Page 72 of Beastly Armory
I’m not even sure I want to ask the next question or want the answer to it, but I have to know. If he stuck his cock in someone else… I can’t be with him. Men cheat, I know that. But I want someone different. Someone special, someone whowould nevereven think of being with someone else. I want someone obsessed with me.
Max seemed that way. He always did, ever since we were kids, and I was so used to the way he would stare atme with wonder, fear, and reverence. Now, his eyes are glassy with a distance I’ve never seen before. He won’t even look at me. Like he doesn’t even care I’m here with him.
“Did you fuck her?”
Without a peek over or reaction, he only murmurs a question back, “Who?”
Attempting to shove some saliva down my constricted throat, I squeak out, “Jade, at the Crimson Angel. Did you fuck her?”
Max’s head slumps back against the seat. “Livia.” He says it as if he is about to scold me, then pauses. A quick snort of air leaves his nose while his jaw clenches. “Just fucking take me home.” Not sure how to digest his irritated response, I decide to address it once he’s sobered up some, despite everything in me wanting to pull the answer from his jowls with forceps. A sigh escapes my nose as he continues to fixate his gaze out his window.
When I approach the manor gates, three guards aim their rifles at me. Two are in the stone towers built above the high walls, while one sits in the guard station. Clearly, he’s ex-military, with lots of tattoos on his forearms, showcasing his branch. The crewcut he wears only makes his thick neck look like a tree trunk.
He approaches my window with a look of disdain as I lower it. “Miss Von Dovish, you’re not welcome?—”
“Let her in,” Max growls from the passenger seat.
“Oh, Mr. Freidenberg. So sorry, I didn’t see you there. Hang on.” The grunt moves to open the iron gate for us, and I proceed through slowly. For once.
“What happened?” Markus’s harried face greets us when I pull up, tugging at the ends of his gray hair. Jakob skirts around him and gets right to work, opening Max’s door, the two shuffling inside. Markus stares at me like I’m the one responsible for his master’s condition.
Tossing the tail of my hair over my shoulder, I straighten up and stare him down. Right now, Markus is not my favorite person. “Your boy went to Strauss’s for revenge and may have caused a war.”
He closes his agog mouth and gives a slight nod, as if everything I said was just confirming his worst suspicions. “I’ll get the healer.” Markus strolls into the house quickly, and I follow before anyone can throw me out. Taking the steps two at a time, I brush up toward Max’s bedroom, the door left open as Jakob walks out of the bathroom, the sound of the shower running.
Jakob eyes me suspiciously for a moment before sliding outside, closing the door behind him. I take the time to straighten Max’s bed, fixing the sheets and moving some of the broken shards. Despite needing some answers and being unsure of what exactly transpired, I don’t want him hurting himself even more. Before the water turns off, I ease out to the hall to use the other bathroom to clean myself up.
When I return, Max’s head rests back on the cushioned headboard, propped on a sea of pillows, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. The skin of his exposed chest looks like a carver had his way with it, cuts and gashes oozing in the dim light of the lamp. Not sure quite what to do with myself, I stand near the door and shift my hips.
I open my mouth to ask an unknown question, but Max murmurs before I can. “Why are you here, Livia?”
Scoffing, I beeline for the bed and sit next to him. “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
His eyelids twitch before lifting slightly. Dark eyes peer at me without moving his head. “Why do you fucking care, Livia? I chased you. You obviously won’t trust me. Don’t know if you ever will. Maybe you shouldn’t…” Spoken with barely a whisper, his voice is strained and cracked. “What kind of leader lets his man get nailed to the front door?”
The stubble along his jaw tickles my palms as I grasp it, forcing him to look at me. “A good man.” Maybe he was right. Max is loyal and honest, always saying exactly what he means. He goes after what he wants and never backs down from a challenge… The realization hits me, along with the flavor of guilt.
“You didn’t have sex with her.”
The thickness of his brow increases as his upper lip snarls. “How thefuckcould you think I’d do something like that? I’m in love with you, Livia! You’re pissing me the fuck off, not being on my side.”
“Iamon your side. I havealwaysbeen on your side!” Digging into my pocket, I thrust my good luck charm into his big palm. “Here. You wanted to know what I carry around? I’ve had it since we were eight years old. I stole it before you left.”
Peering into his hand, his eyes widen as he gasps. “My…my matchbox Barracuda? You’ve had it this entire time?”
“It meant something to you. So, it meant something to me. I wanted to be a part of your life. I wanted to be a part of your dreams. You’ve always brought me luck, even when we were apart. I could feel you whenever I’d look to the east. I love you, lion. I always have.”
Now it was his turn to grab my head, pressing his forehead to mine in a tight lock. “Fuck, Livia. I love you. I’ve always felt you, too. Always. You were my compass home.”
My eyes fill with tears as his lips seize mine, desperate to close the gap between us. Droplets fall down my cheeks as he engulfs me. As our air combines, his soul and mine irrevocably intertwined. The warmth of his mouth heats me to the core as he breathes truth into me. It’s a realization. An epiphany.
“I trust you.”
His fingers trickle down my chest, then to my tucked leg, and slide into my boot as he maintains his grip on my lips. The familiar flick of the knife pierces the air as he holds the blade up close to the sides of our faces.
“You trust me?” Molten brown eyes appear menacing as he flashes the steel back and forth in his hand.
“Yes, Max. I trust you.” And I do. He isn’t Franklin Von Dovish. He’s my little lion. The boy who rescued me from the monster under my bed during sleepovers. The man who almost got killed stealing a ring so I could keep my mother’s. Someone who has sacrificed his own happiness and safety for the good of his people on East Side.