A cold rage ignited in my belly. If the asshole made a pass, I’d break his pretty face. I went after her. She cut me a wary look as she got out a mug from the cupboard andshepoured the fucking coffee.
“Where’s Ray?” she asked.
“At the bar, covering for a friend. What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
I blocked her path, forcing her to stop. “Don’t give me that shit. You look rattled.”
“Not now, Max.” She stepped around me, walked back to the studio. The door clicked closed, shutting me out again. But like a detonator, the click short-circuited my temper. I went after her. Right then, I didn’t give a fuck about any damn closed-door policies. I opened it. Soft music reached me first, probably why they didn’t hear me. I staggered to a halt, feeling as if someone had punched me in the chest.
There, on the bed, amidst the disarrayed sheets he lay.
Naked.
Sporting an erection like a fucking steel pipe.
Logan set the coffee on a small stand near him.
“Thanks, Ila.” He rose and headed toward her with that damn bobbing pole, and then he touched her arm. A red haze took over.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
Titus spun around, knocking into Logan as she whirled to face me. She stumbled. He grabbed her, holding her against his nakedness.
My skull pounded, mashing my brain along with any logical thoughts, I leaped across the room and flung him away. He fell onto the futon.
“Max, what the hell’s gotten into you?” Logan grabbed my shirt, trying to pull me away.
I clenched my fingers. Before I broke his fucking jaw and had a lawsuit pinned on me, I pivoted and slammed out of the studio, out of the apartment, and into the night. The cool weather did little to ease my fury. The ache inside me expanded, clawing at my sanity.
I cut through a side road—needing a smoke so damn bad—and passed the garage. A couple of shit-stirrers hung around a battered Camaro, eyeing me as I entered the 7-Eleven, and bought a pack of Marlboros.
She doesn’t want you, asshole. No one does.
Christ, I didn’t need this shit in my head now. It was already too fucking crowded in there. Outside again, my hands trembling like an addict in need of his next fix, I fumbled a cigarette into my mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag, but nothing could remove the images imprinted in my mind.
Teeth clenched, I stuffed the pack into my back pocket and walked past the hoods at the garage.
“Look, a wannabe bad boy thinks to cruise into our place.” One cranky asshole decided I was fresh meat for his drunken humor and stepped into my path.
“Get outta my face.”
“I don’t feel like it.” He knocked me back with his shoulder. “What ya gonna do, huh?”
Clamping the burning cigarette between my teeth, I lashed out, hard, fist connecting with jaw. Welcome pain spread through my knuckles.
Snarling, the thug dove at me, and a punch landed on the side of my face. Stars exploded in my head, finally shutting out the echoes in my mind. I staggered. The fucker grinned, flicked open a blade. “Not so brave now, eh, asshole?”
Not caring if I got staked, I leaped for him and kneed him in the belly. The knife dropped with a dull clatter. He doubled over, falling to his knees, groaning. The mood I was in, I’d probably kill him or end up dead if the rest of the hoods jumped me. I kicked the blade away, wheeled around. Drawing on my burning smoke, I nailed them with a deadly stare. “Any of you fuckers want to take me on, too?”
They eyed me warily then shrugged. “Hey, we’re cool, man.”
They grabbed the moaning dickhead and loaded him into the back of their Camaro. Doors shut. The car sputtered off, exhaust backfiring and stinking up the side street.
Killing the half-smoked cigarette, I tossed it in a dumpster and walked back up Pine to the apartment. Stopping at the front door, the window with the drawn shades mocked me. I couldn’t stop the images from replaying in my head.
That’s what she was painting—not a damn portrait!
