Flawed Heart (House Of Obsidian #1) (18 page)

“Morning, Max,” I whisper as he pulls back.

“Where’s Immy?”

“Eating pancakes and watching television.”

“Goin’ to see her. I’ll be back.”

“I’ll make coffee,” I mumble, turning back towards the counter.

Max is gone a few minutes, and in that time I serve up his pancakes and make a coffee. He returns without Immy, but he’s got a massive grin on his face. That warms my heart. I slide the pancakes over to him, followed by the coffee. “Breakfast is served.”

He looks at the plate then his eyes move around the kitchen. “Where’s yours?”

“I can’t eat,” I say softly.

His eyes narrow and fix on me. “That’s not goin’ to do you any good. You know that, don’t you?”

“My mom died last night. I can’t even think about food right now.”

His eyes get soft and he steps around the counter, backing my body into the corner of the kitchen. “How you feelin’ this morning?”

“Like someone has hit me in the chest with a rocket launcher.”

He studies my face. “It’s goin’ to feel like that for a while, but you’ve got so many people who will help you.”

“Yeah,” I say, looking down.

He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head back. “I’m one of them.”

A throat clears and both our heads swing around to see Tina and her husband, Chase, standing in the doorway. Tina doesn’t look impressed that I have a half-naked Max pressed against me, but he moves back quickly enough and I rush out, throwing my arms around her. She starts to cry and my tears come forth again, even though I shed so many last night.

The guys say nothing.

There’s really nothing anyone can say.

Only time can heal this wound.

M
ax is sitting at the dining table, bottle of beer in his hand, glaring at me. He knows I hate it that he’s drinking, but it would seem he no longer cares. He’s just sitting there watching me, almost daring me to argue with him. I won’t do it. I just get on with making lunch, refusing to give in to him, refusing to let him know that he’s hurting me. That’s what he wants, and he won’t get it from me.

“Are you going to eat?” I mumble to my plate.

“No.”

“Fine, Max.”

I flip open the bin and tip his food into it, ignoring the way he flinches when I do. I throw my sandwich in after it, not hungry. I’ve lost a few solid pounds in the last month, and it’s all from stress. Max has good and bad days, but lately it’s more bad than good. Today he’s home, for what reason I do not know, but it probably has to do with the black eye he’s sporting.

“What happened to your face?” I ask, nodding at it.

“I fought.”

“With who?”

“With an opponent.”

“I didn’t think you did it with your best friend,” I spit.

He crosses his arms. “I have a fighting ring at the club, remember?”

“And you’re fighting now?” I gasp, horrified.

I know Max started some ‘fun fights’ at the club on weekends to raise more money, but it seems lately that’s getting out of the fun and more into the fight. What I didn’t know is that he was putting himself in harm’s way by joining in.

“What’s the big deal?” he grunts, standing. “It relieves stress.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” I cry out, throwing my hands up. “Honestly, Max, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Not this shit again,” he grunts, turning and walking towards the front door.

“Where are you going?”

“Fucking out.”

With that he steps out and slams the door.

My heart falls to pieces.

~*~*~*~

“I
’m sorry, miss, it’s been declined.”

Tears burn under my eyelids as I stare at the machine, flashing with the horror of my situation. I’m at the doctors, seeing them about an illness I’ve had for a few weeks, and now I can’t pay. I don’t understand. I’ve been so careful with money. Maybe the monthly transfers didn’t go through.

“Are you sure?” I whisper.

“I’m sure. Do you have another card we can try?”

I hand him all of them, but none work.

“Is there anyone you can call?”

Shame rises in my throat and I nod, pulling out my cell and calling my sister, Tina.

“Hey sweetheart, what’s happening?” she asks, answering.

“Ah . . . I . . . I was wondering if I could borrow some money, just until I get home. I’m at the doctor, and my cards are declining. I must have forgot to transfer money.”

“Of course, is everything okay?”

“Just a virus.”

“Okay, well put me onto whoever is taking payment.”

I pass the phone over and Tina gives out her details. I take the receipt, thanking them and leaving before shame gets the better of me. I rush to my car and slide in, fingers trembling. I text Tina with a thank you, and promise to return the money, then I head home, wondering where the hell my money has gone.

When I get in, no one is there, so I go to the laptop and check our bank accounts. All of them are empty. Empty. Today, they have been emptied. Frantic, I start ringing the banks, and find out that Max took the money out this morning. My heart pounds as I try to ring him with no answer.

I’ve had enough of this.

For nearly two months my husband has shut me out, and now I’m going to find out why. I run upstairs and into the room he’s decided to sleep in for the last fortnight, claiming he was restless and needed space. I dig through the drawers and the cupboards, but find nothing. I slide under the bed, pulling out anything I can, until I find an old backpack.

I crawl out from underneath the bed and sit, back against the double mattress. I open the pack and find some boxing gloves, as well as some random cash notes. I did further, unzipping pockets, until I find a bag of . . . oh my God . . . is that marijuana? My heart skips a beat and tears form in my eyes, as I open it and take a smell. It is. Max is smoking pot. He hates drugs. I don’t understand.

With trembling fingers, I keep digging, but I don’t find anything else but a couple of numbers and addresses. I stand and take my phone, dialing the club. “Hello?” a woman answers.

“Yes, hi, it’s Anabelle. I was wondering if Max is there.”

“Ah, no, sorry we don’t see much of him these days. He said you were unwell.”

My blood runs cold. “He doesn’t come in to work?”

“No. He’s given us all extra shifts. Last time I saw him was three nights ago.”

Oh my God.

“O-o-okay, thanks.”

I hang up and stare down at the numbers I found in his backpack. I dial the first one, which goes to a disconnected number. I dial the second and a husky-voiced woman answers the phone. “Hello?”

“Ah, hello,” I say, throat thick with tension. “Who have I called?”

“You’ve got the Southside Casino.”

Casino.

No.

Oh God, no.

“Oh, wrong number, thanks.”

I hang up and the tears come hard and fast. I cry until my body aches, and then I get angry. I get so damned angry I stand, storm down the stairs and go to my car. Fury is washing through me—raw, broken fury. How dare he? How dare he take everything we’ve saved and gamble it away? How dare he turn everything off as if it doesn’t matter? How dare he shut me out and lie to me?

He’s my husband, and tonight this ends.

I drive to the casino and find a park in the parking lot. I get out, hands trembling, and storm inside. There are pokie machines and tables scattered everywhere, with hundreds of people playing. Thick smoke fills the air and I can smell booze all around. Why the hell are so many people in here during the day? What is wrong with them?

I let my eyes scan the room and finally I see Max, sitting at a table, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, beer bottle in hand. I stop in my tracks and just stare at him. That man right there? I don’t know him. He looks drawn out and tired, but mostly he looks like a stranger. What the hell happened to him? What the hell changed in his life that made him like this?

What the hell did I miss?

Was it the accident he saw? He said it wasn’t bad; he assured me it wasn’t that.

So what the hell is it?

Anger bubbles up in my chest as I watch a woman lean over him, breasts near his face, giggling as she lines up some cards. No. No more. I storm over and the moment I reach him, I start screaming. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He jerks and spins around, staring at me in shock. Yeah, he just thought I’d sit at home, acting as though nothing was going wrong in our lives. He was wrong, so incredibly wrong.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Anabelle?”

His use of my full name is like a slap to the face. “What am I doing here?” I breathe. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious.”

“You have run all our money dry, and you’re doing drugs and . . .”

He launches up, curling his fingers around my upper arm and jerking me out of the casino at a rapid rate. He leads me down a few halls to a secluded room. He swings the door open and shoves me inside, slamming it behind him. “What the hell are you thinking? Screaming our shit out like that.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I yell. “You’re wasting our money, smoking drugs, drinking and pushing me away, and you’re seriously wondering why I’m here?”

“I’m havin’ a bit of fun!”

I shake my head, losing everything I’ve been holding together.

“Fun? Fun? Are you fucking serious?”

His eyes widen because I scream so loudly.

“What about us, Max?” I say and my voice breaks on his name. “What about this? I had to go to the doctor today, and I couldn’t even pay because I had no money left in the account!”

“Why did you need a doctor?” he asks, studying me.

“You’re seriously asking that? Don’t act as if you care. You haven’t noticed a damned thing in the last few weeks, so don’t pretend like it matters now. I obviously don’t matter.”

“I was going to get it back,” he says, his voice almost dead. That scares me.

“You took every cent,” I whisper, my bottom lip trembling. “Jesus, Max, what the hell is going on?”

“Nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

I screech loudly and lift a lamp from a nearby table, hurling it across the room at him. I shock both himself and me, because I’ve never acted so violently before. My hands are shaking, my body is exploding with rage, and I can’t keep it in.

“If you want me gone, why the hell don’t you just say so? What did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of hell?”

“I never said I wanted you gone!” he roars.

I step forward and put my hands on his chest, trying to shove him. He curls his fingers around my wrists and jerks me, catching me off-guard. I stumble forward and my head bounces off his chest.

“You do,” I fight, squirming and tugging. “You’re just not fucking man enough to say it. Go on, Max, say it. Say you want me gone.”

“No,” he grunts.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I yell, trying to shove him again.

“Because maybe I’m not the sweet fucking man you think I am.”

“That’s not true, and you’re holding back. Just say it; say whatever it is you need.”

“No.”

“God dammit, Max! Let me go!”

“Fucking no!” he roars.

He pulls my body closer and his lips crash down on mine. Max hasn’t touched me in close to a month, so my body responds like a desperate child in need of a snuggle. I cling to him, kissing him so hard my lips burn beneath his. He spins us around and slams me against the wall, and a frenzy unlike any I’ve ever experienced with Max, comes rushing to the surface.

He wants to fuck me like a wild animal, and I want to let him.

So I do.

There is no foreplay, no sweet kisses and no gentle strokes. No, it’s all desperate animal-like craziness. He jerks my skirt up, I yank his jeans down and then my legs are around his waist and his cock is plunging into me. It’s rough and feral and so fucking hot. He slams me against the wall with each thrust. My nails slide down his arms, taking off skin as they go. He bites my neck, grunting against it, and fuck, it all feels so incredible.

“Max,” I scream out, bucking against him.

He catches hold of a nipple through my top and he pinches it, hard. I yelp and reach up, taking his hair in my hands and yanking it so hard he hisses. We’re in a frenzy, a dangerous, beautiful frenzy. Our hands are bringing pain to each other’s bodies, but at the same time, we’re bringing each other so much pleasure.

I can’t hold back my orgasm. It comes on like wildfire, tearing through my body and making me hiss out Max’s breath, because I can’t even muster up a scream. He grunts, thrusts, slaps and bites until he’s coming deep inside me, his big body jerking with each spurt of release. I come down from my high first, dropping my head into his shoulder and letting my legs down.

He slides out of me and then we step away from each other, looking at anything else. I don’t want to admit that what we just did felt so incredibly right, and yet so incredibly wrong, and I don’t think he wants to either. It didn’t solve any problems—hell, all it did was take away from the pain we’re living through for a few minutes.

But in the end, the problem still lies dormant, like a toxic explosion ready to erupt.

And erupt it will.

“W
hat the hell are you doing here with him?” Tina hisses into my ear as we stand in the kitchen, watching Max and Chase chatting.

“Everyone was out of town. I needed someone to look after Imogen.”

“Did you sleep with him?” she demands.

Her question throws me so much I don’t answer right away. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “You did.”

“It’s really none of your concern, Tina. My life is my business.”

“He ripped you to pieces, stomped on you and spat you back out again, and now you’re defending him.”

I spin on her. “Maybe you don’t know the full story, and maybe he wasn’t the only one in the wrong, did you ever think of that?”

Her eyes widen and she takes a step back.

“And not to mention, our mother just died. Is this really what matters right now?”

With that, I lift my purse and storm out of the kitchen. “Imogen, come on.”