“We went back to my place and had some fun,” I start. A glimmer shines in Max’s eye when I say that. “We were actually in the middle of having fun when someone banged really hard on my front door—”
“Has that happened before?”
My nerves flare because this is a question I don’t know how to answer.
“No,” I say finally, refraining from gulping like I really want to. I also really want to pick up my margarita again, but my hands are shaking, and I don’t think I’ll be able to hide that.
So, I act like an imbecile and lean over to suck down more of the margarita with it on the table.
“Hmm,” he hums.
Max has to know I have a stalker now. It was something Sheriff Walters told me that would bite me in the ass with them, but I couldn’t not report someone stalking me. Max must’ve seen those reports. But one thing is for sure, I didn’t report his hands appearing on my doorstep.
“You see, Addie, I just can’t quite figure out the motive, ya’ know? Like, say, why would an enemy of Arch show up at your doorstep in the middle of Arch getting his dick wet?”
I flinch from his crass words, feeling almost ashamed that I let Arch touch me at all.
“Max,” Daya snaps. His cold eyes turn to her, but she doesn’t cower. “I’ve told ya’ll a million fucking times. Addie had nothing to do with it.”
His gaze thins again, and he leans further into the table, pinning Daya with a steely glare.
“That’s the problem, Daya. I don’t fucking believe you.”
She snarls, her hands clenching into fists.
“If you want answers, Max, you’re looking in the wrong place,” I cut in before this conversation blows up and Max murders us right here and now.
“I don’t think I am,” he responds, facing me again. “Because Arch’s hands ended up on your doorstep the next morning. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s personal. So why would Arch’s hands be personal to you?”
He smiles in victory when my eyes round with surprise. “How did you know that?”
“Something didn’t sit right with Arch going missing at your house of all places. The morning after, we sent a man to scope out your property. Just in time to see Daya here picking up a bloody box and driving off with it. They tailed her and after she buried it, they simply unburied it. Imagine our surprise when I saw my best friend’s hands in that box. And imagine my surprise when my men told me it was gifted to you.”
I don’t look to Daya. I don’t want Max to see just how alarmed I truly am.
My eyes thin. “Maybe it was put on my doorstep because whoever it was assumed I was connected to Arch’s dealings.”
He laughs then. “You think our rival assumed you were Arch’s bitch? And that you were involved with our work?”
“Maybe,” I snap. “Would they know if I wasn’t?”
He doesn’t answer. He just stares, sussing me out. And I stare back, letting him see the anger in my face. The frustration.
“Why did you have Daya bury them, Addie? Why not tell the police?”
I weigh my options and decide that telling the partial truth is my best bet. “Because there was a note in it threatening my life, along with any police officers involved if I called them. I was made aware of Arch’s… work by then and thought it best to listen and not get further involved. In something I have nothing to do with, by the way.”
Again, he just stares. My heart is beating out of my chest, and by the look in Max’s eyes, I’m still not sure he believes me innocent.
Part of me just wants to confess to him that I’m being stalked. What difference would it make at this point, anyway? Now that Max discovered Arch’s hands, there’s no reason to keep it a secret.
But there is.
If Max discovers I have a stalker—one who is clearly violent and dangerous—he might use me as leverage to draw him out to get his revenge.
I’d become collateral. And I’m not sure I’d make it out alive.
At least this way, there’s a chance that Max will leave me alone if he thinks I’m just some random girl who got caught in the crosshairs of gang activity.
Max hums again and stands, straightening his suit jacket and rebuttoning it. The suit drips class and money, and something tells me Max has taken over the Talaverra’s dealings.
There’s a new crime lord in town, and he’s pissed. At me, no less.
“Enjoy the rest of your dinner, ladies.”