I’ll miss that tight pussy of yours, though. No one takes my cock better than you do. It’s your best quality.
Fresh hurt sliced through me at the memory of his parting shot. Josh always knew which buttons to push, good or bad.
But still, I missed him so much it hurt to breathe.
Come here, baby.
You’re supposed to be in New Zealand.
I’d rather be here.
I hadn’t seen him since our breakup. He hadn’t swung by the clinic, and he’d ignored all my calls and texts. But if—
“I need the painting back, Jules.”
My head jerked up just in time to catch a glimpse of blue eyes and light brown hair before Max pinned me to the wall.
I let out a small cry when my head banged against the concrete. My vision blurred at the impact, but I could still make out the harsh lines of Max’s expression.
“I don’t have it,” I gasped. “I threw it away.”
I didn’t want him going after Josh. Christian had promised to keep an eye on Josh in case Max’s “friends” tried to steal the painting again, but it wasn’t a sustainable solution.
I hadn’t wanted to throw it away without returning it to Josh first. He deserved to know. But I told him the danger when I explained the situation the other night, and I hoped he was smart enough to get rid of the art before Max’s friends showed up at his doorstep.
“Don’t lie, Jules. I always know when you’re lying.” Whiskey coated Max’s breath. There was no trace of the clean-cut, gentlemanly mask he liked to wear. Wild panic ran through his bloodshot eyes, and his lip was curled into an ugly sneer. A thin sheen of sweat coated his face and glistened beneath the stairwell’s fluorescent lights.
He was near feral. Unhinged.
My heart jackhammered in my chest, and a thick, pungent taste filled my mouth.
It was the taste of fear.
“They’re going to kill me if I don’t find it.” A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. “I need the painting back. You’re going to help me.”
“I told you, I threw it away.” My heart raced so fast I might pass out.
I could hear people’s footsteps outside the door—so close, yet so far away.
Why is no one using the stairs, dammit?
A scream of frustration trapped in my chest. Of all the days for me to take the stairs, which I never did, I had to choose today.
I should’ve lied and gone along with Max’s plan until I could get help, but my oxygen supply ran scarce, and I couldn’t think properly.
Besides, what if he hurt Josh? What if—
“You stupid, fucking whore.” Max pressed his forearm against my throat until I gasped for air. I clawed at his hold, but he was too strong. “This is all your fault. You ruined my life. I asked you for one favor, Jules. One favor in exchange for seven years, and you couldn’t even do that.” His harsh breaths clouded my face in a haze of alcohol.
Drunk and desperate. The most dangerous combination.
“Maybe I should take my payment another way,” he said, his voice so nasty it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Max reached between my legs. “See if your pussy is still tight enough to make me come.”
Dots danced before my vision. My limbs were growing heavier, my struggles for breath weaker, so I did the only thing I could do—I kneed him in the balls with every ounce of strength I had left.
His howl of pain ripped through the stairwell. He released me and doubled over.
I allowed myself one second to bask in the sweet air flowing through my lungs again before I stumbled toward the exit, but I only made it two steps before a hand shoved against my back. I didn’t even get a chance to scream before I plummeted down the stairs. My head slammed against something cold and hard, and I caught only the briefest glimpse of the stairwell door opening before everything went dark.