"What's that?"

"You're going to see exactly what it is I do, specifically, for someone in need. Maybe I can convince you that I'm not at all as bad as you think I am."

This isn't possible. No one could convince me Viktor sells women for any reason other than to line his own pockets.

Rather than voice my opinion, I inquire, "Time?"

"Eleven. There's someone coming in from the city. A man by the name of Dextor Ahrens. He's in the same business I am, but he's more global, for lack of a better term. And I've just found out he's interested in one of my girls."

"Dextor Ahrens?" I ask, even though I'm sure I'm not familiar with the name. I would like more information to pa.s.s to Brayden or Aimes, if I can get back in contact, though.

"Yes," he replies, but gives nothing more.

"Which girl?"

"That is not your concern," he answers, completely dismissing my question. "We'll be holding it right here in my office."

"Okay," I confirm, but with the tightness in his face, I immediately sense he's not finished.

Lifting his finger to his mouth, crossing his other arm over his chest and looking down, Viktor gets to the crux of my position and does so in such a way nothing is left to doubt. "You're not to say anything during this meeting. You're not to discuss any offers or counters as the meeting continues, and you're to have no contact with those present in the meeting once they're gone. The consequences of doing any of these will cost someone close to you their life."

Point taken.

"Understood," I a.s.sure.

"Good," he confirms.

I start to stand, and as I do, Viktor stands with me. "So, you really sent Hoss and his crew out today?"

"I did. The men in this establishment wear me down, Max. At one time, I believed I had a place here, that I was doing good things. But it's been made clear by those who dwell here and their hideous behavior that I don't belong. They're exhausting. They're not like you and me. They're more..."

"They aren't the savoring kind," I return lightly with a smirk of my own.

Slapping me on the shoulder as I step through the threshold and out in the hall, Viktor replies with a wicked grin, "They aren't men I'd miss if I had them all killed. Put it that way."

A bone chilling cold settles over me hearing him speak so boldly and unattached regarding death. Under his ruse of attempted friends.h.i.+p, I had momentarily forgotten who I was dealing with.

"Tonight," I confirm tightly.

Turning around and walking back down the hall, I hear Viktor's office door close. I don't chance to look around to see which side of it he's standing on and instead just get going. I want to go home.

Chapter Twenty-One.

I've been away from my apartment only for a night and part of today, but I come home from the club to find Em has rearranged furniture, drawers, cleaned out the cabinets, and ironed all of my f.u.c.king tee s.h.i.+rts.

Apparently, when Em is stressed, she uses her energy to clean so she can exhaust herself. This isn't something I had known about her before, but I do now and it helps lighten my mood, even in the midst of all the h.e.l.l around me.

Standing outside on my apartment balcony, I grab my phone to call and find out where she's gone. I didn't get home until about twenty minutes ago, and there wasn't a note. Since I've been so out of touch, I hadn't checked in on her schedule for the week.

"Where are you?" I ask when she answers on the third ring. I hear the crowd around her, so I know she's not working.

"Shopping," she breathes, and she sounds exhausted.

"Shopping where?"

Not answering my question, Emma gives me notice as to why she sounds as she does. "Max, did you know your mom is a price-matching scavenger?"

"You're with Mom?"

"I am," she confirms. I hear my mother asking her something in the background and then hear Em attempt to keep her quiet. "We're coming home soon. Where are you?"

"You did my laundry." It's not a question.

Her surprise is genuine. "You're at the apartment now?"

"Yes, baby. I told you I was coming back as soon as I could."

"He's home now?" I hear my mom cut in from a distance.

I hear Emma cover the phone with her hand and attempt to calm my mother. I look up to the sky and wonder why I bothered calling. Those two yap like chickens.

"We'll be there in about an hour. Call Tommy?"

"Thought I'd call you first," I inform her. It's good to hear her voice, to know she hasn't been sitting here in the apartment and in constant worry. If anyone can do that, it's my mom, and I'm thankful.

Her voice gets soft as she replies, "Thank you, but call him now."

"Don't be bossy. Let me go and I'll call him now."

Em breathes her relief into the phone then says, "Good. I'll see you soon."

"Okay, baby. I'll be here."

"I love you, Max."

"See you soon," I answer before hanging up.

I know Tommy and since all this started I also know he's done nothing but sit around and be sick with worry. I feel bad about it, but there's nothing more I can do except keep him in the loop and check in to remind him I'm okay.

After I dial, he answers on the first ring as I figured he would. I hear the apprehension in his voice. "Max. Where are you?"

"Home, for now."

"Thank f.u.c.k. I've been waitin' to hear if you've heard anything from Aimes or Low."

I picture Tommy pacing the floor between time spent keeping Denver in line and making sure Natalie's happy. He spends his life loving and caring for them both.

"No, not yet. But I bet the f.u.c.ker is plotting," I inform.

Smiling into the phone, he replies, "To blow s.h.i.+t up, I bet."

"Probably," I answer on a shrug, even though he can't see it.

"How's the girl?"

"Casey's as good as she can be."

Tommy exhales and I hear it through the line. "That's good news."

"How's the dweeb?" I ask in reference to his daughter's date.

He laughs. "f.u.c.ker had her a.s.s home thirty minutes early for both dates. Den said my long hair scares him."

"Your hair?" I ask. "Not the gun you've been s.h.i.+ning to show off for him?"

"Nope," he snaps. "Told you, he's a dweeb." He laughs. "Thinkin' maybe Em's right. It's the bad boys I gotta worry about."

"Right."

"Thanks for callin'. Let me know if you need anything. I'm taking Denver out shooting this afternoon."

Smiling again, I picture Tommy's rambunctious teenager wielding a weapon. He must know what's going through my mind when he says, "Yeah, I want every little f.u.c.ker to know she's my kid, and I plan to make her a good shot."

"Take care, Tommy."

"You stay breathin', Max. If Den finds a bad boy not so unlike you and the others, I'll need backup," he tells me.

This is his way of using pa.s.sive words to tell me he's concerned. I accept it without chastising him. "Got it."

"Out," he replies, and the line goes dead.

Just as I'm about to walk back into the house, I hear the front door being opened. When I glance up, I find Emma walking through it with bags in her hands and my mother in tow. Mom's hands are full of as many bags as Emma's, but Mom's face is tight.

While she's setting her things on the kitchen counter and I walk into the house I barely have time to catch Em as she comes darting across the room and into my quickly opened arms. The force of her arrival pushes us both back a step until my back hits the sliding gla.s.s door leading to the balcony.

I'm forced to smile wide at her response to seeing me again. Through all the chaos, she's the only peace I'm ever given.

"I'm glad you're here," she tells me as her legs wrap around my waist and she uses her arms to hold me tightly to her. "I've missed you," she says into my neck.

Kissing her temple, I lock eyes with my mother who's standing speechless and fully enc.u.mbered at the door.

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart," I whisper softly.

Putting her on her feet, my hand grabs hers as I kiss the crown of her head. "You have a good day?"

Releasing me completely and stepping back, she rests her hands on my chest. "I did. Come sit and I'll show you what we got."

"Honey?" Mom calls quietly. She's had a look at my face. Em did, as well, but I'm not sure she even noticed. She was there when it happened, so it's understandable she wasn't surprised to find it's still present.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Who did that to you?" She points to her eye then positions her finger near her face where I'm bruised. "And don't tell me you fell. You've been in enough fights I already know what's what."

I'm surprised, with this being a small town, that Mom hadn't yet heard what happened. Or why Em hadn't mentioned it to her.

I look at Em now and her hands move to the front of her body, as though telling me she's out of this.

"It's nothing," I tell my mother, grabbing Em's hand again and walking toward her near the door. "I'm fine."

"Fine," she repeats, seeing straight through my lie as only my mother truly could. "Well, I hope you got your one-two in and the person who did it'll think twice about picking on my son again."

"He won't do it again," Em puts in. "And the other guy was the bully, not Max."

My mom smiles and a look of pride follows soon after. Even at my age, she can make me feel worthy while showing her appreciation.

"We ran into Greg this afternoon," Mom mentions and after hearing her words, my head lifts in attention. Em's expression is nervous.

"And?" I prod.

"He didn't seem too surprised or upset that I was shopping with your mother," Em explains.

"He was very cordial," Mom puts in behind Emma. "He asked how she had been doing and told her he wishes her well. I was impressed."

Mom would be impressed. She doesn't know the full story behind Emma's marriage to that son of a b.i.t.c.h.

My eyes focus on Emma, but her face gives me nothing but rea.s.surance. "He was good, Max. I think he's accepted things and he's starting to move on."

"Thank f.u.c.k for that," I comment quietly.

"Here," Em says, changing the sore subject and holding a bag up to my chest. "Look in it."

"And don't put a damper on our fun, either." Mom winks. "I'll blacken your other eye if you do."

When I open the bag, I pull out a pair of bright red pajamas. The top is covered in small yellow flowers and the bottoms are the same matching pattern.

"Em, I love you in a lot of things, but this..." I say, lifting the long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt by its collar, "isn't what I'll love you in the most."

s.n.a.t.c.hing them out of my hand, Em huffs before grabbing the bag from my hands and throwing the s.h.i.+rt back in it. "It's not for me. It's for Casey."

I bite my tongue before I'm able to 'put a damper' on anything. I don't like that she's gone out and bought things for Casey. I'd rather she wait until we know when or how we're going to be able to bring them together.

Catching my apprehension, Em asks, "What? What's wrong?"