.
I just didn’t know if somehow Waylon was alive or if it was someone working for Waylon or this Corbin guy who sent the threat. It was a risk bringing Maxwell here—a huge risk—but my gut says Maxwell might be the only way to get the truth.
I understand why Langston is practically growling and shooting daggers at Maxwell. Langston has no idea if Maxwell is on Waylon’s side or ours, and when our kid’s lives are at stake, you don’t let anyone into our lives that could threaten theirs.
What annoys me is that Langston has yet to show that he trusts me.
After everything we’ve been through together. After fucking each other. After learning he’s raising my son. After all of it, he still doesn’t trust that I would never do anything I think could hurt us, any of us—Langston, Phoenix, or our kids.
Maxwell’s gaze turns to me, waiting for me to tell him where to start. He’s here for me, not Langston.
I open my mouth just as the waitress brings over our drinks on a tray. Our silence stretches as the woman places three scotches in front of us. I give her a tight smile but don’t offer a thank you. The air is too intense for any of us to mumble a word that could be seen as a weakness to the others at the table. The waitress senses something is off about the three of us and scurries off as fast as she can.
We return to our staring contest. Langston glares at Maxwell, while Maxwell stares at me. And I am torn between the two men.
