Cursed (4 page)

The cop just shrugged. “Honey, you won't believe the things I've seen.”

Lille sighed. “I can give you his mother's name and address in San Francisco. She'd know if he's ever behaved this way before with anyone else, but I think this is the first time he's ever done anything wrong.”

“Drove him to it, did you?”

“Hey now.” Max straightened. “This isn't her fault.”

The cop held up a hand. “All right, all right. Why don't we all sit down and get comfortable. We'll need statements from everyone.” He looked at Lille. “Unless you had other plans, Miss Marceau.”

Lille glanced at Max and pressed her lips together. “No, sir. None at all.”

The police
had taken away her camera, so
Kim filmed discreetly with her cell phone camera, which wasn't going to be as clear as when she used her digital, but it would have that gritty, realistic feel that the viewers liked. She'd gotten some good shit tonight, especially the part where Lille had smashed that asshole's balls. She hadn't been able to check the number of views online, but she was sure they were going to be setting a record with that footage. If Miss Lille had wanted to be infamous, she had her wish, that was for sure.

Kim tilted her phone's camera in Lille's direction; the cop was talking to her, Max and Mary at her side. Her face was pale, and though it was hard to tell in the dim light of the pub, bruises had already begun to discolor her cheek. Blank and cold, her eyes were mostly distant as she answered the cop's questions, though at one point her chin lifted and her shoulders straightened.

Kim nodded to herself, unaware that the cop watching her was giving her a curious glance. Touching her own face in remembrance, Kim felt grim satisfaction in considering the events of the evening. It didn't always go well, things like this. She tried to catch bastards like this guy Paul on camera whenever she could, and she sent the videos to the cops, but rarely did anything happen. Sometimes she posted them on her Web site, AbusersRotInHell, but then she'd been caught by one of the assholes. She didn't like to think about that. It was nice to see one of them finally get his comeuppance, though it didn't seem like this guy had ever abused Lille before.

Someone had abused Lille, though; that much Kim knew. Lille had that attitude about her, like a woman who had known violence at the hands of others, a look in the eye that said,
I don't trust you, not entirely, not all the way
.

Kim sent a pitying glance in Max's direction, but he didn't notice, his attention totally focused on Lille. As she tilted the camera toward his face, a part of her delighted in capturing the moment when Max, who until this moment had seemed to Kim like a wild dog, content with his own company, saw in another person something to be valued, to be treasured. Jordan looked at Kim that way, she knew, but he didn't really know her, just as Max didn't know Lille, just as no one really knew anybody else.

She didn't think Lille was going to have a relationship with Max, not after this. She might like him, but it was too dangerous to like people too much, to let them too close to you. Even people you thought were safe could turn on you, or you could hurt them. It was easier to shut everyone out.

“Better, too,” she muttered to herself. “Much better.”

“Who are you talking to?” The cop who'd been watching her finally came over to investigate.

Kim palmed her camera and shook her head. “Just talking to myself.”

Suspicious, the cop gestured for her to take a seat next to Kyle, who was farther away from the action. Kim obeyed, mostly because she had a question for him.

She scooted next to him in the booth Lille and the others had been sitting in earlier. “White boy, will you take me over to the Box later?”

He looked dubious. “Why do you keep calling me ‘white boy'?”

“Because I don't know your name, asshole.”

“It's Kyle, and you've met me at least three times.”

Kim waved that off. “Can you take me or not?”

Kyle grimaced. “Do I have a choice?”

“No, not really.”

CHAPTER
Twenty-two

It was late when the police finally let everyone go—everyone except Paul, that is, who was taken away in one of the squad cars. Lille watched him leave, still in shock that he'd shown up here with a gun. He hadn't called or tried to talk to her; he'd just arrived with a gun. Had he always been unstable, or had she broken him somehow?

Rubbing her hands over her arms, she walked with John, Mary, and Max back to John's car. Kim had asked Kyle to take her over to the Box for some reason; Lille assumed it was so she could fill Jordan and Tyler in on the action.

“I think we should go home, make some green tea, and get to bed. Sound good?” Mary paused and looked at Lille intently. “Lille, are you listening?”

Lille shook her head. “Sorry, Mary, I wasn't.”

“You really should have gone to the hospital.”

“No.” Lille shook her head adamantly, though it made her head hurt. “No hospitals.”

“I'll follow you in my truck.” Max sounded reluctant, as if he wanted her to tell him to stay. Part of Lille wanted him to stay. It would be so easy to lose herself in the sex, in the overwhelming lust she felt whenever she was with him, but she didn't want to lead him on—she just wasn't built for real relationships.

“Let's go,” she finally agreed, and went to get in John's car, really wanting nothing more than to escape, to be by herself; she felt . . . trapped.

John and Mary glanced at each other and then followed Lille to the car, John settling himself behind the wheel. He started the engine and backed out, then turned and pulled forward, to where Max was waiting—for what exactly, he didn't know.

“We'll see you back at the house.”

Max nodded, watching them go, his mouth grim as he watched John stop at the end of the drive, then pull out onto the street. Lille's blond hair floated behind her as they picked up speed, but she didn't look back at him.

Max turned and walked back to the bar to make sure everything was locked up.

He kept seeing it in his head like it was a movie, the flat angry black of the gun, her pale skin. His hands fisted; he wanted to get hold of that motherfucker and beat him to a bloody pulp.

He walked through the pub. Keisha had left, hopefully not for good, and Kyle was gathering his things while Kim sat on a stool and waited, her legs swinging while she looked at Kyle's iPad.

“Fifty thousand and counting.”

“Fifty thousand what, lass?”

Kim glanced over her shoulder at him, her dark, straight hair falling into her eyes. “Views. On YouTube.”

Max nodded. “You post his name?”

“I did,” Kim said with grim satisfaction.

“Good.” Max patted her on the shoulder, surprised when she tensed and jerked away.

Max held up his hands. “Sorry, lass.”

Kim shook her head. “It's okay. Just jumpy.”

Max nodded; he understood that well enough. “Kyle, I'm over to the Box to pick up the dogs. You okay to lock up?”

Kyle nodded and shoved his hair out of his eyes. “Can you . . .”

“Take Kim home? I could, if she's up for it.”

“It's okay,” she agreed.

“All right, then, let's go.”

Kim set Kyle's iPad on the bar and hopped down. “Ready when you are.”

When they
arrived at the Box ten minutes
later, Max checked in briefly with the night security, a man named Jackson, but all was quiet at the Box.

The dogs knew they'd arrived before Jordan did—Max heard them barking as they approached. However, when they opened the door, Jordan bounded toward the two of them with the same unbridled enthusiasm as the dogs, though his was tinged with anxiety. He scooped up Kim, ignoring her protests, and swung her around as he cradled the back of her skull.

“Are you okay?”

Kim, after several token protests, hugged him back. “I'm fine.”

Max watched their reunion with interest, raising one eyebrow at Kim, who looked away.

Excited by Jordan's tone, the dogs were more high-strung than usual. Atticus wouldn't stop barking, and Bambi whined low in her throat.

The new kid, Tyler, approached behind the dogs, his hands shoved in the pockets of too-big jeans. Max had met him only a couple of times.

“Hey,” Tyler mumbled.

“Hey,” Max replied. “Everything all right here tonight?”

The kid shrugged, but Jordan answered. “We got a few calls here when the video went live, and a couple cops stopped by on the way back to the station from the pub, just to make sure everything was okay.”

“Did they?” Max was surprised; most of the cops he knew wouldn't bother.

“They said they know John.”

“That makes sense, then,” Max agreed. He looked down at the dogs. “You have their leashes?”

“Under the counter.”

Max took that as his cue to fetch the leashes himself; Jordan appeared to have his hands full with Kim, who seemed unusually patient tonight.

He walked to the back and bent over the counter to grab the leashes, which most often hung on two hooks shaped like bones. He found them and leashed up the dogs, who'd followed him over to the desk, tails wagging, knowing, as they always did, that it was time to go.

“All right, lads.” Max wrapped both leashes in one fist. “Call if anything strange happens. Store's closed tomorrow, yes?”

Jordan nodded, and Max had to take pity on him; fuck it if Lille got pissed. “Go ahead and close up, then. It's been a long night for everyone.”

A brief expression of relief crossed Jordan's face, and Max felt like a shit for not suggesting it earlier.

“Need any help closing up?” he offered, though he was anxious to get back, not that Lille was going to let him . . . well, comfort her, he supposed. He felt a bit out of his depth, thinking about comforting a woman. Max scowled. All he knew how to do was fuck, but maybe that would help. Hell, he didn't know. Didn't think she was looking for that tonight. Still, there was always a chance, wasn't there? That she'd be waiting for him.

“Nah, we'll be fine.” Jordan released Kim. “See you later.”

“All right, then,” Max agreed, and whistled for the dogs to follow him out.

Max pulled
into his own driveway, but he
texted John to find out if they were all still up.

This is Mary. Lille went for a walk on the beach. John followed her.

Max grimaced and texted back, although he hated texting.

Fine. I'll collect her.

Okay.

Stepping down from his truck, Max let Bambi jump out ahead of him, while he picked up the white dog, stroking his soft ears. When they were both safely on the ground, he leashed them again and locked up the car.

He walked to the corner, fast enough that the dogs started to run, thinking it was some kind of game.

He hadn't gone halfway down the block when he encountered John, who appeared from the shadows of a tree that hung partway out into the street. The rustle of the trees in the wind made it difficult to hear, and John knew how to stay hidden. Consequently, Max nearly pissed his pants when John stepped into the light of a sodium lamp.

“Hey, glad you're here.” John reached for the leashes.

“What's wrong?” Max handed them over.

John shrugged. “She wanted to go for a walk by herself. I couldn't let her, you know that, but I feel like a creeper, following her like this.”

“Thanks for being a creeper,” Max muttered, and John nodded in agreement.

“She's just standing on the beach, watching the waves.”

Max felt a chill run over his arms. He couldn't help but think of his mother, of her final act, a doped-up walk into the sea. Lille wasn't the type to do something so stupid, though. Lille was a fighter, which was why he was willing to keep making this effort to know her when she seemed determined to push him away. He'd certainly never bothered with any other woman.

John's lips compressed sympathetically. “Sorry, man.”

“It's all right. Go see to Mary.” John nodded and jogged off, taking the dogs with him.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Max hunched his shoulders against the wind, though it wasn't that cold, and headed toward the beach, where the waves were crashing violently tonight, the whitecaps visible even a few meters out.

Lille was visible from the street. She'd changed into comfortable clothes: pajama pants, a T-shirt, and a sweater with pockets. The wind whipped her hair around her head and pressed the loose clothing caressingly against her body, revealing almost as much as her skimpiest lingerie.

Max felt his heart thumping; he wanted her, but . . . he shouldn't. Especially after everything she'd gone through tonight. She was looking out at the waves, probably clearing her mind, unlike his mother, who had apparently dreamed of walking into the sea one night, and then she'd actually done it when he was ten years old. While the house was asleep, she'd walked into the water and never returned. They'd found her body miles down the shore.

He didn't want to scare Lille, but she seemed to know he was there, turning her head slowly to meet his eyes.

He met her gaze over the wind and the crash of the waves and the pounding of his heart.

“I want you,” he shouted. He couldn't hold back anymore.

Lille shrugged. “I want you, too.”

Max approached until he was standing next to her. She'd wrapped her arms around herself, and her shoulders were hunched against him.

“But?” He wished he had a damn cigarette. He wouldn't like what she was going to say, he just knew it.

“But I don't want a relationship.”

Max wanted to tell her that was fine, that he didn't want a relationship with someone so fucked up that she withdrew herself from everyone, either, but he swallowed the bitter words. He did want a relationship. He liked her spirit, her courage, and the dark streak that kept him on his toes.

“I do,” he admitted finally. “I'd like to try, anyway.”

Lille shook her head. “It's not worth it. I'm not cut out for them.”

Max was out of his depth; he had no experience convincing a woman to date him, so he retreated into surliness. “Shall I fuck off, then?”

Lille tossed her hair. “How about one last night instead?”

One last night. Max knew he shouldn't—that he should hold on to his pride at the very least.

“Please.” Lille hugged herself. “I'd like to think about something other than what happened tonight.”

Max was done with this shit. He'd put himself out there—been goddamn chivalrous—and she wanted to fuck him so she could forget what happened? Fuck that. He wasn't going to, but then she turned and looked at him, and he was caught by both the vulnerability on her face and the sadness he saw in her eyes.

“Damn.” He shook his head. Maybe he was being punished for not giving a damn about all those women for all those years. “Fine, then.”

He shook his head and reached down to strip off his shirt, tossing it onto the sand.

In the light of the moon, his tattoos were indistinct shadows on his skin, his chest deeply muscled, his arms bulging.

Lille's gaze couldn't help but dip down the rippled board of his stomach to the waist of his jeans, which he unbuttoned, but did nothing more.

“You want me?” He gestured to himself.

Lille bit her lip to keep from saying it.

He looked a little disgusted with himself, but he shoved down his jeans. His dick was hard, thick, and long; it pointed proudly to his stomach. He was magnificent and vulnerable at the same time, standing there with the evidence of his desire front and center.

“Then come and take me.”

Lille shoved her pajama pants down and stepped into his arms. He caught her, legs bracing against her weight as he slid his hands into her hair.

He kissed her, and there was something very different about these kisses. He was angry, she could tell by his clenched jaw, but his lips were gentle as he skimmed her sore cheek, her temples, the bridge of her nose.

His erection pressed to her, and she moved her hips, rubbing herself against him, urging him with slow undulations to hurry—please hurry.

He did, wetting his fingers with his mouth and rubbing the head of his dick before lifting her and fitting himself between her legs.

It was difficult at this angle, so Lille helped him, using his shoulders to leverage herself up, opening herself to him, wanting his thick length inside her.

When he'd pushed just the head of himself inside her, he paused and licked his lips. “I'm not wearing a condom.”

Lille shook her head. “It's okay. I'm protected.”

He looked like a man in pain, eyes tightening, as he worked his way deeper and deeper, his mouth opening as he thrust upward with his hips and pulled her downward at the same time, stretching her.

“God.” Lille's head dropped to his shoulder as he filled her, her thighs flush with his hip bones.