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Grabbing the first aid box that I made and left beneath the sink when I moved in, I then wrap both his fists in gauze. Sighing, I slowly gaze up at him, silently sharing with him my pain and need to help Max when I'm helpless and unable to. He shows nothing, projecting only a steel-like expression that would've scared the frick out of me if I didn't know him. He pulls me against his chest, and I welcome his embrace, throwing my arms around his waist and letting another single tear slide out.
"It should have been me," he whispers hoarsely for only me to hear. I don't analyse that statement as I already know that Max has something to do with Marco's disappearance. What settles like a boulder in the pit of my belly is how very little I care. It's heavy, that truth - I don't care. I don't know what pieces Max had to choose from when he made that decision. Whatever the decision.
I don't care.
All I want now is Max in my bed and in my arms so that I can hold him tonight. And every other night of his life, even when he has to choose the pieces that pull him into dark places and make him do bad things -especially then.
My breathing shudders out. "It shouldn't be either of you."
The front door suddenly swings open and the formidable presence of Jimmy Storm appears, flanked by two other men, one clearly a guard and the other a tall, slim nervous looking man with a briefcase. I let go of Bronson and take a step towards them, my eyes barking questions while my lips purse to stop from verbalising them.
Jimmy surveys the room quickly, taking us all in.
"What have you found out?" Butch addresses the beanpole of a man.
He rubs at his sleepy eyes. "I am going to see him tomorrow-"
"They have nothing," Jimmy says dismissively.
"Then why did they take him?" I bite out, rendering the entire room silent. Butch and Clay both rise to their feet andoh God,I probably shouldn't have said that. Or like, maybe should've used a different tone or sent a text or maybe a polite email. . . I sink back and hit Bronson's chest just as big, colourfully inked arms go around my shoulders protectively. When Jimmy turns his gaze on me, my heart starts to thrash around between my ribs. These dangerous men are all unreadable, easily hiding their agendas. Their loyalties.
"Cassidy." Jimmy's polite and yet disembodied tone seizes my spine. "They took him because they have mistaken him for someone else."
Liar.
Liar. Liar. Liar. My eyes must chant that word because a twitch hits Jimmy's lip. I don't know what that twitch means. That I should stay quiet like Stacey and Aurora, perhaps? Or maybe he likes my strength? He used to like me. I remember months ago not being able to fathom how a girl like me could cross a man like Jimmy Storm, but now I know exactly how to. And I'd happily cross him if I thought it would free the pieces of me locked away in that jail cell. I know what Jimmy Storm is.
He is no politician.
No philanthropist.
Mafioso.
I can still hear that old lady's grief-stricken voice crying out for 'her Marco' and I don't blame Max. No. I blame Jimmy Storm. And this must be the pregnancy hormones - must be - because these are unsafe thoughts to have. I curl my lips together to stop from saying anything further, but I'm scared he can read the threat etched onto my tight foolish features. I glance at my feet. And I think if Bronson wasn't holding me, I might actually tremble so hard my knees gave out.
"Take her to her room," Clay orders Xander.
No.
"She'll leave when she's ready," Bronson states smoothly. Clay's jaw muscles pulse as he squeezes his teeth together. A tangible energy crackles between the two eldest Butcher brothers.
"That's enough from both of you," Butch snaps. "Listen more and talk less!"
"Clay, there is no need for that, my boy," Jimmy says, his voice calm and yet dominant. "She represents Max." He fixes me with a stare, his narrowed brown eyes boring into mine with a message.Be careful. Be smart."Don't you?"
Swallowing, I nod. "Yes."
"The, the issue is" –the nervous guy cuts straight in, perhaps trying to blanket the embers flying across the room from one glare to another– "that he had a handgun on his person. That is going to be a problem. I will go see him tomorrow morning to discuss his options. Needless to say, we will get him out on bail while he awaits his trial, but I imagine the bail will be substantial. He has the means and could leave the country."
All I hear is that Max will be out on bail soon.
I hold on to that like it is my last breath.
Cassidy
The ensuingdays are like one big hallucination. I'm not sure when the first day ends and the next one starts because I'm emotionally fatigued and have the curtains drawn shut to avoid the prying eyes of The District News. With our very public displays of affection at the gala and then Max's arrest mere hours later, the media are having a field day.
Who doesn't like a romantic tragedy?
