Chapter 22: Our Thing: Chapter 22

My feet land on the forest floor and Max squats to stare at me, his face firm and authoritarian. ‘Did you see that guy’s face?’

I squeeze my eyes shut and nod.

‘Konnor did that to him.’

My eyes fly open. ‘Konnor did that?’

His brows draw as he seems to wrestle with words. ‘That’s all I’m saying about this. Don’t ask me anything else. Ask Konnor next time you see him. Erik and your brother hate each other. Stay away from him. . . As for Dustin,’ he growls, ‘he shouldn’t have approached you.’

‘How do you even know all this? And why is Dustin Nerrock here?’ My hands shake violently. ‘He raised my brother for the first four years of his life and then paid to have him kidnapped!’

He presses his cheek to mine. ‘You’re too small to be feisty and you don’t know anything for sure. Don’t go around stating that.’

My lips begin to quiver as I stare into cloudy grey eyes. ‘What do you know?’

There is a flash of something like disappointment in his eyes and then it’s gone. I’m not even sure I saw it. ‘I don’t know anything,’ he states. ‘I promise you that. I promise I’m not keeping any secrets from you in regard to Konnor and my family.’

‘And Konnor and that guy?’

‘Not my business to share.’

A string of questions claw at my tongue, but when I gaze up into those dark, penetrative eyes of his the open space of the woods slowly becomes suffocating. He’s not going to tell me anything tonight. Tonight he’s Luca’s son, not simply my beautiful boyfriend. He stands for something else right now. Stands against something. . . I don’t know. . .

Several beats of silence pass between us.

‘And Dustin? Why is he here?’

‘He’s very close friends with Jimmy, Cassidy.’

‘He didn’t want Konnor. I just can’t even fathom that.’ I want to tell Dustin how amazing Konnor is. How he’s missed out on knowing the man Konnor has become. How much we love him.

Max studies my face. ‘Talk to me about this. Just don’t talk to anyone else.’

I sigh. ‘Konnor is amazing, but I know you don’t think so.’

‘It doesn’t matter what I think about Konnor.’

‘My dad and Konnor said that man had sold him. He was held in a fricking basement, Max.’

‘They also said they were just speculating.’ He dips his head. ‘Remember?’

‘But he didn’t want Konnor back when they found him. How could a father not want his son?’

‘Is he Dustin’s son? From what I heard, he might not be.’

Shaking my head, I answer, ‘It doesn’t fricking matter. He raised him for-‘

‘Don’t be naive! In my world, to have your wife be unfaithful is-‘

‘Your world sucks.’ I cuddle my waist. ‘Why didn’t he want him?’

He softens slightly. ‘It’s good he didn’t want him, little one. Then you got him.’

I try to smile at that comment. ‘I guess.’

‘I barely see Dustin,’ he says. ‘I can’t imagine you will have to either.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise that if you ever have to speak with him again, I’ll be right beside you.’ He wipes a tear from the corner of my eye. ‘You still want in this with me?’

I sigh. ‘I want you.’

‘Then from now on, we do this my way.’ He entwines our fingers and walks across the lawn towards the main marquee, his strides long and quick.

‘Max, slow down,’ I plea as he drags me behind him.

He instantly slows his pace. ‘Sorry, little one. I’m fucking pissed off. They’re fucking disrespecting me.’

I glance up at him as he stares dead ahead.

If looks could kill.

His jaw works furiously. His whole body is taut with anger. He curses a few times and his eyes dart around as if he’s processing something internally.

After we pass Flick and Stacey on the dance floor, he slumps down into his seat at the main table and pulls me onto his lap. We are the only ones seated at this table; the rest of the bridal party is mingling with the guests.

My ears are burning as people covertly watch us and whisper.

I touch his cheek and his stare softens. ‘Max, what are you doing?’

He looks at me. ‘Sitting with my beautiful girlfriend.’

‘Did you just call me your girlfriend?’

‘Did you want me to call you something else?’

I smile. ‘No.’

He places his big warm palm on my bare thigh, fingers tracing the hem of my dress. ‘I like your little dress. It is rather distracting.’

I continue to stare at his gorgeous, tightly-wound face. Everyone’s staring at me, but I sure as hell don’t need to see them doing it, so my eyes stay anchored on Max instead. ‘How did they disrespect you?’

He glares at me, but the venom in his eyes isn’t for me, just merely directed my way. ‘You’re my business. They know that. Dustin shouldn’t have spoken to you without my permission.’

‘Your permission?’

‘Cassidy, he knows you’re Konnor’s sister. He was fucking with you.’

Max’s world is a matrix of passive-aggression. It reminds me of what Victoria had said to Bronson: ‘It’s a game of intimidation.’

I touch Max’s cheek. ‘And now. . . Are you trying to make some kind of statement?’

A slight grin tugs his lips out into a dark, dangerous curve. ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’

‘What’s the statement?’

A vein in his neck bulges. ‘Not to fuck with my things.’

‘Your things?’

He tilts his head at me. ‘Not to fuck with my girl.’

‘I thought you wanted to keep us on the DL.’

Another little tug at his lips. ‘On the DL?’

‘Yeah.’

His lifts his beer to his lips. ‘That’s not working out, is it?’

I shuffle on his lap. ‘Who were you trying to hide us from?’

‘Questions, questions. Wanna know what I’m planning for you tonight?’ He sets his beer down and pushes his fingers up my dress a few inches.

My breath catches. ‘Yes.’

He watches my lips part and then drops his gaze to my breasts, my thighs, before slowly raising it back up. ‘I’m planning on being inside all of your pretty little holes.’

I breathe out in a rush and squeeze my legs together, wanting that right now.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ he says, and I bite back a smile. ‘Stick your tongue out,’ he orders, his voice rough.

When I poke my tongue out, his grabs a handful of my hair and tugs my head back. Crushing his mouth to mine, he sucks on my tongue and groans. His fingers get tighter in my hair as he draws my tongue into his mouth as if he wants to swallow it. Beneath my bum, I feel him growing hard.

Before we can go any further, someone clears his throat behind us. Startled, I lean away from Max, who frowns half-heartedly at his brother. Bronson twists the seat around beside us and straddles it backwards.

I look at him, covering my blushing cheeks and huge smile with my hands.

He grins at me. ‘I like you for my brother.’

My hand goes to my lap. ‘Me too.’

Bronson turns to Max. ‘So, Maxipad, why do you look like you’re guarding a bunny from a pack of wolves?’

Max laughs and it’s such a beautiful sound. ‘I am-‘

‘I’m not sure I like being referred to as a bunny,’ I admit.

Bronson reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigar tin. ‘Would you prefer to be a deer?’

I raise my eyebrows at him. ‘No.’

He brings a cigar up to his mouth, letting it hang from his lower lip, as he says, ‘Cigar?’

I hold my hand out and jig a little with excitement. I’ll blow this whole gender segregation out of the window. ‘Yes please.’

He glances at Max. ‘I was asking Max, but okay.’

Max shakes his head at me and then at Bronson. ‘No.’

I pout. ‘Please? I just want to try one.’

His eyes never swaying from mine, Max’s arm suddenly shoots out and grabs a guy as he walks past. ‘Cassidy, mancasti di rispetto?’

With a quick twist of his hand, Max forces the man to his knees. The guy winces in pain, his fingers getting crushed beneath Max’s vice-like grip. I cover my mouth on a gasp as I stare at Salvatore bowed in front of us, his hand twisted the wrong way.

Bronson lights his cigar as if nothing is happening and looks at Salvatore as though he’s waiting for the answer to whatever Max had asked.

Salvatore shoots Max a look of disbelief. ‘You’re at a wedding, Max. You’re not on the job.’ He tries to stand, but it’s an attempt to no avail. Max uses little exertion to keep him grounded. ‘I’ll tell my uncle you’re starting shit,’ he warns.

‘Jimmy fucking hates you, Salvatore.’ Unconcernedly, Max applies more pressure to Salvatore’s hand. ‘What did you say?’

At Salvatore’s baffled look, Bronson puffs on his cigar and says, ‘Max asked if you’d disrespected Cassidy. How about you answer him.’

I stroke Max’s neck. ‘It’s fine.’

He twitches beneath my touch, but ignores my words. ‘Felicity has already told me what you said, but I want to hear it from your fucking mouth.’

Salvatore laughs uneasily. ‘I just made a joke.’

‘A joke about what?’ Max leans closer to his ear. ‘Something special up my girl’s dress? Enjoying ruffling my feathers? Consider my feathers fucking ruffled!’

‘Ma scusari! I’m sorry, Max,’ he whimpers, the whites of his eyes big on his face.

‘Lèviti re peri!’ Max thrusts him away, and Salvatore scampers off.

Bronson draws his cigar in slowly and coughs a, ‘Don’t come back now, ya hear?’

Max grinds his teeth. ‘Fucking weasel.’ He closes his eyes for a few seconds before slowly opening them to my stunned expression. ‘Did that upset you?’ He watches me closely as I sigh. Cupping my cheeks, he kisses my thin lips. ‘I didn’t hurt him. He needs to learn some manners.’

I don’t disagree.

‘That’ll get their attention,’ Bronson says casually.

‘Good.’ Max presses his teeth together. ‘This is what he wanted. This is what he gets.’

The discussion with Stacey on the way here suddenly sits heavily in my stomach. I stare at the charismatic, unaffected Bronson Butcher and my possessive, pensive Max Butcher and wonder how it came to be that I’m sitting here – the crux of these beautiful men’s conversation.

I look at Max, his face tight with defiance. I want to smooth his frown with my fingertips. I want to kiss his tension away.

The dark sky outside the marquee suddenly lights up. I hear a popping sound and then a whirling and a bang. It’s fireworks. Everyone floods out onto the grass and I bounce up too, but Max grabs my wrist.

‘I wanna see the fireworks,’ I plead. ‘Come with me, menace.’

He stifles a grin, but for a split second I see his cheeky dimple. ‘Okay.’

Flick and Stacey appear hand-in-hand and it makes me warm to see them happy again.

‘Come with us!’ Flick says, beaming widely.

They disappear outside. Max lets go of my wrist and I rush after Flick. We find a space on the grass. The humidity outside the marquee is thick and tangible. Hearing the pop and fizz, I crane my neck and watch as the sky explodes in colour. I feel Max’s warm chest pressing behind me. His arms band around my shoulders, resting above my breasts. Relaxing against him, I drop my head back and watch the dome above me being painted with fire.

Bronson stops a few steps ahead of us, looking up at the sky. He rolls his sleeves up, intricate ink work being slowly revealed across every inch of his forearm. I wonder in this moment why he is alone tonight. I wonder why he’s always alone. He’s beautiful, just as beautiful as my Max, but in a different way – he’s a bit wilder.

Appearing beside Stacey, Xander pulls her into his arms and kisses her temple. She smiles as his lips touch her, but she still keeps a firm hold of Felicity’s hand. I feel Max’s deep sigh against my back. He leans down towards my ear and kisses me quickly on the cheek.

Releasing me, he approaches Stacey. After ducking his head to find her gaze, he grips her shoulder. ‘You know I’m a jerk. You’ve known me a long time. . . But you also know you’re my family. You know that’s how I feel, right?’ Her eyes are instantly glassy. ‘Don’t do that.’ He coaxes her from Xander and cuddles her against him, kissing her forehead. She returns his hug briefly, then steps back and punches his arm. I beam at them.

Keeping his grip on Stacey, he puts his other hand on Flick’s shoulder. He shifts his gaze between them. ‘Felicity, thank you for telling me about Salvatore. I need you two to do that for me. If you so much as hear Cassidy’s name, I want to know about it. Can you do that?’ Stacey instantly nods.

I’m surprised when Flick agrees as well. ‘Sure thing, Max.’

‘Good girls.’ He pulls them both in for a quick firm hug, before walking back over to me.

‘What a pussy,’ Xander laughs.

Max chuckles as he slips his arms around me. ‘Watch the fireworks, dickhead.’