The Last in Line

Chapter 2

Two

Max regretted having rolled up his shirt sleeves the moment the woman who’d latched onto him dug her nails into his arm, dragging him into a brisker walk.

He tried to tug his arm free, eager to return to his luxury apartment for a decent night’s sleep, before an ocean swim first thing in the morning, then his flight to Ibiza tomorrow night. But hell, for someone a whole foot shorter than him, this woman had one heck of a grip.

He peered down at her, her wide-eyed, chestnut-colored gaze meeting with his. “Play along with what?”

He swore she mumbled the words, “Just look.”

Her suddenly pale cheeks sent a chill down his spine; he’d only ever seen this woman hyper-focused on whatever it was people who worked at bars did. The mere change in her, plus those mumbled words, made him peer over his shoulder in search of her problem.

Icy-blue eyes connected with his, that creepy-a*s stare attached to a long, lean, somewhat scruffy-looking dude walking about ten paces behind them.

Instinctively, Max picked up speed. “Holy s**t!”

On size alone, he’d probably smash the weirdo in a fight, but hell, there was no accounting for what kind of added strength or weaponry came with being a deranged kidnapper. Kidnapper. Was that even the right word for someone clearly more into stealing fully grown women?

Focus. For once in my life, could I just b****y focus?

Yes, right. Focus. Don’t make this woman regret trusting him, even if he was the most unreliable choice for a hero in all of Melbourne.

His heartbeat thundered, and he lashed his hand around the scared woman’s waist—a performative and real show of support. He wasn’t clever. He wasn’t anything. All his advantages came from pure, unexplainable luck.

Still, this woman’s actions showed hard-to-match bravery and intelligence; at least for this moment, he’d try to level up.

He kept his stride long and fast, and she panted, her hips bumping into him as if keeping up wasn’t all that easy. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed The Stalker in hot pursuit, albeit at an ambling, stalkerish pace.

Max held a hand out to the woman. “Give me your purse.”

She frowned up at him but did as told.

“What the f**k are you doing?” The woman’s voice came out as a low growl as he stopped and turned to face the screwball trailing behind them. “Are you stupid or something?”

Maybe he should have been insulted, but at least she said out loud what most people implied to him in silence.

The Stalker stopped ten paces away, his deadpan stare working over Max.

Max put on his best deranged smile but slipped a hand into the woman’s purse, hinting The Stalker wouldn’t like what might be inside. “Are you all right there, mate?”

The Stalker took the bait, his gaze flicking down to the purse and narrowing for a beat. He lifted a hand and scratched the back of his dirty blond head, grumbling something about, “f*****g hipsters,” before turning in the opposite direction, literally stalking away.

Max held onto the woman beside him and made sure she didn’t go anywhere just yet.

“That could have gone a whole other way.” Her unimpressed tone fell short of the enthusiastic relief he’d aimed for. “What was your plan if he’d pulled out a knife or something, and all you had in your hand was one of my tampons?”

The Stalker retreated some more, and Max handed over her purse, turning in the direction of his car. “Yeah, well, he didn’t. Aren’t you lucky?”

“Me?” She followed beside him, a good thing since he wouldn’t have to insist she do just that, anyway. “I’m pretty sure that nutter had plans for you, too, buddy.”

He stopped at a corner and peered back in the direction they’d come from, seeing nothing but the flash of red taillights from the busy street, cutting through the quieter one they’d turned down. “Look, is your car nearby? I’ll walk you over and wait until you drive away.”

Her cinnamon stare darted across his face, and she shook her head, her thick, platinum blond curls kissing her light olive cheeks. “I don’t drive. I mean, I know how to drive, I just don’t have a car.”

She jutted her chin forward, drawing attention to the line of her neck and a small tattoo on the crest of her left shoulder, one of a thinly drawn sun and a cat dancing beneath its rays.

He forced his gaze back to her challenging stare. That stare, daring him to protest her lack of car—even though her chest still rose and fell in the wake of her earlier panic—and he had no intention of making this moment any more difficult.

“Do you need a lift?” Cold tension spread through his muscles, the lingering set of her jaw making him fear she might say no. Then again, could he blame her? “It’s a leap of faith, I get it, especially given what you just escaped, but I’m parked a couple of blocks up. If a ride is too much, then you can even just sit a minute and catch your bearings. We can leave the door open, if that would feel safer for you. Or, I don’t know, maybe I could call you a cab?”

Her pupils grew darker. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even hint whether she liked his plan or maybe contemplated kicking him in the shin and running for dear life.

He rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm. Nothing he had to say seemed right. Yet another thing he should be used to, even though he wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to leave you here alone.”

She pulled her attention from him and extended her hands with palms turned down in front of her, the ends of her delicate, red-tipped fingers shaking.

He tensed, his own hands curling into fists at his side. He wanted to step forward and pull her in for an embrace. But even he wasn’t dim enough to think that a good idea.

She doesn’t know me. She can’t know that not every man is out to hurt her.

Over his last few months frequenting The Ruby, he’d watched this woman pour drink after drink with unbroken proficiency, never shaky or unsteady, but this… this was a story he’d heard his female friends recount far too many times. A story of being followed, harassed, and threatened.

He should have believed them. He did believe them.

Only believing and experiencing were two very different things, and he’d swum amongst their same fears tonight.

“I’ll call the police first.” Her crisp voice snapped his focus back to her face. “I got his license plate number, and I won’t sleep tonight knowing he might move on to another woman.”

He wanted to ask if she’d manage to sleep tonight anyway, but the question seemed too personal, so he gave a quick nod instead. “Yeah, sure. If you think you’re up to it.”

“The bar will have footage of me leaving with you. If something happens, they’ll know who you are from your past visits. Do you understand?”

Despite her hard tone and warning, and the joyful scent of sunshine and tangy mandarin floating from her skin, she wrapped her arms protectively around her waist.

He gave another nod, slower and smaller now; his understanding of what he’d stepped into earlier, and what it meant to her, sinking even deeper.

“Good.” She unwrapped her arms, a woman with a new mission. “Then show me to your car.”

Freya ended her call with the emergency dispatcher under the reassurance a police patrol would be on the lookout for The Creeper. Hopefully they would find him. She couldn’t imagine how she’d ever leave The Ruby alone until then.

She shot a quick message to Crystal, asking her to check the security cameras for anything that might be helpful to the police. Now that the immediate danger was over, as well as her phone call, the ache in her shoulders rose to the forefront of her mind.

She sank back into the soft leather seats inside Max’s stationary car, succumbing to exhaustion and the need to let go, taking in her surroundings—the pristine white and wood trim, the crisp scent of pine and mint, along with an unmissable Tesla badge in the center of his steering wheel.

Yes, the guy had money. And he sat in the driver’s seat, silent and staring ahead, as if maybe the whole Creeper incident bothered him too.

Well, she had kind of dragged this poor man into her nightmare, so his silence was expected. She cleared her throat, all of a sudden overwhelmed and needing distraction. “Umm… Nice ride.”

He nodded ahead, eyes narrowed, before turning back to her. “Are you okay?”

She nearly flinched at how easily he disregarded her attempt at small talk. Still, she held eye contact, not wanting to lie about her shaken state while also not wanting to stir discussion about what had happened.

She wasn’t okay.

Nowhere near okay.

But he’d been at risk back there too, and he’d done more than enough to help her out of a bad situation. Whatever she felt now wasn’t his problem. So, she set about doing what she did best, what the performers at her bar did all the time, faking it till she made it.

“I’m sorry for taking over your night back there. For what it’s worth, thanks.”

His lips curled with a sheepish smile, a smile so unassuming, her own lips yearned to mirror his expression. “I was just a prop, remember? You mostly helped yourself.”

“You could have refused to play along. You could have decided The Creeper was too creepy and ditched me mid-escape.” She ran her attention over his fitted, light-blue shirt, a light blue that highlighted the turquoise flecks in his eyes. A thin, silver swirl peeked through his open collar, a pendant shaped like a wave, which made sense given his whole surfer deal. “So… umm… Honestly, thank you.”

He held her gaze but said nothing, so she peered down and twisted the silver ring on her pointer finger—funnily enough, shaped like a swirly kind of wave too, though with a chunkier design and a deep-set ruby pressed into the center. The whole thing looked mysterious and witchy.

And speaking of witchy, she’d learned at a young age to trust her intuition—intuition born from having to predict who could be trusted and who would hurt her. Maybe that’s why she’d had that sick sensation wash over her before she’d even spotted The Creeper waiting.

Why she’d taken one look at Max and known he would at least try to save her.

Her heart quickened a little, and a subtle warmth swept over her skin. Despite this guy’s “innocent dope” vibe, she’d watched him in passing at her bar for months and had only ever thought of him as a “good patron”.

He kept patient during delays and slow orders, all while his cashed-up friends got snappish. He never groped or harassed her staff, a bare minimum of respect, but one so many failed at on a regular basis. And then there was his habit of stacking the empty plates on his table, making it easier for her wait staff to clear the area, even as he thanked them for every small assistance, furthering his thanks with genuine and engaged conversation.

Every time he visited, the c***k of laughter could be heard from across her bar. As much as she tried to stay out of employee gossip, it was near impossible not to notice how many of her staff held not-so-secret crushes on him.

If she had to guess, Max hadn’t grown up with money; he sure as hell didn’t act like it, anyway. And now, as much as she’d avoided any kind of adoration, she’d just become the latest member of his fan club.

“I’m ready to go home now.” She flicked her gaze over his face, to the masculine cleft at the center of his chin, to those sparkling blue eyes; her breath settling with a strong certainty she hadn’t just jumped from the clutches of one dangerous man and into another’s.

This one can be trusted. His small kindnesses add up.

“You’re okay with me driving you?”

His long fingers curled around the steering wheel, but his attention stayed on her.

She gave a quick nod, recalling the few times she’d watched him focus that attention on other women at the bar, before eventually leaving with those women on his arm.

The engine started, and a distinct flutter worked its way through her tummy. One she knew well. Most women would not do what she was about to do, not after the near horror she’d just escaped… but then… she wasn’t most women.

Her back catalogue of f****d-up experiences ran deep and wide. Enough for her to know she’d eventually recover from The Creeper’s attempt to destroy her.

Even though it was clear Max had an unintended way with women, he had something far more interesting going for him.

Despite how easy his life seemed from where she sat, he still had compassion, his emotions so clear she could pretty much reach out and touch them, a rare enough combination to make her want some of that. Some of him.

Irrational, right? But her childhood had taught her everything she needed to know about survival, while adulthood had pushed her to thrive, to take her pain and turn it into something amazing. She knew pain. She also knew how to make it go away.

She could overcome another person’s attempt to steal her joy and find an escape, just as she had tonight. She’d find that joy again, and in this case, pleasure.

All she had to do was convince Max to help her one last time.