Maxx finally came to. He said something, but it didn’t make much sense. It was garbled and confused. After a while, I was able to get him to his feet. Not only was Maxx f**ked-up, but he was severely injured, making walking an arduous task. I was thinking a trip to the ER was in our future.

I draped his arm around my shoulders and propped him as he struggled to get to his feet. “I can’t carry you. You’re going to have to walk to my car,” I said firmly.

“Okay,” was all Maxx said. I wasn’t sure he realized who I was or what had happened, he was so out of it. Instead of going back through the club, we slowly made our way around the side of the old department store toward the front.

It took what felt like an hour to get him there. I had to stop frequently to rest. Maxx was a big guy, and he wasn’t helping me much. I had to yell at him periodically when he seemed in danger of passing out.

Once we were in the light of the streetlamps, I was able to get a good look at him. One side of his face was bruised and swollen. His left eye was already shut. His upper lip was split and bleeding. His white T-shirt was stained with dirt and blood. He looked like hell.

“Maxx!” someone yelled. I didn’t stop, afraid that whoever it was would want to finish what the two goons had started.

“Stop!” the voice called out. I heard footsteps running behind me and turned to see one of the doormen. Not biker Randy, but the other one, the one who had flirted with me when I had arrived.

“Fuck, what happened to him?” he asked, immediately taking Maxx’s other arm to help me.

“Thanks,” I said sincerely. We were moving much faster now that I had assistance. The doorman wasn’t overly big, but he was strong. He handled Maxx easily.

“He was beat up,” I explained, not sure why I was telling this guy anything, only that he was helping, and right now that was enough for me.

“Gash,” the doorman said under his breath.

“Huh?” I asked, my foot catching on a rock, making me stumble. Maxx moaned as I collided into him.

“I’ve got him, you can drop his arm,” the doorman told me. I did as he said, relieved to be free of Maxx’s deadweight. Maxx looked horrible. He was trying to open his eyes, but he wasn’t having much luck. The left one was swollen shut, and the right one was glazed and unfocused.

“Can you get him home?” the doorman asked me. I nodded, wrapping my arms around my middle. I was shaking uncontrollably, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I was close to having a meltdown.

“Where’s your car?” the doorman asked me, sounding frustrated and out of breath from carrying Maxx’s six-foot frame.

I pointed to the far back corner of the parking lot. The doorman hoisted Maxx up so he could get a better grip and jerked his head impatiently. “Lead the way. Our boy isn’t light,” he complained through gritted teeth.

“What’s your name?” I asked him, tired of referring to him as “the doorman” in my head.

“Marco,” he answered tersely.

“I’m Aubrey,” I told him, though he hadn’t asked for my name. I felt that given our current circumstances, we should be on a first-name basis.

Marco didn’t make any comment, and I got the impression he honestly didn’t care who I was.

I hurried ahead of him to my car and unlocked the passenger-side door. Marco heaved Maxx onto the seat and positioned his head so that it was upright. Maxx’s eyes squinted open. I wasn’t sure he knew who either Marco or I was. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and then closed his eyes again.

Marco muttered a string of curses and then started patting Maxx’s pockets.

“What are you doing?” I asked, not liking how rough he was being. Maxx was clearly about to lose any semblance of consciousness. Marco ignored me and pulled out a plastic baggie from Maxx’s jean pocket.

He held it up to the light, his mouth tightening and his eyes narrowed. It was empty. Marco dropped the bag on the floor of my car, and I had to stop myself from demanding that he pick it up and dispose of it properly. My OCD didn’t recognize the crazy situation I found myself in. All it saw was trash where it shouldn’t be.

Marco pulled a wad of cash out of the same pocket and started counting it.

“Wait a minute! Isn’t that Maxx’s?” I asked in dismay. Was Marco going to rob Maxx right in front of me? What kind of f**ked-up world was I in?

Marco lifted his lip contemptuously and didn’t bother to look at me as he said, “You need to mind your own business, pretty girl.”

He finished counting the money and made a noise of disgust before shoving it back into Maxx’s pocket. He gripped Maxx’s chin and then slapped him across the face. I let out a pathetic squeak of alarm.

“Stop it! He’s hurt!” I protested, my horror giving me a voice when I should have probably stayed quiet.

Marco ignored me and smacked Maxx again. Maxx tried to open his eyes and weakly pushed Marco’s hand from his face. “Leave me the f**k alone,” he slurred. At least that’s what I thought he said. The words were strung together, and I couldn’t be entirely sure. But given the way Maxx was struggling against Marco’s grip, I could only assume that was the general message.

Marco gave Maxx a hard shake. “Where’s the rest of the money?” he growled.

Maxx pressed himself into the back of the seat and shook his head limply. “That’s all of it, man,” he argued.