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I lunged again, but Max refused to let me near him.
“He’d never hurt me, you sick son of a bitch. Max is nothing like you. Nothing!” I roared, sick to my stomach that Max even had to hear something like that.
“Enough,” Max intoned, turning and placing me on my feet.
I dragged in a shuddering breath, still eyeing the abusive asshole.
“Out!” Max barked, feet pounding the floor as he flung open the door and stared down his bloody biologic.
The man went to the door, pausing just beside Max. “You better hope those stitches are his last because you will get no help from meeveragain.”
Max said nothing. The second he was gone, he slammed and locked the door.
He kept his back to me for long moments, head bowed toward his chest as he breathed deep. Then in a burst of movement that startled me, he ripped the jacket off his body and threw it across the room.
“Fuck!”he roared.
“Max—” I started.
He spun, all glittering eyes and hard edges. “I told you to go upstairs.”
My temper spiked. “He hit you.” My eyes dropped to his lip, which had a smear of blood on the corner.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I rocked back on my heels. “Yes!” I yelled. “Yes, it does fucking matter. I might have been too small and helpless when we were kids, but I’m not anymore. And I willneversit back while that dickface raises a fist to you.”
“It’s not your job to protect me!” he roared.
“Yes, it is!” I roared back. “That’s what we do. We protect each other!”
He came at me like a linebacker ready to take me out. I didn’t run or even try and struggle when he plowed me into the wall, his hand coming up to protect the back of my head even in his fury.
His free hand slapped onto the sheetrock beside my head, the fingers in my hair tightening against my scalp. “If you want to protect me, stay the fuck away from him. I don’t even want his eyes on you.”
“He hit you instead of me.” The pain of that was worse than actually being struck.
Emotion literally bled from his eyes. “I would take a thousand hits for you.”
“What did he mean about getting help from him?”
Max’s eyes turned shuttered and cold, his jaw stiffening until his face looked like it was carved from granite. He pushed away from me, agitation and anger practically creating a halo around his entire form. “Nothing. He was just talking out his ass.”
“He seemed to think you were coming to dinner.”
Max stiffened. “Just drop it, Wes.”
“A business dinner?” I prodded.
“Did you listen to the entire conversation?” he barked.
I shrugged. Of course I did. “Why did he seem to think you would come?”
“Because he’s a narcissistic, abusive asshole.”
“What help?” I questioned again. I was missing something. Something that seemed important.
He growled. “I told you to drop it.”
