Mine.
“Max!” Need choked in the word, and then her fingers were on his cock, soft and delicate, touching and stroking, and he had to clench his back teeth.
She guided his cock, positioning it right at the entrance to her body. So wet and warm. Nothing between them, nothing—
Condom. “Samantha—”
“I’m safe,” she managed, tossing back her hair.
So was he. And if she wanted skin to skin…
She eased down and took him inside her body.
And it was heaven. Hell. So good he lost his breath. So tight that he nearly came at the first hot glide of her body. He forgot the pain and only knew her.
Max worked the rhythm with her, lifting his hips up to meet her, holding tight, and keeping his eyes on her.
Samantha. The woman he’d nearly died for. The woman he would have killed for.
Her moans filled the air. His fingers dug too deeply into her hips, but he couldn’t stop. Need her too much.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. Her sex rippled around him, and then she was coming, whispering his name and arching above him.
Beautiful.
Her climax shivered around his cock, and he exploded into her as a wave of hot pleasure pulsed through his body. Max wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
Because he wasn’t letting her go. No matter what nightmares might come—for him, for her—he wasn’t letting her go.
When the passion eased, she slid down to his side. Her hand lay over his chest, right over his heart. And he didn’t speak because he knew what tomorrow would bring: the face-off with his stepbrother. The last round of questions. The future.
After a while her breathing eased, and he knew she slept beside him. But he didn’t sleep because he didn’t want to see her die again in his nightmares. So he held her in the darkness and wondered how a woman who fought killers could love one.
The next morning, Max walked with Samantha down the long, winding hallway. The clank of metal bars sounded behind them. He knew that sound well. For years, it had haunted his dreams. The sound of freedom being ripped away.
But this time, it wasn’t his freedom. It was his stepbrother’s.
Samantha’s delicate fingers tightened around his. He was limping a bit, thanks to the bullet wound Quinlan had put in his thigh.
Then Monica Davenport was there, stepping forward with Ramirez by her side. They motioned toward the small conference room they’d been given. An empty table waited.
“You understand what’s happening here today?” Monica murmured.
He rolled his shoulder and felt the pull of stitches. Last night, he hadn’t even given a thought to his injuries. Sex and Samantha had made him forget. “Yeah, Quinlan’s about to lie his ass off to try and cut down his prison term.” Or to make me look guilty. Samantha had already told him about Quinlan’s accusations.
Monica’s gaze was assessing. “I’ve asked the DA to wait outside a bit. I want you to have the chance to talk to your brother first.”
His brows climbed. “What good will that do?”
“I think you can make him confess. To everything.” She offered a small, brittle smile. Ramirez watched them with guarded eyes.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Max asked. Samantha’s hand held tight to his.
“No, I’m not.”
“The guy wants me dead. He’s not gonna want to confess!”
“Your brother always wanted his father’s attention, didn’t he?” Monica mused. “The only son, at least for a long time, the one who never quite measured up.”
Piss-poor excuse for a son… Frank’s voice echoed in his mind. Max swallowed.
“The killings weren’t about money. We looked at it all wrong. The money—that’s just the surface,” Monica said, with a wave of her hand. “He took the golden boys—the rich boys with doting dads—and he made the fathers prove how much they loved their sons.”
Max shook his head. “That’s fucked up.”
“That’s Quinlan.” Finally Ramirez spoke. “He could have taken the money and run after the first two snatches, but instead he got to where the money couldn’t compete with the pleasure he took from slicing open his victims.”
“And himself.” Monica reached for a file on the table. “I’ve got doctors’ records—”
“Aren’t those supposed to be confidential?” Max demanded. Beside him, Samantha leaned forward and peered at the files.
“About as confidential as your manslaughter conviction,” Ramirez murmured, locking his gaze on Max.
“Screw off.” Max wasn’t in the mood for any agent bullshit.
“What do the records say?” Samantha wanted to know.
“That at age fourteen, Quinlan Malone was admitted to St. John’s Hospital because he had lacerations on his upper chest.” Monica raised a black brow. “He said he fell onto a fence, but the attending physician suspected otherwise and referred Frank Malone to a psychiatrist.” Monica closed the folder and her gaze returned to Max. “Seems your stepbrother liked to injure himself.”
Sliced off his own finger.
“Self-injuries like that can be triggered by depression, anxiety, an emotional stressor, or—”
“Frank met my mom when Quinlan was fourteen,” Max gritted out from between clenched teeth.
Monica nodded. “Do you know why Nathan Donnelley was employed by your father?”
“He was my dad’s doctor.”
“Actually,” now Monica’s gaze turned to Samantha, “he wasn’t.”
Max glanced back at Samantha.
A little shrug lifted Samantha’s shoulders. “I hacked into his computer and found some old files. When Donnelly started working with Malone, he was there to take care of Quinlan.” She paused, then said, “Frank was tired of the doctors at St. John’s asking questions.”
Max swallowed and felt the punch in his gut. “He’s sick. Quinlan needs help.” And it twisted his heart that he hadn’t seen it sooner. Could I have stopped this? Stopped him? Saved those—
“If you believe that,” Monica interjected smoothly, “if you really think he needs help, then we need you to help us. Get a confession out of him, and we’ll make sure he gets psych treatments during his incarceration.”
“For how long?” His temples pounded. “How long’s he gonna be locked up?”
She didn’t answer, but he already knew. Forever.
Ramirez glanced down at his watch. “They’ll be here soon.”
Max turned his head and gazed down into Samantha’s eyes. He just wanted her, and, fucking miracle, she seemed to want him. Even with what his brother had done to her, she wanted him.
He would do anything to keep her by his side. Anything to keep her in his life. He bent and brushed his lips across hers.
“I’ll talk to Quinlan.” He released his hold on Samantha. “For all the damn good it will do.”
Max didn’t rise when Quinlan was led into the conference room.
Quinlan smirked at him. “Knew you’d be coming by, sooner or later.”
“You can’t talk to him.” The tall, thin man in the suit next to Quinlan—the guy had to be his lawyer—shook his head. “This is highly irregular. We need to get the DA in here. You need to—”
“We need to talk,” Max said, putting his hands flat on the table.
Quinlan laughed. “Yeah, yeah, we do.” He jerked his thumb at the lawyer. “Get out of here.”
The lawyer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?” He waved toward the mirror. “They’re watching you. Recording everything you say. It’s just a—”
“When I want your opinion,” Quinlan muttered, “I’ll damn well tell you.”
The lawyer’s face slackened with surprise.
“Now get the hell out.”
“You’re making a mistake!” The man shook his head. “Fine. Your damn funeral, kid.” Then he shoved past the two guards who’d brought Quinlan in.
Quinlan shuffled
forward. A guard leaned down and cuffed one of Quinlan’s hands to the side of the table.
“You good?” The guard asked Max.
Max nodded. Not really.
The guards left them alone. Probably the SSD’s order. Max didn’t speak at first. He just stared at Quinlan. His stepbrother was paler, and the orange prison garb was too bright.
“Don’t!” Quinlan snapped. “Don’t you dare pity me.”
But part of Max did. And the other part wanted to jump across the table and rip the asshole in half. His palms pressed harder into the table. “I’ve got some questions for you.”
Quinlan leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him. “Don’t you mean your agent whore has some questions?” He smirked. “I knew she was an FBI bitch the whole time. Kevin told me when she came into The Core, asking all her questions.” His jaw hardened. “I warned you not to get the cops, but you were screwing her—”
“I’ve been thinking about you.” Max bit back the rage as he cut through Quinlan’s words. “The SSD called me in today. Said if I got you to confess, they’d give you therapy.”
“I don’t need fucking therapy! I’m not sick!”
“I don’t give a shit if you are or not.”
Quinlan blinked.
“I don’t give a damn if they open up the cell, shove your ass in, and never pull you back out.”
Quinlan shook his head. “No, you don’t—”
Max’s fists slammed into the table. “You killed Frank.”
“The asshole needed to be put down.”
“And then…” Max leaned forward. “You made your worst mistake. You came after her.”
Quinlan stilled.
“You’re lucky she was the one with the gun, because I would have blown your head off and never hesitated.” Disgust had his jaw tightening. “Therapy? They think you need therapy? Nothing’s gonna fix you. You’re broken, twisted. Hell, we never expected you to amount to much anyway. Dropped out of college, couldn’t hold a job, and shit, now everyone knows that you’re just a fucking psycho—”
“Shut up!” Quinlan was on his feet, the table jerking toward him as he yanked his arms up and the cuffs stretched taut. “Just shut the hell up! You sound just like him! Never fucking good enough! No matter what I did. But I showed him! I showed every damn one! It was me. I did it. I planned it fucking all. I was king, I was God, I could do whatever I wanted—”
“And you wanted to kill.” Softer, sadder, because Max had gotten what the agents needed. And he’d known just what to say.
He’d said what Frank would have told his son. So easy, really.
“I wanted to show those bastards that life wasn’t perfect! Daddy couldn’t always bail their asses out!” Quinlan’s face reddened.
Couldn’t or wouldn’t?
“Did Beth beg?” Max asked because he had to. They were watching. He just wanted this over. Wanted it all over. Staring into Quinlan’s eyes now… I don’t see the same man. A stranger stared back at him with eyes that were too bright.
“Hell, yeah. She begged, she pleaded, and she promised me any damn thing I wanted.” His lips twisted. “But I just wanted the bitch to die. This was my show, and she tried to screw with me—”
“A show?” Max’s stomach tightened. “Is that all this was?” A show to prove that he was the best.
Quinlan’s left hand slammed onto the table. “The cops couldn’t catch me. The Feds couldn’t stop me. Those assholes begged for their lives, but they weren’t worth enough.”
And how much was enough?
“What did you do with the money?” Max kept his eyes on Quinlan.
“I’ll never tell.” Quinlan slowly lowered back into the chair. Some of his rage seemed to have cooled just that fast. “I’m going to get out. The shrinks will say I’m crazy, and I’ll get out.” A wider grin spread on his face. “I’ll get out, I’ll get my money, and I’ll be looking for you, brother.”
And he realized that Quinlan had a plan. Had always had his plan. “All those times you cut yourself…”
“Ah, good, they know about those already.” Quinlan inclined his head toward the mirror. “I’m just a poor, sick boy, never given enough attention, always having to compete with the killer in my own home. A killer.” He shook his head and pointed at Max. “Not a very good role model for a guy, huh? I wonder…” Quinlan licked his lips. “Do you think your kids will be as screwed up as me? I mean, with you as—”
The door flew open. “Enough.”
Samantha stood there, breath heaving and fire raging in her eyes. “We’re done here.”
Quinlan laughed. “Knew the bitch was there. I was hoping she’d come out to join us.”
Max’s vision went red. “Don’t even fucking look at her.”
“I’ll do more than that,” Quinlan promised.
I’ll get out….
“We’ve got everything we need, Max. It’s over.” She came toward him and took his hand. “It’s time to go.”
His fingers locked around hers. He rose, pulling her close. Her sweet scent filled his nose. Life. Hope.
So much more.
Love.
“Don’t trust him, sweetheart,” Quinlan taunted. “He’s playing innocent, but he knew what I was doing. Why do you think he was at The Core that night? He was there to meet Veronica, to set up the next vic. He might have been screwing you, but it was just so he could cover his own ass. He didn’t—”
Her fingers brushed Max’s cheek. “He’s not worth it,” she said, and the words were clear, strong.
Silence.
Then Quinlan’s face mottled, and he yelled, “Fucking bitch! You fucking bitch, I’ll slice you open! I’ll make you beg, make you scream, and I’ll make him watch!” Spit flew from Quinlan’s mouth.
Max took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Then he looked back at Quinlan. Veins bulged from his brother’s neck and his eyes were wide, wild. “You’re not going to see daylight again,” he told him.
Quinlan glared at him, hate twisting his face.
“They’re going to throw you into a ten-by-eight room. They’ll keep you locked up like a dog, and you won’t get out.” He’ll never touch her. “But if you do somehow worm your way out of prison,” and Max moved, deliberately shifting his body so that Quinlan couldn’t see Samantha, “if by some stroke of the devil, you get out, I will find you. And trust me, Quinlan, you’ll be the one who begs because I will never let you hurt anyone else I love.”
Max held Quinlan’s stare, needing to break through the madness and make sure his brother understood. “If I see you again,” he said, “you’re dead.”
When Sam and Max walked outside, the wind blew her hair, tossing it around her face. She shoved it back and stared at Max, aware that her fingers were trembling. “Max, the case is over now. We’ve got enough evidence to keep Quinlan locked up for the rest of his life. You’re clear; you don’t have to worry.”
Silence.
“Kenton’s going to give a press conference with Hyde later today. They’re planning to tie up the loose ends.” She stepped closer. “It’s over.”
“The case might be.” He caught her left wrist and chained her to him. “We’re not.”
The knot in her stomach seemed to ease. “What do you want from me?” As direct as she could be.
Those blue eyes, so intense, searched her face. Then… “Forever. I want forever, baby.”
And the fear melted away. Her lips lifted into a trembling smile. “So do I.”
His mouth took hers. Desperate hunger, need, lust. Love.
Max.
Hers.
“Everything’s been so screwed up,” Max murmured against her lips. “Started it all wrong, then the case, Frank, Quinlan…”
Pain echoed in his voice. But she’d help him to deal with the pain, just as he’d helped her.
His head lifted, and he gazed down at her with gleaming eyes. “Can you be with me, knowing what he did, can you—”
?
??Try to stop me.” Max wasn’t Quinlan. “You saved me in that river. You came into the water and—”
“And I wouldn’t have come out without you.” Flat. “Don’t you know yet, baby? Haven’t you realized…?”
She waited, waited.
“I love you.” Simple. Solid. His stare never wavered. “I never thought I’d love a woman like this, but I swear, when I’m with you, I can’t even think straight half the time. I want you, I need you, and I damn well love you more than anything in this world.”
She put her left hand on his shoulder. “And I love you, Max Ridgeway.” The stranger she’d taken to her bed. The lover who’d comforted her in the night. The man who’d pulled her from hell.
They’d started fast, started red-hot, and gone barreling through the darkness. More darkness might come—that was just part of life—but they’d be together.
She’d spent her whole life looking for a man like him. Someone to fight for her, someone to hold her, and someone to stir her desire. Someone who thought she was worth fighting for, worth dying for.
Someone… Max.
She stood on her toes and kissed him.
Worth the world. And more.
Epilogue
Six months later…
Quinlan Malone shuffled down the prison hallway. Catcalls sounded around him. Loud whistles and taunts were hurled from the other inmates as he passed. The orange jumpsuit hung on his shoulders, and the shackles jingled a bit as he walked.
Keith Hyde watched Quinlan head to his new home, one that was a far cry from the mansion that could have been his. A mansion that Max Ridgeway had recently donated to the American Cancer Society. It would be a haven for recovering patients.
The guard opened cell door number 185. Quinlan walked inside. He turned back and offered up his bound hands to the guard. He knew the drill well by now.
Hyde stalked down the corridor. He glanced in the cell. A toilet. Two bunks. Quinlan would have company.
“Happy now, asshole?” Quinlan demanded. “You think this is the end of me? It’s not! I’m gettin’ out of here, you’ll see. My lawyer’s working on an appeal.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Haven’t you heard? I’m crazy! I should be in a mental institution, not jail.”