“Do you think you might be able to squeeze in a few shifts at the club? After Rampage told me we had been shut down for good, I decided it was time to go legit. I’ve already called my attorneys. We’ve applied for a license. We’ll be a sanctioned MMA club, and I’ll need a doctor and medical staff—you.”

The door swings open and a well-groomed, middle-aged couple join us in the room. Max glances up and his face darkens. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I hold out my hand and introduce myself to Max’s aunt and uncle, Richard and Elizabeth Morgan.

I swallow hard, appalled at his outburst and embarrassed for his family. “I called them, Max. I was looking at your tattoos when I remembered the paintings in your office. I got your mother’s details and did some Internet searching. I thought you would be happy to see them.”

“Damn it, Makayla. I left for a reason. If I wanted to see them again, I would have contacted them myself.”

My bottom lip trembles. I had nurtured a faint hope this wouldn’t go badly. I imagined tears and laughter and forgiveness and joy. Not anger or the self-hatred I can see in Max’s eyes.

“You were unconscious. The doctors didn’t know if you would make it. I thought you should have your family with you.”

“You were wrong.”

His words sting, but I press on. “No, you’re wrong. I talked to your aunt and uncle. Not one single person in your family blamed you. No one thought a fourteen-year-old boy should have been able to take on four seasoned mafia enforcers—no matter how good a boxer he was. And your mother wasn’t disinherited. Her money was put in a trust for you at her request. She chose to break with the family. They didn’t choose to break with her.”

Elizabeth gives my shoulder a squeeze, and I find the strength to carry on. “I called your father’s family too. They never blamed you either. Your aunts and uncles are on their way here from Georgia. You have family, Max. They love you. Even though you don’t believe it, you deserve to be loved.”

Heart aching, I grab my purse and push open the door. “Love is a gift. Don’t throw it away.”

***

The next few evenings pass in a blur. I go to work. I sneak into Redemption for fight training. I spend the night kissing the mats. I drink too much beer with the guys. I go home and pass out. I arrive exhausted for work the next day. Max doesn’t contact me, and I don’t contact him.

Friday night, Homicide brings in a bottle of tequila. I am an amazing fighter under the influence of tequila. I resolve always to drink tequila before a fight. By ten p.m. I also resolve never to drink tequila again.

Rampage decides I should have a little rest in Max’s suite while everyone else plays strip poker. He pulls out a hidden key from behind a brick and ushers me inside. After he leaves, I strip off my clothes and climb into Max’s bed. I breathe in his scent and imagine he is with me.

I must have drifted off because I am awakened by a warm hand sweeping over my back. When it curves around my bottom, I stiffen and push myself up.

“Shhh. It’s me.” Max’s deep voice echoes in the stillness.

“Me is supposed to be in the hospital,” I mumble into the pillow. His warm hand on my skin is delicious. Almost as delicious as tequila, which I am never drinking again.

“I got out early for good behavior.” His delicious hand sweeps along the side of my body and strokes the curve of my breast. Even more delicious. I flip over and offer my full self for his caressing pleasure.

“How are you feeling?”

Max chuckles. “Well rested. How about you? You seem a little tipsy.”

“Smashed, actually.” I push off the sheet so his hand does not face any impediments and is free to travel where I want it to go.

“You’re very responsive when you’re smashed.” His fingers slick between my folds, and he holds them up so I can see them glisten.

“Mmm. Pretty.” I draw his hand down to my mouth and wrap my lips around his finger. I suck gently and slide my lips back and forth. I taste sweet and salty.

Max groans. “Don’t do that, baby.”

I drag my lips away. “Why?”

He swallows. “I just…it’s hard.”

I roll over and nuzzle his crotch. He is very obviously erect. “Yes, it is. Let’s do something about that.”

Max snorts a laugh. “I don’t want to take advantage of you in your drunken state.”

I flip over again and lie spread-eagle on the bed. “Please do. I wish you to take advantage of me in every way possible.”

His voice deepens to a low, guttural groan that just adds to my itch. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”

“I’m trying my best here. You gotta give me something back.” I stretch and wiggle on the bed. Max cups my breast in his warm hand and tweaks my nipple.

“I’m still very annoyed,” he murmurs. “Arranging for my family to visit was a shocking surprise.”

I arch into his hand. “Annoyed is good. You want to spank me or tie me up? I’m pretty much game for anything right now.”

“How about we sleep?” Max stretches out on the bed beside me, fully clothed.

“How about we don’t sleep?” I unbutton his shirt and ease it open. “How about Makayla lies on top of you and licks all your delicious tattoos?” I follow the dragon marking down his chest with my tongue, but stop when I am parallel to his heart. “Why did you get this?” I trace a gentle circle around my name.