His Pretty Little Queen: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 5)
His Pretty Little Queen: Chapter 22

I GRIP the corner of the doorframe, peering around the wall to see the back of Max’s large tense shoulders. The room—an office of sorts—is furnished but staged in a way that suggests it doesn’t get used. I’ve never been in there before.

Max is sitting, leaning forward on his knees, staring at a glass of whiskey on the table in front of him. I wonder if he’s crying. Does Max Butcher cry? I wouldn’t know.

There is sadness in this room, that’s for sure. It’s chilling. It sweeps around me like a current across a harsh plane. The kind that precedes snow and then a frozen wintery grave. It’s lonely. Like, he keeps it to himself. I remember something Cassidy said about him: ‘Stopping a man like Max Butcher from doing what he feels is right would be like wrapping his heart in chains.’

I sigh, thinking about how well Cassidy understands Max. Maybe more than he understands himself. I imagine Clay’s emotional state right now. The entire city is his responsibility, his brother and me… how does he not crumble beneath his duties. ‘Trust me, little deer.’

Maybe he is crumbling…

Maybe I would have seen the splintering of his resolve if he had looked at me moments ago…

He doesn’t see it yet, but if something happens to Xander, he’ll never forgive himself. I need to protect him from this mistake… I need to be at the campsite. I need to go with Max. And I need to get HJ off my damn heels.

Taking a big breath in, I close the door. Heading to the lounge area, I see the play pen. Inside, my kitten tumbles with a ball of wool, flipping around with it, the static of the wool caught in her needle-like claws. I pick her and the wool up, hold her to my face and fight back tears.

I whisper, ‘I’m sorry I can’t play with you today.’ Then I put her back in the pen, and with my shadow—HJ—making a poor effort to give me a wide berth, I search the halls.

As I pass a few guards, I nod at them, trying to act as natural as possible but failing miserably as I never nod at them. Mostly, I barely notice them…

Smooth.

Today, they are everywhere.

Thankfully, I see Jasmine flitting around the halls. ‘Hey,’ I say, grabbing her elbow and tugging her in for a—completely unlike me—cuddle. ‘Can you do me a favour?’ I whisper in her ear, holding her tightly so she can’t push me away.

She lifts her arms, but they are uncertain as they return my embrace with loose pressure. ‘That depends entirely on what you are about to say.’

‘I need you to get me your hoodie and then pretend we are talking about private things because I’m upset, because there is a lot going on, and I’ll tell you everything later but… I need to sneak out the staff exit.’

‘No.’

‘Please?’

‘No, Fawn.’

‘It’s important!’ I whisper-cry, burying my face in her hair a little to muffle the words. ‘I just want to talk to Max. He’s upset, and I don’t think he’ll talk to me if he thinks H—Bolton is listening…’ I hate myself for this, but I need her to do this, so I manipulate the side of her who pretends she knows things she doesn’t, who pretends she’s worldly when she’s not. ‘You know what men are like.’ I chuckle, a sound so utterly forced that it hurts. ‘All macho around each other.’

‘Can we have some space, please? You’re like such a space invader,’ she calls over my shoulder, hopefully to my pain-in-the-arse tracker.

He retorts, ‘You best not be up to anything.’

‘Well, my girl is sad and shit. She doesn’t need an audience for everything. You lot treat her like she isn’t a grown-arse woman.’ She talks back into my hair loudly, saying, ‘It’s okay, Fawn.’ Then she drops her voice. ‘Why is Max upset?’

‘I promise to tell you everything after. Please, we have to go now. He might leave before I have a chance to talk to him properly.’

‘Okay. Okay.’ She wraps her arm around my shoulders, poking her tongue out at HJ, before steering me into the changing room.

He doesn’t follow us in.

Jasmine goes to her locker. Quickly pulling her black hoodie out, she hands it to me. While I pull it on, she eyes me with scepticism. ‘Your hair is very noticeable.’

I pull the hoodie up and tuck my blonde strands into the back and out of sight. ‘I know.’

‘Are you going to get in trouble?’

I lie. ‘I just want to talk to Max.’

‘Can I play with your cat?’

‘Sure.’

She half grins. ‘Can I name her?’

‘No.’ I think about her white fur and multicoloured eyes, her uncertain little manner. ‘She isn’t ready for a name just yet.’

Jasmine tilts her head questioningly. Not at all understanding why the kitten that looks a little like me isn’t ready to have a name. And I don’t waste time leaving through the back door and navigating the staff quarters to get to the unused office, hoping Max is still fuming and eager to act.

Checking the passages, I enter the room quickly and close us inside. I exhale hard. Hurriedly, I turn to Max, who has twisted in his seat, his stoic grey landing on me.

I take a big breath in and say, ‘I’ll go with you.’

Dark brows furrow, but he only returns his gaze to his whiskey, ignoring me completely.

I frown, rounding the seat and table to stop in front of him. ‘Did you hear me? I’ll go to the campsite. We can meet them there. But we have to go now.’

‘No.’ Is all I get from him.

My pulse races. ‘We have to go now while Clay is talking to Carter and Henchman Jeeves thinks I’m talking to Jasmine about how horrible this entire situation is.’

Nothing.

He focuses on his untouched glass of whiskey. His jaw is set hard, his anger evident in the pulsing muscles beneath.

‘Fucking hell, Max! We don’t have time for this. You were right. You are right. We have to go because they will be searching for me soon and because I can’t let Clay choose me,’—I hear my voice losing strength with each word—’because no one has ever seen me before, Max. No one has ever looked at me the way Clay looks at me, and if something happens to Xander—’ I catch my breath as he glares up from the glass to meet my gaze. ‘No one ever will again. He’ll be gone. He’ll never forgive himself. You’ll lose both your brothers.’ My heart shrinks. ‘He is choosing wrong, Max. He should choose Xander.’

He stands, his body forcing me a step backwards purely by his presence, his heat hitting me even from this distance. ‘I’ll keep you safe,’ he assures, dead serious.

‘Keep Xander safe. ‘ Swallowing around my nerves, I nod. ‘I’ll be fine.’ I always am. I survive.

‘Stay to my left,’ he states, and we stride back through the staff quarters, hugging the walls, and heading towards a different exit. I hang close to his left with my head cast low.

Trying to keep up.

Pushing the staff exit open, he guides us forward. I pull the hoodie down my face. We walk across a gravel road, and the small loose stones shuffle below my sandals. My eyes sting thinking about my pretty new sandals.

I dart my gaze quickly up to see we are in the staff carparking lot, keeping my nervous gaze away from my sandals and all they symbolise.

Then I hear the static of male voices and the scuffing of rushed, heavy-footed people.

We start to jog.

I follow Max.

The sound of shoes beating the floor chases after us.

Closing in.

My heart spikes. Panic sets in, and I almost slam into the bonnet of a red car when Max grabs my elbow, steering me in another direction—

A gunshot blasts my ears, ripping a yelp from me, forcing me to duck and cower low.

Did they just fire at us?

‘Fuck,’ Max bites out, sweeping me in front of him, blocking the direction of the bullets with his form. He stoops with me still in the sheltered cave of his body, hiding us by the side of the car. Another bullet sounds.

They are firing at us!

Gasping as a third round is fired, hitting something metal, the ting of sound like a jet flying past my ear, I try to calm myself down. Think straight. I squat lower, peering around the side of the vehicle’s black metallic paint.

Tears consume my eyes when I see Clay rip a weapon from the man firing at us. He’s frantic as he slams the handle into the guard’s face, barking, ‘That’s my brother!’

Then our eyes lock.

His gloss over.

Mine gape at the vulnerability.

He calls out to me. ‘Fawn!’ His voice reaches right inside me. ‘Fawn!’ He shakes his head meaningfully, and my breath vibrates in my throat when I hear the strain in his timbre. ‘Come to me, little deer. Walk to me now.’

I can’t. I sob once but suck it in. My whole body starts to quake violently under the restraint of those angry, wanting tears… I touch the pendant on my chest, pressing my palm to the meaningful gift.

Remember who I am…

Clay’s face twists in anguish, an expression that strips the calm, controlled mask away and reveals utter defencelessness to me. My heart thrashes. I want to go to him, to my everything, want to rush into his arms, the arms that held me while I bled, that rock me while I sleep, that protect, that defend, that love. His arms.

But I don’t.

And it kills me.

I defy him for the first time, splitting straight down the centre, tears filtering out the seams of my existence.

I’ll see you soon, Sir.

I’m resilient and brave.

The blood of the Cosa Nostra.

I can do this!

Clay curses, spinning in anger, gripping his neck before turning back to aim the gun at the car, his deadly stare focused on something low, homed-in like a predator to prey.

My wolf.

His deer.

My soul wants to leap from my body to be held by his, comforted, coddled. I can feel his resolve melting away even from this distance, seeing the evil that lives so comfortable beneath his skin move to the surface. It doesn’t change anything. I can’t run to him when I know he’ll never let me go. I can’t go to him—

Don’t cry, Fawn.

I have to do this. I will force myself to stay strong. Defy him. Break our bond. Change everything… God, but a memory is better than the constant reminder he did.

He actually chose me.

I watch in horror as he points the gun in our direction. The pathetic, bruised remains of my heart like a bass between my ears. Waiting.

‘He doesn’t miss,’ Max states as he jumps to his feet. Opening the car door, he lifts me up and ushers me across the driver’s position to the passenger side.

What is Clay aiming at?

Without caring that we are in the line of Clay’s weapon, Max starts the engine. He wouldn’t shoot at his brother…

Would he?

One shot!

A tire hisses.

My body shakes.

Max tears out of the parking lot, and now in the lonely, agonising safety of his car, I sob hysterically. My chest is cavernous, my heart a shrivelled, thrashing lump of flesh.

I cup my face and bawl, the tears creating a pool against my palms. My mind’s eye desperate to see him one last time. In case something happens. In case.

The pull of Clay’s gaze grapples me, so I twist in my seat and stare at him still bracing the gun, still pointing it at the vehicle, still wanting me to “come to him.”

I can’t see his expression.

But I can feel the second he breaks.