Rapture & Ruin (Rapture & Ruin 1)

“Not remotely,” I muttered, more of my fear ebbing away. I really was thirsty, and my head was starting to pound.

“Just drink the damn water,” he grumbled, pressing the cool bottle to my mouth. He waited for me to part my lips and accept what he offered rather than roughly forcing it down my throat.

I opened my mouth and tipped my head back slightly, allowing the water to soothe my parched throat. A low groan eased from my chest as the cool liquid wet my tongue and lips. I hadn’t realized how miserably dehydrated I was until I took that first sip.

Some of the water spilled down my chin and splashed onto my chest, but I didn’t care. I greedily gulped down everything he offered me, my fears about being drugged allayed by the fact that he’d taken a drink from the same bottle first.

When I’d drained half of it, he pulled away, allowing me to draw in a shuddering breath. It felt good to breathe now that my mouth was no longer painfully dry, so I didn’t even register any fear when his thumb brushed away droplets of water that clung to my lower lip. The touch was gentle, despite the slight rasp of a callous over my soft skin.

A light shiver raced over my body, and he pulled his hand away, moving slowly enough not to spook me. The careful way he handled me increased my confidence that he wouldn’t harm me. I blinked several times, clearing the cobwebs from my mind.

He’d said his last name was Ferrara. He’d said that my father had destroyed his family. That was true; my father had sent many of his family members to jail, and they’d lost everything. But Max was young, probably only a few years older than me. Maybe the version of his family history that he’d been told was different from the hard reality that they alone were responsible for their crimes. This stuff about the Bratva had to be a complete fabrication.

And with that awful scar, it wasn’t hard to guess that life hadn’t been kind to him. My own bullies had been bad enough, taunting me for my boyish figure and pale, freckled complexion. I could only imagine how much worse people would’ve treated him because of his disfigurement.

“How’s your head?” he asked, the words a reluctant rumble.

“Better.” I bit my lip, but it was too late to take back my reflexive answer. He wanted to know if my head was clearer so I could answer his insane questions.

“Okay, let’s try this again,” he began, his voice almost gentle. “Your father worked with the Bratva to bring my family down ten years ago. He took money from Russian oligarchs to advance his political aspirations, and in exchange, they helped him become the hero of New York: the man who brought down the Italian Mafia. I already know it, so there’s no point pretending otherwise. What I don’t have is proof. That’s why you’re here. Once you tell me everything you know, I’ll take you home unharmed. Don’t be stupid, Alexandra. Remember who you’re dealing with.”

He pulled farther back into the shadows, tugging his hair over his brow again. Something squeezed in my chest. I am a monster out of your worst nightmares.

Max’s questions were crazy, but maybe he wasn’t entirely sane. His actions were certainly those of a madman: drugging and kidnapping me. Right now, I needed help, but maybe he needed help too.

“It’s Allie,” I offered, hoping to relate to him on a more personal level. He’d been calling me Freckles before he realized it was a trigger for me. It occurred to me that maybe he’d been trying to keep his emotional distance. There was an edgy, desperate energy about Max. He badly wanted to believe what he was saying about my father, and he craved my confirmation.

He took another step back, his massive frame swelling with tension. “I already told you I’ll call you whatever I want.” I didn’t miss the fact that the barbed statement wasn’t followed by a mocking nickname. “You want to go home, don’t you? Talk.” The last was a snapped command.

But I wasn’t quite as terrified of his volatility anymore. If I could just appeal to his humanity, he might calm down long enough to see reason.

“You’re wrong,” I said quietly. “My father didn’t do any of those things. I do know a little about your family, and if you suffered because of my dad’s case against them, I’m sorry. You couldn’t have had anything to do with their crimes back then. But whatever you’ve been told about my father is a lie. He’s a good man, and I won’t betray him by giving you a recording of those lies. I can’t say what you want me to say because it’s not true.”