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He laughs then. “You think our rival assumed you were Arch’s bitch? And that you were involved with our work?”

“Maybe,” I snap. “Would they know if I wasn’t?”

He doesn’t answer. He just stares, sussing me out. And I stare back, letting him see the anger in my face. The frustration.

“Why did you have Daya bury them, Addie? Why not tell the police?”

I weigh my options and decide that telling the partial truth is my best bet. “Because there was a note in it threatening my life, along with any police officers involved if I called them. I was made aware of Arch’s… work by then and thought it best to listen and not get further involved. In something I have nothing to do with, by the way.”

Again, he just stares. My heart is beating out of my chest, and by the look in Max’s eyes, I’m still not sure he believes me innocent.

Part of me just wants to confess to him that I’m being stalked. What difference would it make at this point, anyway? Now that Max discovered Arch’s han

ds, there’s no reason to keep it a secret.

But there is.

If Max discovers I have a stalker—one who is clearly violent and dangerous—he might use me as leverage to draw him out to get his revenge.

I’d become collateral. And I’m not sure I’d make it out alive.

At least this way, there’s a chance that Max will leave me alone if he thinks I’m just some random girl who got caught in the crosshairs of gang activity.

Max hums again and stands, straightening his suit jacket and rebuttoning it. The suit drips class and money, and something tells me Max has taken over the Talaverra’s dealings.

There’s a new crime lord in town, and he’s pissed. At me, no less.

“Enjoy the rest of your dinner, ladies.”

He walks away, taking all of his bad juju with him. The air instantly feels lighter now that he’s gone, but he managed to still leave an ashy taste in my mouth.

“They’re going to be a problem,” Daya says quietly.

I nod and flag down the waitress. “Add it to the fucking list.”

Chapter 17

The Shadow

F uck. She’s so pretty when she thinks no one is watching.

My little mouse trudges into her bedroom, her tattered slippers dragging against the smooth stone floors. She’s tired. Dark circles are beginning to form underneath her eyes.

I want to smooth them away, just to bring them back again. But I want her to be tired from staying up all night, taking my cock into her body until she’s depleted of all her strength. Even then, I’ll still fuck her.

I deprived myself last time. Refused to touch her with my own hands when she hadn’t earned that from me yet. But watching that gun slide in and out of her pussy was just as torturous for me.

I barely made it to my car before I was coming in my hand, the sweet melody of her smoky cries echoing in my head.

That woman’s voice alone can bring any man to their knees.

And now, she’s wearing nothing but a long white t-shirt, the soft cotton ending mid-thigh. Her rosy nipples poke through the thin material, and my mouth waters with the need to take one into my mouth and suck on it until she’s wriggling beneath me.

I lick my lips. Soon.

Her tantalizing, creamy skin is on full display, and I get hints of her red cotton panties anytime she bends over. Like when she pulls the covers back and pounds her tiny fist into the pillow to fluff it up.

I get a full view of her ass when she slides her feet out of her slippers, and then bends down to arrange them neatly before her nightstand.