“Well, who is it?” I prodded.

“What do you think of his stuff?” he asked me, changing the subject.

“It’s . . . strange and beautiful and dark and crazy. I’ve heard that a bunch of galleries are interested in his art. Is that true?”

Maxx smiled. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“So why doesn’t he sell some of it? He’d make a killing!”

Maxx stared straight ahead at the road. “Because his art isn’t about money! It’s about more than that. He doesn’t want to taint it with a desire to earn some quick cash. It’s probably one of the few pure things he has left in his life.”

Maxx was talking knowledgeably about the artist, speaking as though he understood, on an intimate level, what motivated the unidentified painter. Suspicion started to blossom inside me.

“And how do you know all that? You seem to know this X really well,” I said carefully.

Maxx’s jaw tensed, and his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles turned white. “I don’t know him at all,” he barked.

Okay then. Clearly X was a sensitive subject. But his gruff dismissal had sparked a hunch I couldn’t ignore.

“So where are we headed?” I asked when the silence became uncomfortable.

“A warehouse down in the city. Pretty close to one we’ve used before. It’s a good location,” Maxx said after a beat.

“How do you find the spots for the club?” I asked, posing the question I had wondered about since first going to Compulsion. The spots were picked with care and consideration.

Maxx’s smile returned. “I look for places out of the way that can hold a lot of people, where we can run a few transformers off the local grid. Most important is that it be as far away from the police as possible.”

“That makes sense,” I replied.

I tried to think of other things to ask him, since he appeared to be in a full-disclosure kind of mood, but my mind went blank. Maxx wasn’t in a hurry to fill the silence, so I let it go and tried not to feel tense in the quiet.

Once we got to the club, it was already heaving. The line to the front door wrapped around the block. But this time I didn’t have to wait my turn like the rest of them.

Maxx took my hand and led me to a door around the back of the building. Before going inside, Maxx turned to me and became serious. He grabbed my face and kissed me hard. “Don’t talk to anyone. Not unless I’m with you,” he warned.

I smirked. “I have been here before, you know,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. Maxx’s transformation had already occurred, and I felt immediately apprehensive.

Maxx narrowed his eyes at me as he pulled a baseball cap out of his back pocket and fitted it on his head. “Yeah, and you were almost trampled to death and had your drink spiked. And let’s not forget you ended up with a guy like me. I think that says a lot about your judgment.” His words came out like an accusation.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the back door. It was pitch-black. I couldn’t see two feet in front of me. The thumping bass filled the space, vibrating my bones and buzzing in my head. Maxx gave my hand a small yank, and I stumbled forward, catching myself on the wall as I collided with his back.

“You okay?” he yelled into my ear. I nodded, though I knew he couldn’t see me. And then I was being pulled farther into the building. We headed down a dark hallway, and I could see the familiar throbbing red lights ahead. The hallway led into a cavernous space, very similar to what I remembered from that first night when I had come to find Renee.

It was sweltering. Sweat was already beading along the back of my neck, and I had to lift my hair to get some relief. Maxx’s hold on my hand was bone-crushingly tight as he navigated us through the crowd.

His shoulders were rigid and his chin thrust forward. His narrowed eyes flicked through the mass of people. He was assessing, taking note. If it weren’t for his fingers gripping me, I would have thought he’d forgotten I was there.

People reached out to grab him as we passed. “X! You’re here!” a man said, walking into our path. He had called Maxx X. My hunch had just been confirmed. The artist and my boyfriend were one and the same. I thought back to the paintings—the woman who had appeared in every single one since I had met him, the girl with the long blond hair who always seemed to be walking toward her doom.

I shivered in spite of the heat.

Maxx’s shoulders stiffened, and he shoved the guy out of his way and kept walking. I was shocked by his sudden display of aggression but allowed him to pull me along.

Girls tried to get his attention with their skin. Guys tried to talk to him, pleading for a moment of his time. They all wanted him. And I could tell he loved it.

He had changed, and he was most certainly no longer my Maxx. He was that other Maxx.

He was X.

No one spared me a look. Their focus, their desire, was entirely for him.

As we made our way through the crowd, Maxx’s hand wrapped tightly around mine, my front pressed into his back, I thought I saw a familiar pair of faces. I peered into the shadows, the red light obscuring my vision.

I thought I had seen Evan and April. God, I hoped I was wrong. I pulled back from Maxx a bit, trying to get a better look.

Maxx stopped walking, turning back to see why I had stopped. I pointed toward the far wall.

“I think I saw Evan and April,” I yelled over the din. Maxx shook his head, grabbed my chin, and tilted my head back.