Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,31

man onto his back, legs in the air, before he began fumbling around on the bed, looking for something—Miguel opened his eyes, his expression plainly terrified, and he lay there looking at the camera, his chest heaving. Finally, Tattoos found what he was looking for: a bottle of lube. He squirted some into his hand and stroked his cock with it, then let some drip onto Miguel’s ass.

Crane groaned and looked away when Miguel let out a pain-filled scream. Jaw clenched, Crane pounded into Max, thoroughly disgusted with himself when he abruptly came, his balls so tender and cock so sore that it was more pain than pleasure. Finished, he pulled out and fell back on the bed.

Up on the wall, Miguel was bent over nearly double under Tattoos, his cries raw and desperate as he tried to push him away.

“Turn it off,” whispered Crane, sickened by the scene. “Turn it off.”

“What did you say?”

Startled, Crane turned to Mary. She stood staring up at him, her brow creased in concern. Swallowing, Crane put the empty pot back into the coffeemaker. He was in his kitchen. It was Tuesday. He knew it… But he’d left part of himself back at Max’s. That long, long Sunday where time seemed to stretch and stretch and stretch until it snapped back like a rubber band, scattering his thoughts and fracturing his will. He was still there, trapped in Max’s lair, Max laughing as he pushed another pill into Crane’s mouth with his tongue. The compact, muscular body cool against his fevered skin…

“Are you okay, Dennis?” Mary asked, reaching for him. Crane smacked her hand away, an involuntary reflex, and winced at the shock on her face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She sounded scared.

Don’t you love it when they sound scared?

“I’m sorry,” Crane muttered, shaking his head. Am I going crazy?

Going? Max’s voice purred in his ear. Crane spun right around, eyes wide. Mary took a quick step back, her hands up to protect her. His darling Mary, afraid of him. Gazing at her, he felt a sickening twist in his belly, wondering if he’d ruined everything.

A memory of her at prom, beautifully curvy in her light-purple dress, hazel eyes filled with adoration as she looked up at him, her thick curly brown hair loose, tickling his nose as they danced close… Maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Mary… I’ve… I’ve done something wrong,” he stammered, reaching for her. She frowned and took another step back. If he told her everything, she would forgive him, wouldn’t she? She’d see that he was the victim of Max’s perverse machinations… If he laid it all out in front of her, it would begin to untangle the web he was stuck in. With her help, he could be free. Surely there was something they could do about Max, put him away somewhere. He felt a sob tighten his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“What did you do, Dennis?” Mary said, her nostrils flaring slightly. Crane could see the muscles bunch in her jaw. She held herself stiff, as if anticipating a blow.

Where did he start? Did he start with the text messages? With Max on his knees in the office? Seeing Max’s mother with all those men. Oh God, the recording, how would he explain the recording? Where did he start?

His heart beat too fast—he felt faint and shook his head to clear his murky vision. After stumbling over to the kitchen table, he fell into a chair, and Mary followed him, her expression wary but concerned. Crane rubbed his face, breathing deep, trying to rally his thoughts so he could find a place to begin.

“What did you do?” Mary’s full lips were pale and thin with worry. A heartbeat later when he hadn’t answered, she continued in a hoarse voice, “You’re cheating on me.”

Dismayed, Crane felt his face go slack, and he looked up at her stupidly. “What, how—”

“Oh God, how could I be so stupid? I should have known… You’ve been acting so weird, like you’re only half here… I called the clinic last week to check whether you were really staying late for a patient, and you know what Debra told me? That you hadn’t even been in that day. I didn’t want to believe it…”

Crane straightened in his chair, indignation stamping out some of the wracking guilt. “You checked up on me?” he said, appalled.

“I was worried, Dennis. I thought you’d been overworking yourself… staying late to do paperwork or something. You’ve been so anxious