Page 49

He turned and walked off. She leaned weakly against the car door. What was she going to do?

“Fuck, who the hell is that?” her brother snapped as they heard a vehicle pull up outside. He stood and stomped over to the front window. Max had nearly lost his mind when she’d told him about the man approaching her in the grocery store parking lot. Not because he was worried about her, he’d been more alarmed that she might have said something.

She was sick to death of paying his debts. Of feeling unsafe. Of lying to kind men who were checking up on her. Maybe she should have said something to Macca and maybe he would have told Kent and...

Nope, can’t think like that, Abby. Kent regrets kissing you. He’s not going to be interested in your troubles. No matter what he said about calling him if you need him.

You don’t need him. You only have yourself to rely on.

Max turned away from the window to give her a strange look. “How much time you spendin’ with those Sanctuary dipshits?”

“What?” Hope filled her. “Did Macca come back?”

“It’s not Macca. It’s that stuck up, thinks-he’s-better-than-everyone-else-because-he-was-a-SEAL, Jensen dickhead.”

Kent? It was Kent? Butterflies flew through her stomach. Even though she was expecting it, she jumped at the knock on the door.

“Well?” Max questioned.

“Abby! I know you’re in there. Open the door please.”

“I-I hardly know him.”

Max narrowed his gaze. “You’re fucking lying to me.” He strode to where she sat on the sofa then leaned down. His rancid breath filled her face. “Don’t you fucking lie to me.” He took hold of her shoulders and shook her. His touch was too tight, and he shook her like a rag doll, making the low-grade headache she’d developed when she first realized who was in her house explode.

“Max, stop! I don’t know him that well. I helped his sister, that’s all.”

“Abby, open the door,” Kent demanded.

“I need to go get rid of him.”

“Fine. But don’t let him in here.” Max sat back on the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. She wanted to push his feet off. Tell him this was her fucking house and he better fucking respect that.

Yeah, she was all brave inside her head. Instead, she tugged at her sleeves to make sure her bruised wrist wasn’t visible and headed towards the door.

Funny, she’d always thought Kent had a lot of patience.

She opened the door and there he stood, dressed in dark jeans and a deep blue shirt. He seemed tired. But still gorgeous as ever.

“About time.” He looked at her suspiciously. “What took you so long?”

She stepped out and closed the door behind her. She thought he would step back. Instead he stood his ground, and she found herself nearly pressed up against him. So, she slid to the side and moved to the porch railing. She turned and leaned back against it, keeping her hands behind her just in case her sleeve slipped.

Because she knew Kent would lose his shit if he saw her wrist.

What if that was a good thing? He’d get rid of Max. You could confess it all, the whole mess, ask him to take care of it. He owes you a debt.

No, he didn’t. She only did what she would have done for anyone. And their debts hardly matched. Besides, it wasn’t fair to drag him into her mess.

She didn’t want to be in her mess.

“I was cleaning the bathroom and didn’t hear you,” she lied. She kept her gaze averted.

“You know that saying, liars, liars, little girl?” he asked, surprising her.

She frowned up at him. “I can’t help being short you know.”

His eyes widened. Then understanding crossed his face. “I wasn’t calling you little girl because of your height.”