I’m here.
Her eyes do a quick perusal of me, dropping to my feet and then up to my narrowed gaze. I don’t even feign a smile for the cold-hearted bitch.
She raises a blonde brow at me. “Shoshanna, you look the same.”
“You don’t. You look older,” I say, deadpan, and Cassidy spits out her drink before biting her lip to stop from any further outbursts.
Victoria levels me with her blue eyes, a spiteful shadow crossing over them. “Childrenmake you age. . . Do you have any?”
I straighten, eye to eye with her, feeling nothing but unadulterated hatred for this woman, for every time she hit her sons, for all the nastiness she bestowed upon them. For hating them when they needed love. For scaring everyone away from them as though she owns them, as though she wants to be the only female constant in their lives.How she must hate Cassidy.I wonder what hardships she has put the poor girl through. “No. I don’t.”
She looks down at my stomach, hammering a message home. She knows. “You’re lucky, young lady.”
“You’re a bitch,” I spit out, loving the honesty. “Everyone else might pretend you’re not a vapid cunt, but I won’t. And you can’t scare me away from him. So get out of my fucking face.”
The red line of her mouth twitches, and I’m surprised she doesn’t take a swing at me. I know how much she likes to hit people, but we’re not children anymore and I’m not afraid of her.
She hums before saying, “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing then that you cut that bastard baby from your guts. It would have shared blood with this vapid cunt.”
My body ignites, but I clench my jaw instead of clawing at her face like I want to. “Stay away from me,” I hiss. “Stay away from him. They might not want to tell Butch what you did to them because they know he’dkillyou. But I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him everything.”
Glaring at me, she takes a step back, and the energy between us stretches, thinning and allowing me to feel Cassidy’s presence behind me. Victoria turns and meanders towards Butch’s office. I remain fixed on the red material of her dress, searing a hole through it, feeling a million things on the tip of my tongue, grappling for release.
“Oh andVicky,”I call out, knowing that casual term will strip a bit of her prowess. She turns with an almost impressed look on her face, plucking an eyebrow at me. “I’m not going anywhere.” As I say it, I also accept it.
I’m not going anywhere.
I’ll bring Akila home.
She smirks, saying, “That is yet to be seen.” As she disappears down the hallway, her heels echo off the white tiles.
The rolling sound of the sliding door catches my attention. I glance over to find Max standing there staring straight at me, and I wonder how long he’s been watching us. I’m not surprised though. His grey-blue eyes bounce over my shoulder to his wife and then back to me again.
“You’re not going anywhere?” he repeats my words as he strides the short distance over to Cassidy. Taking her into his arms protectively, he leads me to believe he may have heard Victoria’s tone at the very least. She squeezes his waist and presses her chin to his chest, peering up to watch him as he stares with his notorious Max Butcher scowl over her head at me.
“That’s what she said, Max,” Cassidy says, her tone gentle and soothing. “It’s not all she said either. She just dropped theC-bomband scolded your mum. She’s kind of a badarse.” She chuckles a little, reaching up to smooth the lines between his brows, provoking him to instantly soften beneath her caress. I can see how they work now. The effect she has on him is like magic. But his fixed stare tells me he is waiting for my answer. My eyes dart through the glass window and land on Bronson, who is flat on his back with Kelly perched on his stomach, chatting away. He cups the back of his head, his large, tattooed arms framing his face, and I’m not sure I could dream of a more beautiful view. He makes a stupid face at her. She erupts in a giggle. You would think they were having the most interesting conversation, given the enthusiasm in every gesture.
I let myself smile. Looking back at Max, I say, “Yeah.”
He lifts his chin and kisses Cassidy’s finger until she lowers her hand with a little giggle. “Okay.” He nods at me; a corner of his lip twitches with a hint of a grin. “Good.”
“Yay!” Cassidy sings, turning to cuddle me before instantly being pulled back into his arms again. “You made up.”
“Did we?” I ask, taking the champagne flute and sipping the mimosa she poured for me. I eye Max with a smirk. “I didn’t even know we were fighting.”
His cutting grey-blue gaze leaves me and softens on his wife’s face, scrolling over her with absolute infatuation. The kind of look I genuinely never thought I would see on him. He lifts her until she is wrapped around his waist and then walks with her outside.
“I’m talking to Shoshanna,” she protests half-heartedly while he completely ignores her reluctance to leave me.
Leaning on the counter again, I watch as he slides Cassidy to one side so he can scoop his daughter up with his free hand. He tucks her under his arm as she squeals and laughs. My heart feels every sweet giggle like a warm caress.
Sighing at the sight, I head to find a bathroom. The only one I know of is in Bronson’s room, so I jog up the stairs towards it. With the door in sight, I meander down the hallway.
Footsteps suddenly thunder behind me, and I gasp when someone grabs the nape of my neck. My shoulders rise with the uncomfortable feeling, muscles tense under the firm dominant hold. When I’m twisted around, I inhale panic until his lips meet mine and I exhale with relief. I hum my enjoyment for a moment before my senses settle and I want to kick his arse again.
Agitated by his dominance, I attempt to slap his chest, but he catches my arm with his free hand. When I try with the other, he catches that too and then holds them together with one hand. He squeezes the top of my spine; the feel of his unyielding grip, overwhelming and authoritarian, almost causes an ache to rush through my limbs.
“When I couldn’t see you anymore, I nearly fucking lost my mind.” He growls against my lips before licking inside my mouth. The need in his frantic movements send me spinning, and the tumble in his tone twists the nerves between my legs as though the sound has form and strength and precision all of its own.