“Or maybe you’re talking about when I got free of muling smack and meth for Jagger? You know, in between my night job of taking cock in alleys. That was three years ago. Thanks.”
The sarcasm in that bit of gratitude was so sharp, Ian could feel it slicing through flesh. Yeah, Max had benefited from Jagger’s death in a way, but everyone at the table knew that Ian hadn’t done it for Max. He’d killed Jagger to save his own skin. And Hollis’s.
If he was honest with himself, there was some need for revenge mixed in as well.
“You being trapped at Jagger’s is not Ian’s fault,” Snow said in a hard, low voice. Ian grabbed his arm, stopping him from saying anything else.
“Oh, I know. I just wasn’t as cute as Ian. Not as sweet as Ian. Not as…well, just not the perfect damsel in distress. Not like Ian was,” Max snapped. His cold eyes swept up Snow and down again. “Were you one of them? Heard he had these mysterious benefactors who jumped in and saved him from Jagger. Are you one of them?”
Ian squeezed Snow’s arm again and started talking before Snow could admit that he was. Normally Ian would be proud to hear that Snow was one of the men who saved his life, but he was afraid Max would turn his venom on Snow next, making his life hell. No, he wanted Max to stay focused on him.
“Snow is a friend. That’s all,” Ian quickly said. “Look, I know that you’ve been dealt a raw deal in life, and it fucking sucks. I got lucky. I don’t know why. I’m not saying that I deserved it. It’s just how things worked out. I want to help you. Try to give you the same break I had.”
Max curled his lip at Ian in disgust. “Not everyone needs to be saved like you. Some of us learn how to take care of ourselves all on our own just fine.”
Their conversation was put on hold by the server arriving with a huge tray stacked with plates. She wordlessly set their plates down in front of them and then returned a minute later to refresh their coffees. Max dug in like a ravenous wolf who’d just stumbled out of an incredibly lean winter. Ian glanced over to find Snow digging into his omelet.
Ian picked at his. His stomach was churning and queasy from the conversation with Max. The soupy grits and biscuit that somehow managed to look greasy wasn’t going to improve how he felt. Though he couldn’t help but notice how Snow was devouring his hash browns like they were a gift from the heavens, his pale blues rolling back into his head with joy. Ian hadn’t experimented much with the food, and he was wondering if he needed to make a special brunch for his friends that included them.
They didn’t speak while Max ate. Ian was partially afraid he would upset him so much that he’d storm off before he finished. The guy needed food in his belly desperately. If anything, Ian prayed that maybe a full stomach would get Max to slow down and listen to his overtures of assistance. Not that Ian was putting too much stock in that insane thought.
Max had nearly cleared his plates when he looked up, but his eyes weren’t on Ian and Snow. They widened as they latched on to something—or someone—just past Ian’s shoulder. He paled, if that was at all possible, and pushed back into his booth, eyes frantically darting around the restaurant as if he were searching for some escape. But there was no escape. They were at the very rear of the building and the only customer exit was at the other end.
“What’s wrong?” Ian demanded. He twisted in his seat, trying to see what had spooked Max so badly.
“It’s nothing. None of your business,” Max snapped, but it didn’t have the same venom he’d used to hurl all his other comments at Ian. No, there was no fear lacing his tone.
Ian started to look again, but there was no need. A tall man with lean muscles stopped at the head of their table. His dark eyes moved quickly over Ian and Snow before they settled heavily on Max.
“Hey Maxine,” he drawled in a somewhat high-pitched voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing…I…”
“Can you imagine my surprise since you just told me that you didn’t have the money you owed me, but somehow you’ve got money for a big ol’ breakfast like this?”
“No—”
“I invited Max to breakfast. My treat,” Ian interrupted.
“Well, ain’t that nice of you,” the stranger said. There was a grin on his face showing yellowed teeth and that a couple were missing from his smile. But there was zero warmth in his eyes. No, they were clearly making calculations. Probably wondering what kind of cash Ian had in his wallet. For a moment, Ian stopped feeling like a living, breathing human being and simply became a bank account. “I had no idea that our sweet Maxine had such caring friends.”