Page 10

Max

I hated my job.

Okay, maybe hate was a strong word, but it wasn’t exactly fulfilling.

Filing paperwork, answering emails, dealing with entitled men in expensive suits who often looked me up and down like I was a piece of meat, it was so painfully mundane.

It wasn’t like I had a passion for office work, or the law even, the only reason I took the job at the firm was so I could do what my father had done, but in my own way.

He had connections, people who helped him track down men like Craig, but I didn’t have that luxury, I didn’t want it.

I wanted to do this alone, so I had to be smarter and find my own connections.

So, by getting a job at a law firm that specialised in helping victims of sexual abuse, I found an easy way to find my targets.

I knew how these things worked, most cases went dismissed, ignored, forgotten, no matter how much the people running these companies wanted to take these men down, there was always someone else willing to stop that from happening.

Still, despite it being an easy way of finding my targets, it didn’t make my job any less soul-sucking.

There were days I sat at my desk, staring at my screen, wondering what it would be like to do something more.

To drop everything and simply disappear, to travel the freaking world.

To sit on a beach somewhere with a cocktail in my hand—preferably a sex on the beach—and have zero worries, no legacies hanging over my head.

But I knew myself too well, because even if I got on a plane tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to turn it off.

The need, the itch, the compulsion to have to continue the legacy, no matter how much I wanted to leave it all behind.

At least my apartment gave me an escape.

I refused to live in my dad’s old house, there were too many memories, too much weight pressing down on my chest every time I stepped foot inside.

So I stayed in the middle of town, in my own place, close to work and my favourite Café.

It was small and cozy, but it was mine.

There were no ghosts and no reminders, just me, my oversized couch, and an impressive collection of overpriced candles.

My dad had left me a shit tonne of money, money I never even knew we had before he died.

I knew we hadn’t struggled for things when I was growing up, but I didn’t know we were rich.

Like, rich rich.

But I never cared for extravagance, so instead, I splurged on candles and comfy furniture, because let’s be honest, what more could a girl need in life.

Five minutes after arriving home from yet another mundane day, with no new cases for me to be able to claim as my own, my door swung open with a bang.

I padded out of my bedroom to see Lara flopping down onto my couch, the door closing behind her, her bleach blonde hair falling around her, sighing like she carried the weight of the whole world on her shoulders.

“Jesus, Max, do you ever not light a million candles? It smells like a Bath & Body Works exploded in here.”

She crinkled her nose, wafting her hand dramatically.

I smirked, pouring her a glass of wine and handing it to her before curling up on the other end of the couch.

“I like my space to smell like vanilla bean and existential dread, thank you.”

Lara snorted, her sea-blue eyes lighting up, “You’re a walking crisis, you know that?”

“Thanks, I try.”

I responded, flashing my middle finger at her.

Lara had been my best friend since we were in diapers.

She was everything I wasn’t – bubbly, optimistic, able to hold a conversation without the urge to make a sarcastic remark.

But somehow, we worked, she balanced me out.

The yin to my yang, or whatever.

She reminded me there was more to life than work and unspoken legacies, she was the one person who could pull be back to this side of reality, despite not knowing that I lived a whole other life she had no idea about.

“We need a night out,”

she announced, pointing at me with her perfectly manicured nails.

“And before you start with your ‘I don’t do clubs’ bullshit, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I groaned, rubbing at my temples. “Lara -”

“No,”

She interrupted, “Shut up.

You’re turning thirty in two weeks.

Thirty.

And when was the last time you did anything fun? Don’t answer that, I already know.

We’re going out.

You’re going to get shit faced, and you’re wearing something slutty.

End of discussion!”

I sighed dramatically, throwing my head back on the sofa, “I don’t even own anything slutty.”

Not true, but those dresses were reserved for luring in my targets, not partying with my best friend.

Laras eyes gleamed.

“Oh, but I do.”

That should have been my first red flag.

She grinned, her pouty bubblegum pink lips glimmering with the excessive amount of gloss she wore, raising her glass.

“To bad decisions.”

I clinked my glass against hers, shaking my head.

“To probably regretting this.”

The truth was, maybe she was right, and that maybe for one night, I could just let go.

I could forget about work, forget about my ex, the anniversary of his death, the anniversary of my dad’s death and forget about the anxiety that constantly ate away at me when I wasn’t murdering lowlife men, because my traitorous brain constantly whispered that I wasn’t doing enough.

So maybe, just for a night I could let myself breathe.

An hour later we were curled up on the couch with a spread of Chinese takeout in front of us.

Our monthly tradition of stuffing or faces whilst making bad life choices was in full effect.

I was halfway through a dumpling when Lara let out a dreamy sigh, leaning back against the cushions.

“So, I had the best sex of my life last night.”

I rolled my eyes, dunking another dumpling into my soy sauce.

“Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious, Max.

I think I saw God!”

She squealed.

I snorted, “Pretty sure that was just lack of oxygen from being choked too hard.”

She stuck her tongue between her teeth, smirking at me with pure mischief dancing in her eyes, “Exactly.”

I threw a dumpling at her, and she dodged it cackling.

“Alright, fine.

Who’s the lucky guy?” I asked

“His name is Damien.

Tall, tattooed, rides a motorcycle.

Absolute menace in bed.”

She sighed again, dramatically throwing her head back.

“I might have to keep him.”

I raised a brow, “You? Keep a man? Lara, you once ghosted a guy mid-date.”

I laughed.

“He had the personality of a potato!”

She argued.

“And this is different.”

I rolled my eyes again, sipping my wine, “Right.

We’ll see how long this one lasts then shall we?”

Lara sat up suddenly, narrowing her eyes at me, “What about you?”

I froze mid-sip, lowering the glass.

“What about me?”

She smirked, “When was the last time you had sex?”

I coughed, setting my wine down.

“I don’t see how that’s really relevant.”

“Oh, it’s very relevant.”

She pointed her chopsticks at me accusingly.

“You’re hot, Max.

And don’t give me that I don’t have time for men excuse.

When was the last time?”

I stared at my food, suddenly very interested in my noodles.

“…It’s been a while.”

Lara gasped, “How long?”

I sighed, “Six months.”

Her eyes widened, “Maxine!”

I groaned in response covering my face, “Don’t Maxine me.”

“Six months? Six?”

She looked genuinely horrified.

“Babe.

That’s unacceptable, you’re basically a nun at this point.”

I rolled my eyes at her, “It’s not like I haven’t had opportunities.

I’ve just been… busy.”

Lara scoffed.

“Busy, my ass.

We’re fixing this.”

I groaned, leaning back.

Jesus I’d do anything to not be having this conversation right now.

“You are not pimping me out.”

“Max, I say this with love - you are well overdue.”

I huffed picking my wine back up taking a long sip, “I’m fine, I have my vibrator.”

She shook her head, grinning.

“You know damn well no vibrator compares to the real thing! One wild night, that’s all I’m asking for.”

I smirked at her, finishing off the glass.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

Lara winked, “Oh I always do.”

I laughed shaking my head, but I knew she was right, I was overdue.

I enjoyed sex just as much as any other woman, it was just so much harder trusting men when I was surrounded by such disgusting creatures constantly.

She had no idea how hard it was to let your guard down around a man you didn’t know when you spent day after day reading rape cases, spoiler, it’s fucking hard.

The two weeks leading up to my birthday flew by in a blur.

The nightmares had finally started to dissipate, only happening every other day now the dreaded date had passed.

I had visited my father’s grave with Tony, placing down the flowers whilst asking my dad if he was proud of me, praying that he was somehow watching down on me, proud of the way I continued his work.

Me and Tony sat there for a while, reminiscing about my father and all of his quirky ways.

He was a stubborn man, stuck in his ways, constantly grumbling about coffee shops being ridiculous, that technology was getting far too advanced and that we’d be slaves to robots in no time.

I shed a few tears, Tony had pulled me into a tight hug whilst stroking my hair, reassuring me that my father would be proud of the strong woman I had become and that he would be proud of me no matter what I did with my life.

I struggled to believe him, the niggling voice in the back of my head repeatedly telling me he wouldn’t be proud because I wasn’t doing enough.

No matter how hard I tried to push that voice away, it always came back, hissing its poison until I had no choice but to believe the words that repeated.

‘Never enough.

Never enough.

Never enough’.

I went home that night and drank two whole bottles of wine until I passed out on my sofa, tears staining my sweatshirt from the relentless guilt that always threatened to swallow me whole.

Thankfully, Saturday night quickly rolled around and my apartment was soon a mess of makeup, hair products, and empty wine glasses.

Lara had arrived an hour ago, buzzing with excitement, a garment bag slung over her arm like a trophy.

She plopped it down on my bed and unzipped it dramatically.

“Happy birthday, bitch.”

I eyed the dress inside with immediate suspicion.

“Lara.

What the fuck is that?”

She beamed at me, “This? This is the dress Maxine, the one that’s going to get you laid tonight.”

I groaned at her, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

She shoved the dress into my hands.

“Now go put it on.”

I begrudgingly took it into the bathroom, muttering curses under my breath.

I should have known better than to let Lara pick my outfit because the dress was minimal, to say the least.

Tight, black, and barely long enough to cover my ass.

It had a deep plunge neckline that accentuated my breasts, with thin straps holding it up that looked like they would snap under the weight of them at any given minute.

I glanced at my reflection, fiddling with the straps making sure that my girls were safely secure in there, and that they weren’t going to make an appearance.

It was definitely out of my comfort zone, since the only time I ever wore anything remotely close to this was when I was dressing to kill, and even then, those dresses covered more than this.

When I stepped out, Lara’s face I lit up.

“Oh.

My.

God.

Max, you look hot.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing the wine and topping up my glass with an exasperated sigh., “I look like someone who’s about to make very bad choices, and who’s tits are desperate to escape.”

She clinked her glass against mine, winking at me.

‘Perfect, those tits are too great to not be out in all honesty Max,”

she giggled raising her glass in the air, “Here’s to bad decision making.

By the way, if I wasn’t straight, I’d totally fuck you in that dress.”

I gave her a deadpan expression, looking her up and down before responding, “Nah, not my type.”

She gasped, clutching her chest, “You bitch.”

We spent the next hour getting ready, music blasting as we danced around my apartment, screeching the lyrics to ‘man, I feel like a woman’ by Shania Twain, taking shots between breaths.

Lara regaled me with her latest hookup adventures, including a guy who apparently had a weird kink for feet, which led to a ten-minute rant on why men were the second biggest mistake to happen to humanity, right under birds.

She had this really weird fear of birds, ever since she got her bagel swiped by one back in college, she has been fucking terrified of the so called ‘feathery bastards’.

I definitely wasn’t going to ask her about Damien, God knows what had happened to him.

“So,”

she said, plopping down on my couch to slip on her heels, her eyes gleaming.

“Are you finally going to get laid tonight?”

I rolled my eyes, swiping on the dark blood-red lipstick over my bottom lip.

“Jesus, is this an intervention?”

Lara waggled her brows at me, “It’s a birthday intervention.

You deserve some birthday sex.”

I smirked at her, pressing my lips together to blend the lipstick.

“I also deserve a million dollars and a private island, but here we are.”

I gestured around the apartment.

She stood, grabbing my hands to pull me to my feet.

“Yeah well, getting you laid is all I can afford.”

She huffed with a laugh.

“No more excuses, we are getting shit faced, you are going to flirt, and you are not coming back here alone.”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“We’ll see.”

With one final shot, we grabbed our bags, I slipped on my black stilettos and headed out the door.

Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about work, or murder, or the ghosts that usually followed me.

Tonight, I was just Max, and it felt good.

The bass from the club thrummed in my chest as we stepped inside, the heat, the energy, the press of bodies pushing against us as we walked our way in.

Lara turned to me with a wicked grin, pulling me towards the bar.

“Let’s get fucked up.”

And for once, I didn’t argue.

I smiled back, signalling to the bartender for a tray of shots.

Fuck it.