Page 140 of Unorthodox
Max’s fingers are in Colton’s dirty blonde hair, holding him up. “Now look at her, and fucking apologize for what you did.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Colton screams, but his eyes are closed, and he’s not looking at me.
A shiver runs down my spine at the look in Max’s eyes as he stares down at the man on his knees. I start to shake in the chair, saliva pooling in my mouth over the rope, my wrists burning behind me.
“Look at her when you say you’re sorry,” Max says quietly, still fisting Colton’s hair.
Colton forces his eyes open, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes on mine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
Max clamps a hand over his mouth. “She didn’t ask for your fucking excuses.” He drags him backward, releases his hold on his hair and comes to stand in front of him.
As Colton trembles on his knees, his hands on his crotch, blood coating his fingers, Max stares at him.
I hold my breath, and I hear Mamie make a strangled sound as we wait.
Then Max kicks him, and I hear Colton’s nose break as he goes down, his head thudding against the floor.
But Max isn’t done. He yanks him back up by his shirt, turns him once more to me.
Blood pours down Colton’s face as he whimpers, his eyes on mine, as ifImight save him.
Max leans down, and I realize he’s got the knife in his hand as he straightens.
He holds it over Colton’s throat, and I shift my gaze from Colton to Max.
Max smiles at me, and his eyes stay on mine as he digs in the blade, dragging it across Colton’s throat.
Warm blood sprays everywhere, hitting my face as I gasp, rearing my head. The taste of metal is on my tongue, beneath the binds of the rope.
Mamie whispers Max’s name.
Max doesn’t let go of Colton for a long moment, and I watch blood pour down his throat like a waterfall, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Then Max throws him to the ground, steps toward me.
Carefully, he cuts the rope from my mouth, severing it near the back of my head so I don’t have to see the blade. Gently, he pulls it away, and before I can take a breath, he drops the knife to the floor, and his mouth is on mine.
His bloody hands cup my face, and I taste iron between us, but he groans against me, his teeth clashing with mine as he kisses me.
My heart thunders in my chest, my body still bound to the chair. Max doesn’t stop, his tongue down my throat, his hands gentle on my face.
Long seconds pass, and when he finally pulls back, letting us both breathe, he’s smiling, blood smeared all over his face from my own.
He stands, picks up the blade and walks behind me, sawing the rope from around my wrists. When my hands are free, he goes to work on the rope around my chest, then my ankles.
After, he pulls me to my feet, and my palms go to his shoulders. I feel something warm and wet under one, startling me.
Reminding me.
He was shot.
He was fucking shot.
He stumbles backward, against the wall, sliding down with me in his arms.
I stare at his warm blood on my palm, my mouth open as he holds me, his pale face gaunt, head tipped back against the wall.
“Max,” I say quietly as I see Mamie still tied to the chair, her eyes on us, an anguished expression on her face. “Max, you need to go to the hospital.” Panic starts to unfurl in my stomach.
