Butch clasps his fingers together. "Straight to business then?"
Max nods. "You need to know now."
Clay swings in his chair, eyeing Max, unreadable as always. "I hear he died in prison."
"Prison justice. No one saw what happened," Max confirms, flexing his arms around my middle. Turning his head towards Konnor, he says, "He told me that Dustin paid him to kill you."
Konnor blinks, not at all surprised. That's what we expected to hear. "Okay."
Max sighs for a minute. "Kill you."
Butch's eyes narrow on Max. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that Dustin paid to have Konnor taken from his bed and killed. But he was approached by another man. This man offered him twice the amount to keep him alive. Keep him in a basement. For as long as it took. Just in case one day, this man had a use for him."
I strain for breath.
Konnor sinks down into a nearby seat, thrusting a hand through his hair and dragging it back down his face. All of the Butchers are fixed on Max, awaiting further information. The energy crackling around us is like the beginning of a current that has no end. Clay tightens, suspicious and analytical. Xander rubs his hands down his jeans, perhaps a nervous reaction to the impending news. Bronson just stares, shadowed by a palpable darkness that has little restraint.
Max levels them with his eyes. "Jimmy fucking Storm."
My mouth drops open and I exhale the words, "Oh my God."
Rolling his fingers into his palms, Butch squeezes until his knuckles turn bone-white. He beats his fist onto the desk. "Pocca miseria!"
I flinch, curling into Max.
Butch stares at Konnor, anger like I've never seen before raging in his eyes. "He was going to use you against me," he hisses. "He knew this whole time."
Clay uncrosses his legs, leans forward onto his knees, and cups his forehead. "Fuck." Concern shines through a crack in his usually guarded and emotionless manner.
"You know what this means? Made-men don't lie to made-men," Xander says, standing up. "Jimmy broke a vow. This is war."
War. . .
I start to scratch a layer of pink polish off my nail. War means casualties and I only just got Max back. Before I can object, Bronson steps forward, rousing our attention.
He grins and it's anything but nice. "Not for you, Xander."
Xander frowns at his big brother, but Bronson just continues, shifting his gaze to each of us. "This means nothing for any of you. Be good little Butchers." He shares a meaningful exchange with Max and Clay "Work for the City. Stay clean. Be family men."
Nodding his agreement, Butch states, "Nothing changes. We plant ourselves in the City. We let Jimmy think he's the head and-"
"The fish rots from the head." Bronson's winks at Max. "One of his favourite sayings. . . I'm going to be the rot. I'm going to deteriorate that fucker. And he won't even know that it's happening."
"Dustin is mine," Max says through a low growl while my breath shudders at the mention of his name. Dustin.
"No," Butch bites out. "I won't see you lose more years and you can't leave the District while you're on parole. They will have eyes on yo-"
"I'll hunt him down for you, my beautiful brother. Bring him to you," Bronson states, vengeance playing with his wicked smirk.
Offering Konnor a quick glance, wanting to reach out to someone on my wavelength, I find only determination in his eyes. A flare of acceptance. He's ready for the people who hurt him to pay for their crimes. I blink at these dangerous men I call my family. And I feel my lips curl, curl up into a smile.
I’m ready for that too.
My mother once told me that 'if you avoid conflict to prevent a battle, you often start a war in your heart.'
My heart belongs to Max. And I am willing to support him in this battle. His family - my family - is the most powerful family in the District and they don't need to bully the innocent. Taunt the lambs and the deer. They don't hurt people like me. Butch should be at the head. At that thought, my heart picks up pace. I want to watch him put a torch to the District's web of lies because now I know exactly who will burn along with it. . .
Jimmy Storm.
I softly stroke my fingernails down Max's forearm, over the red and black tattoos, little hairs rising in response to the gentle stimulation. His sigh rumbles behind my spine.
I'm with you, menace.
To the end.
Harris' notes: A bittersweet goodbye.
Dear Max and Cassidy,
So I was going to write a note to your readers, but instead, I drank a bottle of red wine and this is the result. . .
You are my favourite book couple. Two individuals with strength and promise and yet, unknowingly living a kind of half existence.
Cassidy with your beauty and talent and hopefulness. Your brother's trauma cloaked a shadow over your life, but you never held any resentment. You are pure and kind.
And Max, with your intelligence and no-bullshit and inner gentleness. You were forced into a life that bred toxic masculinity and crushed weakness, but you managed to hold on to your integrity.
You shine a light on each other, illuminating hidden pieces and becoming whole.
I wanted to break you out of prison, Max. Have you snatch Cassidy away and run, to another place, to a different book world, and protect her and Kelly. I wanted you to be there throughout the pregnancy, irrational in your pursuit to protect her while she's in, as you would put it, a ‘delicate condition.'
I daydreamed about you in the delivery room with her, scowling at the doctors and then tearing up when you hear that first high-pitched cry. I imagined you being unwilling to share your baby with anyone besides your wife, being the one to bottle feed her every night so that Cassidy can get some sleep.
