Chapter 31: Our Thing: Chapter 31

It’s only been a few minutes, but as I try to recall what had just happened, it feels like I’m reaching for a vague memory from childhood. I envision myself holding the gun and shooting Erik in the face, but in my memory I’m a spectator. Not the one holding it. Not the one shooting. There is a disconnection between my body and my mind – a severance of soul from form.

Sadness. Desperation. Feelings are slowly re-emerging inside me, but they have nothing to do with Erik’s death. Or the fact that I’ve killed someone. A person. A person who has people like me who care about them. None of my feelings are for him or them. They centre around Max. My Max. The man unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse on the floor.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pray this is nothing but a nightmare. That I’ll wake up and be back in bed with him. We won’t go to the auction. Instead, we will stay cuddled up together in the peace our love offers us. I’d stare at his relaxed mien and he’d touch me, fingers declaring his love for me more strongly than any word could.

But now as I open my eyes to the dark courtyard and that corpse. . .our peace and his relaxed face are a distant memory.

And so I don’t care that Erik’s dead.

‘Dustin wants my revenge as well, ya know?’

‘Dustin. . .’ I murmur the name as Erik’s words tumble back to me. ‘He sent me out here.’ Oh God, is that what my voice sounds like?

‘Fuck!’ Max barks and strides towards the door, but his brothers form a barricade with their bodies. I take a step backwards, my hand now gripping the fabric around my gashed forearm. It stings. Like a burn.

‘Don’t open the door, Carter!’ Bronson yells through to the man on the other side.

‘Open the fucking door, Carter!’ Max states.

‘Don’t be stupid, Max. What are you going to do!’ Xander yells.

‘I’m going to shoot Dustin in the fucking head,’ Max replies, his voice lacking any warmth. Or rationality. Or hope. His face is racked with grief.

I’m frozen in place, wanting to reach for Max’s arm. Wanting to comfort him, but I’m in slow motion compared to him because he’s pulling his gun out now and pointing the muzzle at his brothers. His arms shake violently with restraint. His heart may be broken, but his body is a live wire ready to burn anything or anyone that gets in his way.

‘Get out. Of the. Fucking. Way,’ he hisses.

Something inside me screams for him to stop, but the words won’t reach my tongue. His brothers stare down the barrel with understanding; both sets of eyes are pained and sympathetic. The whole scene makes my soul shudder.

‘Max, don’t be stupid,’ Xander pleads, his brows slumped.

‘Put the gun away, you crazy son of bitch,’ Bronson orders, pulling Xander behind him, clearly unsure at what length Max might go to avenge me.

Slowly shaking his head in warning, Max’s narrowed eyes dart from one brother to the other. ‘Signùri pensaci tu! Move. Now.’

He looks at me briefly and his expression kills me. Where his heart used to pump, is a black pit. I want more than anything to press my body to his so we can share mine. Because mine is still there, beating fast. For him. For us. Tonight changes nothing for me. But for him. . . I don’t see us in his eyes. I don’t see hope for the future. Our future.

My breath catches when the door swings open and out storms Butch and the crater-faced man.

‘What the hell is going on out here?’ Butch orders, his complexion instantly reddening at the sight of Max with his pistol raised. The cords in Butch’s neck pulse as he charges at Max. A powerhouse of muscles and training, he throws his fist into his son’s stomach. They both grunt on impact.

Max drops the gun on the pavement and keels over, gripping his abdomen. He releases a deep long groan and that sound is enough for me to lose what little content is left in my stomach.

I choke out his name. ‘Max.’

Bronson is beside me before the second convulsion racks my body. He holds my hair away from my face and rubs my spasming back.

‘Who did this?’ Butch orders.

All three Butcher boys reply in unison. ‘I did!’

‘Bronson, get back inside before Jimmy notices we are all gone,’ Butch barks. ‘Xander, you too. No one is to disturb Jimmy tonight! I will take care of this. Now go!’

The hand on my back disappears and my stomach twists again, wringing the dregs of water and bile out. ‘Max. . .’

Suddenly, a hand grips my waist, the other my shoulder, and even though I’m bent over, facing the floor, unable to see who is touching me, I know that it’s him. Nothing feels quite the same as when he’s near. As when he’s holding me.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, his voice raspy. Fractured. It almost doesn’t sound like him.

When I finally straighten, I’m alone with Max, Butch, and the man I now presume is Carter.

‘What happened here?’ Butch growls, looking from Max to me and back again. Carter stands behind him, a solid and unwavering presence that means business.

Max wipes my mouth and rubs bile and saliva onto his pants. I find his black eyes and they wince at the sight of mine. In this moment, for the first time since Erik had punched me, I feel pain in my cheek bone and below my eye.

I find my voice, but am unable to divert my gaze from my Max. ‘I wasn’t going to let him rape me.’

Max winces. His eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment. I hear Butch take a step towards us and I turn to look at him. The light from the courtyard flickers around his face as he takes another step, stopping an arm’s length away from Max and me.

He studies me, his eyes calculated in their path around my body. From scratch to cut to scratch to gash and back to my bruised eye.

‘Good,’ he finally says. I hadn’t expected that response. I’m not sure I’d ever painted him as an enemy in my mind, but I’d never placed him as someone I could trust.

Butch speaks frankly. ‘Was this about the diamond?’

‘She took it off.’ Max wraps his arms around me. There’s a tightness to them that might have once scared me, but now it’s something I love and need. ‘This was about her brother,’ Max says, and my breathing turns shallow.

‘Carter, drive my son and Cassidy to the hospital,’ Butch says, his eyes glued on me.

‘Dustin did this!’ Max growls, his body vibrating around mine.

Butch’s expression doesn’t falter. His blue eyes and firm face are unreadable and yet, contemplative. It’s as if he’s not surprised by the accusation but merely considering his response. Deliberating. I think he knows that Max won’t let what has happened tonight rest. It’ll fester.

I almost expect an exchange in Sicilian, but then Butch speaks in English. He’s including me, offering me an explanation of sorts. Perhaps I’d earned that from him when I’d fought back. All that I know about the head of the Butcher household is that he respects strength.

‘Dustin is threatened by us, Max. You know this. Keep that cool head of yours. You’re smarter than them. He’s a fucking uneducated Australian mutt. Not a slice of Sicilian in him. And we are Jimmy’s family now! My son will take over his empire and Dustin threw away the only son he had. I have four sons! We’re the most powerful name in this District, son. They just don’t know it yet.’

‘Why Cassidy?’

Butch looks at me. ‘Two reasons I can see. I doubt he wanted it to go this far, but . . . To scare her would work to his advantage, yes. Push her away, se? He doesn’t want the sister of the Slater boy associated with our business and’ – he looks straight at Max – ‘Jimmy has daughters. Dustin has daughters. I have sons. He’s been trying to arrange a pairing between our families for years. There are secrets here. One day, I will tell you them. Not today. This conversation is over.’

Max sweeps me up into his arms, cradling me against him. The warmth from his body is like a radiator pressed to my skin. He’s running hot. Maybe he won’t let this change us. Maybe he won’t withdraw. Disappear into his guilt. No, I won’t let him. I’ll dig him out with my bare hands if I have to.

My head dips into the curve of his neck and I close my eyes, thinking about the blood all over my dress. Erik’s and mine. I feel disgusting. Dirty. The need to shower becomes more important than that of drawing in air.

A hand lightly grips my shoulder, strong and slightly curled – the hand of a boxer. ‘You have my word, Cassidy Slater. Someone will pay for what happened tonight. No one is above my family.’