by Ava Walsh
"I'm just saying that the girl who played the maid ought to have been the lead soprano," Scarlett said, as Max helped her into her coat in the lobby of the theater. The play, which Max had chosen, had been surprisingly racy and left Scarlett with a pounding heart.
"I'm not disagreeing with you that her voice was better," Max said, wrapping a scarf around his neck. "But she was far too old to be the countess, and the maid had the next largest role."
Scarlett indulged herself in an eye-roll as they left the theater. It was a crisp, bright night full of lights. Max had an apartment within walking distance that they would be spending the night in, and she was glad for the walk. After sitting in the theater for so long, her body ached for movement.
Scarlett collected her thoughts to counter Max's argument as they headed off into the clear night. "The countess doesn't need to be as young as she was cast."
"The main point of the story is the scandal from the age gap between her and her husband. A young actress is necessary."
"The count was made to look well into his nineties," Scarlet countered. "The maid couldn't have been more than thirty, that's still a massive age gap with a ninety-year-old husband. The actress would have been just as suited to be a young wife as the seventeen-year-old they cast. Or are you saying that a thirty-year-old bride is just the right age for a ninety-year-old groom?"
Max laughed and inclined his head. "You win, madam. Quite correctly. The maid was plenty young enough to play the countess."
Scarlett nodded, satisfied with her work. They had gone a block by this time, and as they passed through an alley, a flash of movement caught her eye. Even as she turned, she felt a hand clasp over her wrist and pull her off balance. The sharp edge of a knife pressed against her ribs, making her gasp. Madoc! He'd found out who she was!
"Give me your wallet and watch," rasped a male voice. He sounded even more frightened than Scarlett felt.
Not Madoc, then, or anybody sent by him.
She twisted and saw that the man who held her captive wasn't much more than a boy. He could only be sixteen, and he had wide, frightened eyes and a trembling hand. Not a criminal at all, just a boy making a desperate choice. Scarlett couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. She ran through all the ways she could disarm him in her mind, but didn't attempt to free herself just yet, curious as to what Max would do.
"Give me the wallet!" The boy insisted.
Max held up his hands, his expression calm. "Hold up there. Let's not lose our cool. You look hungry. Why don't you let my fiancée go so we can grab something to eat and talk this through?"
The boy's expression contorted. A look of anger flashed through his eyes and he pressed the knife snugger against Scarlett's ribs. She grabbed his wrist, ready to do what she needed to do to avoid getting hurt, but Max shook his head minutely, as though telling her not to.
"All right," he said, "you can have my wallet."
He drew out the wallet and held it out towards the boy, who roughly pushed Scarlett away to snatch it. Before his fingers could close on the leather, though, Max had moved forward. He slapped the knife from the boy's hand and grabbed his wrist, twisting him around. With one hand firmly clasping the boy's wrist, he grabbed the back of his jacket and hoisted him from the ground.
"I was in the Marines, you picked the wrong man to mug."
"Let me go!"
"Can you bring that?" Max said pleasantly, nodding towards the fallen knife.
Scarlett, gaping, did as he asked. The boy squirmed in Max's grasp, but the billionaire easily carried him to his apartment building. The doorman looked at them strangely as they passed. Scarlett skirted past him, not daring to even try to make up an excuse for this. Anything she said would just make him more suspicious.
The boy had stopped fighting by the time they got to the apartment, a lush open-concept space with a loft bedroom.
Only one bedroom. And the couch didn't look too comfortable. Scarlett narrowed her eyes at Max as he deposited their would-be mugger at the kitchen table. Did he think he could change her mind on the no-sex rule? It would explain the racy play he had chosen…
She found herself hoping that he would try… Max was not the arrogant jerk she had thought he would be. In fact, if he weren't so obscenely wealthy, she might even consider calling him a gentleman.
Max looked at the boy, folding his massive arms. "What's your name?"
"Sam. What are you going to do with me?"
"What's your story, Sam?"
The boy shifted in his seat, scowling.
Max pulled a loaf of bread and jar of jam from the fridge. "You got allergies?"
Sam's eyes widened slightly as he shook his head.
"I'm going to make you a sandwich, and you’re going to tell us why you're mugging people," Max said coolly. "Deal?"
Scarlett sat next to the boy. "We're not going to call the police. Are we, Max?"
The billionaire shrugged and shook his head. "Guess not."
"My dad's sick," the boy muttered, glaring suspiciously at them. "My mom works three jobs, but I need to help bring in some money to pay the bills. But nobody will hire me. We need the money."
Max grunted. He pushed the sandwich to the boy. After a moment, Sam tore into it like he hadn't eaten all day. Scarlett resisted the urge to pat his back and dig out the money from Max's wallet to give to him. This was exactly why she did what she did. No child should have to take this amount of responsibility just to keep the family's head above water. The basic staples of life—food, water, shelter, medical care—those should be rights, not privileges that could only be bought.
This child wasn't a criminal. The system, strangling the life out of his childhood, then blaming him for doing what he needed to do to put food on his family's table, was criminal. Why couldn't more people see that?
Scarlett realized she was glaring at Max, who deliberately ignored her. He was writing something in a notebook–no, his checkbook. Scarlett's eyes widened as he tore out a check and handed it to Sam.
"Take it," he urged, as Sam stared at the check. "That ought to be enough for the rest of the month. And I've written my PA's number on the back of it, call him and tell him that I want to give you a job. You're still in high school, right?"
The boy nodded.
"Stay in school. If you graduate, I'll pay your college tuition. Got it?"
Sam cautiously took the check, looking like he had been hit by a bus. Scarlett stared at Max with much the same expression. She continued staring even after the boy finished his sandwich and was sent on his way, check in hand. It was only then that Max turned to her, arching a brow.
"Impressed?" he asked, giving her the most charming smile she had ever seen from him.
"I…" A gentlewoman never lied. But she also didn't have to tell the whole truth. "I don't see how you think saving one boy makes up for all the other families out there in the same situation."
Max's smile faltered. "I can't help them all. It would take more than just my wealth."
"You could still do a lot more than you do. You own a mansion on the outskirts of the city, an apartment in the heart of it. Property in Hawaii, even a whole island if the rumor is true. Do you really need all that? Do you need a private jet? There are people in this city who need food. And yet you spend your money on diamonds."
Max sat on the stool next to hers, a heavy frown on his face. "I haven't bought jewelry in years, I donate a significant sum to charities and I make a point to give money to random people I see on the street. Would you suggest I sell everything and give away all my money to temporary solutions?"
"No." Scarlet shook her head. "You're right, it would take more than just your wealth to change the world, but you could change thousands of lives. But I think this is a conversation for another time. Where am I going to sleep?"
A slow smile curled Max's lips. There was a gleam in his eye that made Scarlett's heart beat faster and a flush rise in her cheeks. So he was hoping to change her mind on the no-sex rule. T
hat must be why he’d chosen such a racy play. She lightly smacked his arm.
"Don't you recall the rule I made about—"
"I remember," he interrupted. "But did I agree?"
His hand rested on her knee, sliding her skirt up her thigh. Scarlett had to stop herself from shivering at his light touch, a fire lighting in her belly. What would Hao say about this? Was it turning too much into a confidence scheme? Her insides quivered when Max's hand stopped inches too soon.
No, because I'm not using my relationship to steal anything. We're just redefining the rules of our agreement
"You agreed," she said, but her voice trembled with desire. "I suppose one tiny exception wouldn't hurt—"
Max was on his feet in an instant, hiking her skirt up so he could spread her thighs around his hips. His mouth was on hers, turning her into hot jelly, but Scarlett didn't care. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth closer. She loved the sensation of his hard chest against her.
He easily lifted her from the stool and carried her up the loft stairs to the bed.
Chapter Four
A sliver of light peeking through the blackout curtains woke Scarlett. She yawned and rolled over. When she didn't bump into a big, strong man, she patted the bed, looking for Max. Nothing. Cracking an eye open revealed she was in the bed alone.
Odd. In the three months that she and Max had been together, he had never gotten up before her. The man liked his sleep.
Yawning, Scarlett climbed out of bed and hunted for the clothes she'd shed the previous night. It still amazed her that, even after three months, Max was just as wild in bed as he had been the first time they were together.
Together in bed, she corrected herself. He's great to have some fun with but it would never work long-term between us.
She tried to ignore the pang of regret that hit her when she considered that they'd only keep up this charade for another seven months. Though Max clearly enjoyed having her company (especially at night, a voice in the back of her head whispered) he hadn't made any indication that he was looking to legitimize their relationship. Not that she wanted it legitimized. She still held the belief that nobody had a right to be as rich as Maximillian Barnes when there were children going hungry or drinking dirty water, and that was a deal breaker for any relationship they could have.
But maybe if I was part of this world, I could encourage more change to happen…
With a groan, Scarlett shook her head. Above all else, a gentlewoman was logical and precise. She did not throw out her hard-earned reputation and skills for flights of fancy. A man like Barnes could have any woman he wanted. He was probably only sleeping with her because she’d told him that she wasn't going to.
Men who had everything were like that. As soon as they were told no they wanted the shiny new toy, even if they hadn't so much as glanced at it before. Scarlett was just that, a shiny new toy, and she was fine with that because that was all Max was to her as well. At least, that was what she kept trying to tell herself. Even if that wasn't the case, how much change could she encourage?
She yanked on her clothes–designer jeans and a tailored top Max had bought for her; he insisted that if people were going to believe she was his fiancée, she had to look the part, and that meant wearing socks that cost fifty dollars each–and left the bedroom. Maybe Max was in the kitchen helping Vanessa make breakfast. It surprised her that a man with as much muscle on his body as Max had a mostly vegetarian diet, but she hadn't seen him eat meat since she arrived. Eggs and dairy products were all staples, but no meat.
Her musings were cut short by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned, smiling–and found herself staring down the barrel of a semiautomatic gun. Adrenaline flooded her system and she had to force herself not to run. The man holding the gun was wearing a black ski mask, and as Scarlett raised her hands to show she wasn't armed, he shoved the gun into her stomach. Her heart clenched and she swallowed back a curse word.
Has Madoc finally found out who I am? This wasn't necessarily him–she'd already be dead if it was, wouldn't she? Stay calm.
"You're not going to give me any trouble, are you?" the masked man asked.
She shook her head.
"Good."
He spun her around, clapping a hand on her shoulder while keeping the gun buried in her ribs. They marched down the hallway silently. Scarlett let the man set the pace, not wanting to set him off. There was no hesitation in his hold on the gun. He was clearly a professional. Even if she could disarm him, he'd have friends around. She wouldn't make it to the front door before getting gunned down. Especially if they had been sent by Madoc.
Soon they were in the kitchen. Vanessa and Max were both kneeling on the floor, their hand behind their heads. A look of relief crossed Max's face when she was put beside them. There were two other men holding guns on them, and one of them slipped out of the room after nodding to the others.
"Are you all right?" Max asked under his breath.
Scarlett nodded, then glared at the two masked men. "So why are you here? Robbing the place?"
The one who had brought her in laughed. "Nothing gets past you, does it, sugar?"
His companion chuckled as though the man had made a hilarious joke. Scarlett straightened her spine, looking the two men up and down. These men, at least, thought that this was a robbery. Perhaps it had nothing to do with Madoc after all. Scarlet thought of the beautiful tiara in Max's safe. Her hands clenched as she realized that these brutes would not respect the workmanship or sentimental attachment it held.
"You are barbarians," she said narrowing her eyes. "You come in here with guns, terrorizing us. Is that part of the thrill? Do you also like kicking puppies and making babies cry?"
"Listen, sugar, you keep that pretty mouth closed or I'll find a proper use for it," her captor said, toying with the zipper on his pants in a suggestive manner.
Scarlett's stomach churned, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to give in to her fear. Max growled deep in his chest, the sound shockingly animalistic. Both guards turned to him, pointing their weapons at him.
"Got something to say?"
"Men like you are the reason society will fall," Scarlett interrupted, as Max opened his mouth. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he would say or do something that would only end in violence. "Men conflating violence and sex, contributing to the sexual objectification of women—"
She bit back the rest of what she was going to say when a gun was pressed to her chest. Her heart dropped, feeling like it had stopped beating for a moment. The eyes staring at her through the ski mask narrowed and the man grabbed a handful of her hair.
"Shut your mouth. You sound just like that Kitty Cat burglar. I tell you," he continued, releasing her and stepping back, "I'd like to find her in a house. I'd turn her over a table and show her what sexual objectification is! Maybe I'll practice on you, sugar."
He reached for her breast but, even as Scarlett shied away from his hand, a deafening roar rang through the kitchen. Max surged to his feet, his mouth wide open. Scarlet stared in fascination and horror as fangs sprouted in his mouth, one pair from the top, the other from the bottom. The roar continued as brown fur sprouted over his body and his already muscular arms swelled to three times their size.
In seconds a gorilla was on the two men. Giant hands grabbed their throats. One was thrown across the room, while the gorilla–Max–bit into the other man's neck. There was a crunching noise. The man screamed. Max threw him into the cupboards, splintering the wood. The second gunman scrambled to his feet, pointing his weapon wildly. Max launched himself across the room, a clenched fist colliding with the man's face.
He crumpled and Max pounded the man's chest, swinging his arms above his head, bringing the backs of his hands down. Scarlett couldn't look away as the man’s ribs cracked. The man's chest collapsed like a sinkhole. The gorilla still pounded the body.
At the sound of a gun, Scarlett's mind reeled. She couldn't breathe. Max vault
ed across the room. Grabbed the other gunman. Snapped his neck. Dropped the body. Turned to her.
Blood dripped down his abdomen. He'd been shot. As the gorilla–massive, covered in dark brown fur, with a patch of silver on his back–came towards her, she scrambled away. The gorilla stopped. His form blurred, changing back into the Max she had come to know.
It was all too much for Scarlett. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and she gladly collapsed into unconsciousness.
Chapter Five
Scarlett clutched a blanket around her shoulders, shivering. She hadn't stayed unconscious long, just long enough for Max to make a sweep of the house. She woke to him carrying her to the sofa in the den. If it wasn't for the blood dribbling from his side, she would have been tempted to think it was just a dream.
She swallowed dryly, remembering the pounding hands, the sound of bones cracking. How could somebody as gentle as she knew Max to be also have that level of violence in him? Beating a man to death with his bare hands…
He was protecting me, she reminded herself, for what seemed like the millionth time. That was the only reason she wasn't running, screaming, to the police about what she had seen. The thought of what could have happened if Max hadn't been there made her feel sick, and she had to close her eyes and breathe in deep to avoid passing out again.
This is ridiculous. I'm not some swooning woman from the Victorian age who succumbs to the vapors.
But at the moment, she half-wanted to be able to collapse back into oblivion. There were things that she just didn't want to think about that had happened that day…
