I hold Max tightly around the waist, my cheek pressing against his shoulder blade, as we ride around the congested, lawless streets. Clutching him tighter around his middle and inhaling him, I imagine we are in love and he’s my person.
He pulls up alongside a luxury, Balinese-style restaurant alongside his brothers’ motorbikes and Flick’s and Stacey’s scooters, and turns off the ignition. I watch his hands squeeze the rubber around the handlebars, his body hot and tight. When I bounce off the bike, I swivel around to face him, but he’s still staring deadpan at the gravel ahead of his tyre. Usually, I’d be inclined to ask what’s wrong, but if I’ve learnt anything from Max Butcher over these past few weeks, it’s that I shouldn’t – at least not right now.
With a long, deep sigh, Max finally swings his leg over and we walk side by side into the restaurant. There are no walls, only piers. Everything in Bali merges the outside world with the inner. Candles flicker on tables. Everyone is reddened from the humidity. He stops at the cane bar and a lady hurries over to him, bowing her head slightly.
‘Whiskey. Whatever. And – ‘ He stares at me, his eyes blank.
I force a smile. ‘Um, a glass of champagne, terima kasih.’
She places a whiskey in front of him and he throws it back. Dropping the glass on the counter, he raises his fingers to indicate he wants another. After she hands it over, I follow Max towards a private canopy across the lily pond where I see Xander, Stacey, Flick, Bronson, Luca, and . . . a stunning blonde woman I recognise. I halt for a moment. It’s the girl from my birthday. The one who was outside the front of my house. The one who had slapped Max so hard across the face.
Flick taps the seat beside her and Max positions himself opposite me. His eyes look bored, but his jaw tics like crazy. Five pairs of eyes stare at me, making my breaths whirl around in my chest.
Flick wraps an arm around my shoulders while she grins at Luca. ‘This is my sister, Cassidy.’
‘Cassidy. My sons are so rude for not introducing you before,’ Luca says with a smile. ‘Thank you for joining us. Clay has told me you’ll be dancing on Friday?’ He has a subtle accent – Italian, I presume.
I nod and speak quietly. ‘Yes.’
‘Jimmy speaks very highly of you,’ Luca says, his opal-blue eyes an intense beauty set into a hard, worn face.
‘He’s been very generous,’ I say, shuffling in my seat.
The blonde woman smiles wryly. ‘Is that all you’re doing?’
I cough on my champagne. ‘I’m sorry, what?’ My mouth drops open and I stare directly across at Max, who is seething.
‘Dancing? Is that all you’re doing?’ She raises a pencil-drawn blonde brow at me. Her elbow is on the table as she nurses her white wine glass. Long, red fingernails wrap around the stem. I wrinkle my nose as I smell her abundantly applied perfume.
‘Ya know what? I hate poker,’ Bronson states loudly, causing everyone to turn and look at him. ‘If you count cards, you’re a cheat, but if you don’t, you’re literally guessing. What’s the point? There’s no skill in it. I don’t care what people say. It’s just fuckin’ luck.’
The blonde leans back in her seat. ‘It’s a game of intimidation, Bronson.’
He’s animated when he says, ‘Ya know what. . . I don’t like blackjack either.’
She curls her lips up in disgust. ‘What’s gotten into you?’
He leans across the table to me and whispers, ‘Give me another game?’
I brush my fingers through my hair. ‘Roulette?’
‘Or roulette!’
‘Alright, Bronson.’ Luca lifts his hand. ‘Thank you for that. . . Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Cassidy.’ He smiles. ‘I’m proud my boys keep such beautiful company.’
The blonde sneers and I narrow my eyes at her, a million words knocking at my tongue.
Stacey stands up abruptly. Collecting her clutch from under her seat, she looks at me kindly. ‘I’ve just remembered I owe you a shot. I never had one with you on your birthday.’
I blink up at her and then across to a wide-eyed Flick. ‘Okay.’
She holds a hand out to me. ‘Come on. Excuse us.’
As we walk away, she squeezes my hand. ‘She hates me too.’
‘Who?’ I say, my breathing still laboured. ‘Who is she?’
When we stop at the bar, Stacey tilts her head at me and says, ‘She’s their mum.’
‘What?’ I wince, hurting for Max and his brothers. I’ve never wanted to hit a person. Not once in my whole life, and she had slapped her own son so hard. My forehead feels hot. I glare over Stacey’s shoulder at Max’s mum, who is scowling at her own boys. ‘She’s so young.’
Signalling the bartender, Stacey orders two of something – I don’t know what. ‘No, she’s not that young; she’s in her forties. She’s just got a good plastic surgeon.’
I observe her from a distance. ‘Is she always like that?’
‘Vile?’ Stacey asks without looking at her. ‘Yes.’
I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘She’s so. . . cold.’
‘She’s always been like that.’
‘What about when they were babies?’ I imagine a baby Max all alone in a house full of toxic masculinity and Chanel Number Five.
‘They were raised by the nanny.’ Stacey touches my arm and I open my eyes again. ‘When the nanny wasn’t busy screwing around with Butch. . .everyone calls Luca, Butch.’
My eyes sting. ‘Who did they have to love them?’
‘Each other. . .’ She takes a shot. ‘And me. And Butch loves them as best as he knows how. He’s always offered them friendship and protection and so much praise it would have been intoxicating. He’s proud of his boys. She’s just a shitty person.’
‘I can’t sit with her.’
‘You have no choice now,’ she says.
Scrunching my nose up in disgust, I toss the liquor back. ‘She slapped Max across the face at my birthday party.’
Stacey squints at me. ‘When was she at your birthday?’
‘She came to the house to get something from him, I think, and then she slapped him. Twice.’
Stacey stares at the ground for a moment before sighing through her own words. ‘She hits him all the time, Cassidy. Butch had to travel a lot for Jimmy. He’d sleep around. She’d get drunk and then take it out on the boys. Max and Bronson got the worst of it. A slap is nothing.’
My eyes pool. ‘Why do they put up with it?’
‘What do you want them to do about it? Hit her back?’
‘No,’ I mutter as one hopeless tear streams from the corner of my eye. ‘I can’t handle that. I can’t be polite to that woman.’
‘Stop being naive. Not everyone had the perfect upbringing you and Flick have had. When you’re around us, you need to think before you open your fucking mouth.’
‘Woah. Don’t be a jerk. You sound like Max.’
She exhales through her nose. ‘That’s because you’re so clueless. You say the wrong thing in front of the wrong person. . . You just don’t understand what these people are capable of.’
I still. ‘What people?’
She stares straight-faced at me. ‘All of them, Cassidy.’
I swallow down a lump. ‘Including Max?’
‘All. Of. Them. Cassidy.’
‘Then why are you still here?’
She lifts her chin and speaks quietly while avoiding eye contact. ‘You don’t know what they’ve done for me.’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘Why are you telling me all of this now? I thought ‘it wasn’t a good idea’?’
‘It’s too late.’ She draws her brows together. ‘You’re sitting at our table. Max had his hand on your leg at the match. That will have been noticed.’
‘By who? Why don’t you want us together?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want you together. It’s just that-‘ She considers her words with care. ‘I’m trying to protect Max.’
I laugh. ‘From me?’
‘I can’t talk about this anymore. I just wanted to stop you from saying whatever it was you were about to say to Victoria.’
I tail Stacey back to the table. At the sight of Max’s empty chair though, I make a quick detour to start looking for him.
My mind is swimming with images of his childhood. Of his mother’s neglect and abuse. Of his father’s stance on being a man. It makes me feel weak with sadness. I need to find him, to tell him. . . I don’t know what because what I want to tell him, I know he’s not ready to hear. And I’m not ready to say. Even if he wants to be alone, he shouldn’t be. I want to show him comfort. I want to give him contentment, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
With a heavy heart, I approach the bar. There is no way I’m going back to that table. I’m about to order a drink to calm my nerves when I spot the little Balinese lady from when we’d first entered the restaurant. She heads towards me, her steps deliberate as if she was looking for me.
‘Come,’ she says.
Hoping she’d been sent by Max, I follow her out of the restaurant, pass dogs and people sitting on the sidewalk, and into a little bar.
She points. ‘He’s in there.’
It’s balmy and dark. My every step is taken with caution. I pull back the pendulous beads that separate the outside from the beating pulse of the club. Half-naked girls are sliding up and down poles. Men, blackened by shadows, turn to stare at me as I walk by their tables. The music is beautiful and enchanting and clearly Asian. I know I should leave. Perhaps I should even be mad at Max for being here, but I’m not.
I search the room, each table, each private booth. My smile is uncontrollable when I see Max sitting in a private canopy, tight faced, gaze lowered as he stares at his whiskey. He’s contemplative – and alone.
I watch from a distance as beautiful, near-naked girls approach him, coy and flirtatious. But his expression never wavers from one of boredom and inconvenience. With a sad smile, I walk in his direction.
His eyes shift from his whiskey. He stares at me through lowered lashes, the whites of his eyes barely visible. ‘Come sit with me, little one.’
I take a step closer to him. ‘I don’t like this place.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Yes.’ I take another step. ‘Why did you bring me here?’
‘I didn’t. I just wanted to be here. I also needed you to not be there.’
My brows dip as I think about his mother. ‘Max.’
His fist hits the table. ‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ I flinch and cover my mouth to stop from talking. He’s drunk. He’s tense. Max relaxes his hand and leans back into his seat, lifting his gaze. He licks his lips while caressing my body with long strokes of his eyes.
My feet find their way to him and I swing a leg over his lap, straddling him. His eyes squeeze shut as he presses his forehead against my shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters. ‘I should never yell at you.’
A shiver rushes down his body as I stroke my fingernails up from the nape of his neck and into his hair. He rolls his head against me. His breathing is deep and long. His arms go around me, clutching at me as if he’s afraid to let me go. My heart wants to jump right from my chest and into his. I find his ear and kiss it chastely, slowly. I’m not sure how much time passes by while I hold him. Several minutes. More maybe.
I hear the clipping of heels and then a salacious voice. ‘Do you want a dance, Max?’
‘Are you serious?’ he hisses, making me flinch. Sliding me gently off his lap, he glares at the woman. ‘You fucking blind?’
My breath catches.
The pretty brunette swallows. Her eyes drop to her feet. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head slowly. ‘I don’t want a fucking dance. Not from you.’ He gazes at me under heavy eyelids. ‘Will you dance for me, little one?’
I stand as she leaves, my legs shaking a little with the weight of his request. The music is hypnotising and laps through me in soulful waves. My eyes are trained on Max; the intensity between us makes his narrow. My breathing becomes shallow and fast as I search his expression. I want more than anything to show him how I feel, knowing I’m not ready to say it aloud. There is this need in his eyes, and I’d do just about anything to give him what they are silently asking for. Something intimate. Something more than just sex. His eyes leave mine to stab holes into the men behind me. I turn to draw the curtains.
After I pull the sheath closed, I freeze at the feeling of his eyes on me. My hands tremble as I unzip the front of my playsuit. The suit drops to the floor, leaving me standing in just lacy white underwear.
‘Take it all off,’ he says, his voice huskier than normal.
My pulse vibrates through my whole body, making me quiver as I stare at the worn, faded fabric. I slowly unclip my bra, letting it drop to the floor.
Shaky hands find the hem of my knickers, and I shimmy them down over my knees before bending to my ankles to unhook them from my feet. Max groans at the sight of me bent and bare. My legs are like jelly.
I straighten. It takes a few breaths of encouragement for me to start swaying my naked body from side to side. My arms stretch up and I curve my neck, staring at the light flickering through the curtains. I can’t see him, but I sure as hell can feel him – everywhere. It’s a sensual beat I dance to – slow and rhythmic with a bass that beats in time with my heart. In this moment, I remember the feel of his eyes on me by the pool side as he’d watched me, each sway of my breasts and movement of my backside. This time, I welcome the feeling of his gaze.
As the song ends, I turn around, my stomach fluttering at the sight of his clenched jaw and smouldering eyes. Eyes that have the power to physically penetrate a girl. My pulse is in a frenzy now. Unable to hold his gaze and maintain my composure, I bat my eyes close and rub the beads of sweat on my skin, coating myself. My hands find my nipples. My quivering abdomen. My needy clit.
‘Don’t stop.’ I hear a loud exhale and when I open my eyes, he’s gripping his erection. His bicep bulges as he draws his hand up and down. ‘Keep going.’
His breathing becomes jagged. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been, watching him seated in the shadows and stroking his magnificent penis while he studies me as I tremble and tease my clit. I moan. He bites back a violent grunt.
‘Come here!’ he growls. I hurry to close the gap between us, and he takes a fistful of my hair. Forcing me onto my knees, he shoves his erection into my mouth. He shoots hot cum into the back of my throat. His pumping motion is such a turn on, I fumble to find my clit again, press down on it and come wildly with him.
