Page 1

MAX CRASHED to the floor, his vision swimming from the pistol cracking against his temple.

The boot to his ribs was completely unnecessary; he was already caught.

As he choked on air and the taste of blood, he forced himself upright.

It wouldn’t keep more punishment from raining down on him, but he’d be damned if he gave his father the satisfaction of seeing him writhe on the floor.

He swayed to the side, swallowing against the twisting of his stomach as the room spun out and away from him. He was intimately familiar with the signs of a potential concussion, but that was the least of his problems right now.

When he could finally focus, he recognized the dining room. Not the small one the family used. This was the big one, meant to impress and intimidate, which meant when he’d been dragged in here, he’d interrupted a business meeting.

A borderline hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest, and he pressed his hand to his mouth to keep silent, focusing on the pain of his broken fingers to steady himself.

Blood trickled into his eye as he blinked at his father, who was staring at Max with familiar disappointment and loathing from the head of the table. He knew better than to look away, but he couldn’t help it as his gaze slipped sideways, black and bright spots fighting for territory in his vision.

When he focused again, he was staring at a strange man sitting near his father, a bodyguard standing behind him.

Handsome enough that even through the fog and muffled panic filling his mind, Max noticed the storm-cloud-gray eyes, strong, scruff-covered jaw, and black, silver-touched hair long enough to run his fingers through.

That was all the confirmation he needed. He was delirious.

The laughter tried to escape again, but when Jake stalked into the room from behind him and bowed to his father, Max’s blood went cold.

“Your son, as promised,” Jake said, his lips twisting into a sneer as he glanced at Max .

“No,” Max whispered, refusing to believe it.

But how else had they caught him so quickly?

He’d planned for months to ensure he got away clean.

He’d learned plenty of lessons from his previous attempts.

Everything had been perfect. He just had to get to the airport and he could disappear into Asia, where his father had no power and no contacts.

Jake was the one person he trusted enough to tell his plans to, who had promised to drive Max’s car as a decoy while Max took his motorcycle for the extra speed and maneuverability.

Max had even paid him a few thousand dollars for the trouble.

His father gestured to one of his men, and Jake turned, obviously expecting some reward. “Your services are appreciated. Your betrayal to my blood is not.”

Jake realized too late his mistake. “Wait,” he said, but that was all he got out. He wasn’t nearly fast enough to dodge the bullet.

Max flinched from the sharp, muffled sound of the silenced gun, unable to look away as Jake’s body slumped towards the floor, before it was dragged away by his father’s men.

He should have felt remorse or revulsion, but that was hardly the first corpse he’d seen, and even the sting of betrayal barely registered against the dozen stabbing and pulsing pains in his body.

His father sighed, an exaggerated sound Max knew was meant for him. “I warned you last time I would not tolerate this nonsense again, Max.”

Nonsense. Like him wanting his own life, away from the violence and blood his father traded in, away from the suffocating control that took away his choices of when and what to eat, when to sleep, when to piss, was nonsense.

“I’m sorry, Father,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them, much less control the thick sarcasm that came with them. “I really thought this would be the last time.”

Fury and disgust twisted the man’s face before he straightened. “You are no longer my son. I should have disowned you the moment I learned you were a twink .”

Max couldn’t help it. The hysterical laughter escaped.

Never in his life did he ever think he would hear that word from the homophobic asshole’s mouth.

The man had made no secret of despising Max’s proclivities .

Not since the day Max made the mistake of telling his mother that he found a boy cute when he was five .

His life had been a waking nightmare ever since.

The punch to the back of his head to shut him up wasn’t at all surprising.

He nearly went to the floor again, but somehow stayed on his knees.

“Dis’n me then,” he slurred, spitting blood and hoping it stained the flawless wooden floor.

“Or fuc’n kill me. I don’t… care anymore.

” Death would be preferable to one more day in this hellhole.

He listed to the side as his vision wavered and went black.