Chapter 6 Two hours after she left the warehouse, I was parked outside Maya's place. The house she lived in was small, on the beach. A piece-of-shit shack with plants crowding the porch. Earthy shit. Wind chimes, driftwood hanging on strings, seashells piled in a bowl by the front step. Quiet. I should've stayed in my bed. I had too much shit to deal with. Alessia was busy playing the perfect fiancée in a house I didn't want to be in anymore. I was working deals with street-level nobodies, trying to build something for my father-in-law's future. Because everything I was doing only benefitted me on the surface. My father had built me a legacy of my own in Italy-but it came with a stepmother he married thirteen days after my mother died, and a brother only two years older than me. I didn't have time for Maya's shit. But here I was. In pajama pants and a T-shirt, food in my passenger seat-burgers, brownies, a milkshake from the only place open this late. I sat there for five minutes before I got out. Priest had told me things about her.Things she did before rehab.Things she hid from her sister.And seeing her tonight, wrapped up in the same type of shit, letting that soft-looking punk touch her-it pissed me off. I watched it back on the security footage.Tray had put his hands on her.And she let him. I got mad again just thinking about it. Thought about killing him.I still might.He was bad for her. I got out of the car and made the short walk to her front door. I knocked twice, loud. Nothing. I was about to knock again when the door cracked open. She saw me-eyes puffy, wine glass in her hand. "No," she muttered, trying to close it. I put my shoulder to it and pushed it open. She didn't fight hard. Just stumbled back and went inside like she didn't care enough to stop me. I stepped in and let the door close behind me. Her home smelled like her-lavender and warm honey. A candle flickered on a tiny table in the middle of the room. The walls were painted some soft color. Everything looked lived-in but neat. She had her hair wrapped, face bare. Tiny-ass shorts. Oversized tee. No bra. I wanted to touch her. I looked away and dropped the bag of food on the coffee table. Paolo Nutini played from a Bluetooth speaker on the floor. We take comfort in strangers... but I don't think it helps.If every fool wore a crown... I would be a king and not a clown. Fitting. Maya was looking for peace in all the wrong places-drugs, men, chaos. Reaching for comfort anywhere but where it actually lived. Even me.Especially me. I'm not safe, but I feel good.Temporary good.And she clings to that. She moves like she's in control, but underneath it, she's lost. Hurting. Wearing confidence and sexuality like armor-and still bleeding through it. She plays it cool, but she's got regrets she can't shake, and shame she won't name.But there's something soft still breathing inside her. She's funny, kind, and warm. She has personality. Fundamentally, she's a good girl. I see her.She's the kind that stays on your mind forever. The girl you think about when you marry the safe one-or the one you're forced to.When you become the guy that only smiles for photos. Build a life that looks good on paper. Maya is the kind of girl whose mouth you remember.Her fire.Her noise.The damage.The pleasure. How loving her never felt cut and dry-But at least it made you feel something. And that's what makes her dangerous. Because you kill for women like her.Or you have to kill them and then yourself, because you can't live without them. And I couldn't afford that kind of weakness.Not when I made a deathbed promise. The song ended.Then started over. Maya stared at me from across the room like I was the problem. Maybe I was. I cleared my throat and set the food down. "Eat." She didn't move. Just looked at me like she was waiting for something else. Something softer. Something I didn't have.But I wanted to give it anyway. I started walking through her place. One bedroom. One bathroom in the hall. No TV. Books stacked on the floor. Crystals in the windowsill.A rehab workbook peeked out from under the king-sized bed. "Don't look through my shit," she said from behind me, slurring a little. "You drunk?" She shrugged. I came back into the living room, grabbed the burger, and held it out. "Eat, Maya." She crossed her arms. "Why won't you leave me alone? You don't even like me." "I like you," I said. "I just don't want to." "Why not?" she snapped. "Because I did drugs? Because I'm not classy and dainty like your little porcelain fiancée that I keep hearing about?" "Because you're a fucking mess."My eyes dropped to the healed track marks on her legs. Crack. Cocaine. Heroin.She'd done it all. She stepped forward and raised her hand like she was gonna slap me. I caught her wrist mid-air and yanked her toward me. She lost her balance and landed on top of me-both of us crashing into the couch. I didn't mean to kiss her.But I did. I grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard.Mouth open. Tongue greedy.She tasted like overly sweet grapes. Her hands tangled in my hair, nails scratching my scalp and the itch under my skin.My hands slid down her back, under her shirt, down to her ass. She started grinding on me-slow at first.Her breath hitched when I pulled her hips down against me. I reached into her shorts.She smacked my hand away. "Don't touch me," she breathed. But she kept grinding.Kept rocking her hips against my dick like she needed to.Her hands braced on my chest. Her head dropped back. Eyes fluttered shut. She was riding me with nothing but anger in her throat and pain behind her eyes.Our clothes kept it from being real. Every time I reached for her-her waist, her thighs, her hips-she knocked my hands away. "Don't fucking touch me," she repeated.But she didn't stop moving. I let her.Let her take what she needed. She came like she was trying to forget something.Head pressed to my shoulder. One hand fisted in my shirt.She didn't make a sound.Not one.But her body went tense... then melted. When it was over, she pushed off me and stood. Pulled her shirt down. Fixed her pants. "Go home," she muttered. "No." I pulled her back down beside me. She didn't fight. Just sat there, looking straight ahead. I reached for the bag of food on the coffee table, took out the burger, unwrapped it, took a bite, then held it up to her mouth. She stared at it. "Eat the food, Maya." She took a bite. We sat there chewing in silence. I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me lately. But whatever it was... It had everything to do with her. I took another bite of the burger. Held it up to her lips again. She opened her mouth. Bit down. Chewed for a while, then turned and smiled at me, batting those pretty eyes. "I'm not mad at you no more, Ra. You bought me food," she cooed. My spine melted, and I knew I was fucked. Five-year-old Annie, who can understand animals, saved Landon Hawthorne, a wealthy businessman, from suicide. Now she's his whole world and he's her legal cheat-code against every villain fate throws ...