No matter how much I tried to calm myself as I readied myself to say goodbye to my current situation, I couldn't get comfortable. I didn't know anything about this Max Cartier character. Even his name was stupid and obviously made up. He didn't look to be a Cartier anymore than Coach handbag could be passed off as a Louis Vuitton.
Obviously he could clean up and make himself look presentable but a run in with any of "our" kind would give him away in ten seconds flat. His eyes were beyond hollow or merely dead. They were hard as glass, cold as ice and clear as crystal. No one acquired eyes like that without having been drug through the depths of Hell and back with the story of their ordeal intact.
"What do you plan to bring with you?" a male voice questioned.
I stood up straight and turned to see Max, standing there at my door. "Only what I need. The rest, I can have Brad pack up and put in storage."
He walked into the room and the only reason why I knew he was closer to me than I would have liked him to be was his body heat. It radiated off him in waves . . . or maybe that was because we were only inches apart. He reached over and grabbed an old photo of my mom, dad and me. It was taken the same year their very lives were snuffed out. Somehow or another, Brad had gotten a hold of it and given it to me for my fourteenth birthday.
"Were you a happy family?"
His question forced me to pause in the middle of folding a pair of jeans. "Yes, I suppose we were. I loved them very much and the life I lived with them . . . often times, it feels like a dream and this has always been my reality. It's kinda like the Matrix and taking the blue pill-you wake up in that fucking pod and realize your whole life is a lie."
Max laughed, the sound harsh though not completely unpleasant. "It's the red pill that made Neo wake up in the Matrix, not the blue one."
"Whatever. The movie came out when I was ten years old-excuse me for not remembering the exact plot." I snatched the framed photo from his grasp and continued to pack in silence.
"Sorry, I didn't realize it was still a sore subject for you."
"Which part? Watching my parents murdered before my very eyes before two bikers abducted me and held me in forced captivity? Becoming a sex slave for Brad and Nel, only to have them drop kick my ass to the curb once I'm the ripe old age of twenty-five and apparently, no longer considered desirable and young?"
"Ouch. Obviously, I've hit a nerve and for that, I'm very sorry."
I glanced at him only long enough to see the look of contrition as it settled on his face. I didn't want him to feel pity for me and that one emotion from him shattered a part of the remnants left from my tattered soul.
Broken.
It was such a fucking cliché.
I wasn't anyone's charity case or someone to feel sorry for. I hadn't been broken any more than I'd been damaged. The little girl in the photo didn't even feel like me any longer. I'd metamorphosed into a colder, angrier human being who didn't wear my heart on my sleeve and was quite comfortable with living in my head rather than talking to people or trying to make friends.
"I'll wait for you outside." Max turned away and strode toward the door.
I quickly zipped my bag closed and hefted the duffel bag over my shoulder. "No need. I'm done here."
His blue-green eyes softened as he stared at me again, this time with a little more compassion and a lot less sympathy. "Well then, we should get going."
I followed him outside to his vehicle. He drove a late model black Range Rover-the fact that it was the same SUV my mom owned was not lost upon me. After he grabbed my bag and hoisted it into the cargo space, I walked to the passenger door, my handbag firmly on my shoulders as I opened the door and climbed inside.
Max opened the driver's side door and hopped in. As soon as he turned on the vehicle, my mind went blank. We drove out of the garage and as the SUV hit the pavement outside of Decker Repair and Auto, I closed the chapter on that part of my life.
Transitions had always been easy for me and this one was no different. I was no longer the frightened girl who'd grown into a woman under conditions most sane human beings would call duress. Completely emancipated and on my own, I was determined to live the rest of my life for no one other than myself.
The very thought both thrilled and frightened me more than I could comprehend let alone express but I was ready. It was now or never and I chose to live in the now.
Chapter Two
Maxwell
Magnolia was a complete and utter mystery to Max.
From the moment they met, his own tortured past faded and all he could see was a wisp of a young woman who desperately needed discipline to balance out the single-minded focus she held on to like a drowning swimmer with a life preserver.
Max had absolutely no doubt she was as tough as she looked but despite her efforts to hide it, there was a great deal of pain and loss. He couldn't acknowledge it for fear she might lash out. She was definitely the type who didn't want to be reminded about a life her young mind could no longer grasp and he was more than relieved to acquiesce to her decision. However, would she be so willing to accept the deal he offered her?
He had absolutely no reservations it would be an easy feat to talk her into something she wouldn't want to do because above all, he was a master manipulator. Only moments after meeting her, he knew exactly what her weaknesses were and how to use them to his advantage.
Max was a superior player in the game and had a feeling he'd met his match. Still unsure about how pliable Magnolia truly was, he would play cautious with her. Women were very good at coming off as defenseless, helpless creatures that needed a man's guidance but underneath it all, they were ice. Calculating and manipulative, the term "weaker sex" truly should have been reserved for men. He knew this all too well.
They drove in silence for more than a few hours. Magnolia never attempted to start a conversation and neither did he. Not that this surprised him. She was a contract killer after all, and if she was anything like him, she spent more time in her head than trying to get to know people.
The kind of life they lived did not bode well for unnecessary emotional attachments. Life was fleeting and to actually do what they did and live with themselves, most of the time it was best if they had as few people as possible to care about.
Shortly after six in the evening, he pulled into some no-named town in the middle of Bumfuck, Nevada. It was large enough to have a decent looking diner where they could sit down and enjoy a meal.
Max parked the Range Rover and killed the engine. They both stepped out of the SUV, and as soon as they closed the doors, he activated the alarm with the key fob and slid it into his pocket.
"You ever been here?" he inquired, his deep voice filling the comfortable silence.
"No, but I'm sure you have." She smirked as they walked into the diner.
The hostess/waitress grabbed two menus and led them to a booth toward the back of the restaurant.
After they sat across from one another, the waitress said unenthusiastically, "Tonight's specials are Mike's magic meatloaf with mashed potatoes and canned peas or chicken-fried steak with French fries. I'll bring you two a couple of waters until you're ready to order."
Max watched the waitress walk away before he turned his full attention toward Magnolia.
Regardless how cold she acted, he couldn't deny her remarkable beauty. She was truly a diamond in the rough and how she'd managed to maintain her stunning looks without growing hard or rough looking was beyond him.
Acres of smooth olive-toned flesh combined with the most intriguing pale green eyes, high cheekbones, a straight yet feminine nose and kissable lips. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, exposing her swan neck and lithe figure, which accompanied her petite frame. She was a little too thin for his taste but her breasts were round and firm and she had an ass that would make Kim Kardashian green with envy. Heart-shaped and suited to her figure, it enhanced her curves in a seductive instead of grotesquely inadequate way.
Her short, French-manicured fingers drummed the cheap Formica tabletop as if she were miles away. It took him a minute to realize she was too busy humming along to "Before He Cheats." He didn't exactly take her as a lover of country music but then again, he didn't know a damn thing about her that wasn't connected to her skills as a contract killer.
Max cleared his throat and placed his hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. "I take it you don't mind this place?"
"It's fine," she replied, her gaze direct and strangely disconcerting for a man who didn't disarm easily. "I suppose any greasy spoon is just peachy for you to explain this proposition of yours."