Chapter Fourteen

Mac

"Turn around slowly," Maren's father orders.

I do, along with Maren, only to face the barrel of a gun directed at me.

"Dad! Stop! It's me!"

His face takes on a look of surprise. "Maren?" He lowers the weapon, but the shock in his expression quickly turns to rage.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses, "I almost killed you. Would that have been worth whatever you're stealing from us?"

"What? I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me, Maren. You think I don't know what you're doing? This is how you thank us? After all this time? After all we did for you?" He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "We gave you everything, and you threw it all away. And for what? A temporary high? How's that working for you, huh?"

He's still holding the gun. He could have put it down, but it remains in his hand, as if he thinks he needs it for protection. Maybe he sees me as a threat, but he's barely regarded me. His eyes remain trained on his daughter.

Something dark and winding unfurls in my belly, a surge of poison traveling to my clenched fists and pulsating in my jaw as I fight the urge to take down this guy who dares to look at Maren this way, to put her in this kind of danger. I have to keep reminding myself that no matter what, this is her father. But fuck this guy, because my restraint is hanging by a thread.

"Sir," I bite out through clenched teeth, "if you'll just let her explain."

I don't have a chance to finish because his gun is trained on me again. That thread of restraint snaps, and I grin, feeling the charge in me before I teach him a lesson. But before I can act, Maren jumps in front of me. Like she'll take a goddamn bullet for me.

"Get out of the way," I growl, placing my hands on her hips and pulling her aside. I stare down her father, mentally daring him to pull the trigger, and seeing in his eyes that he won't. He lowers the gun, but the tension remains in his face.

"Manny? "

I keep my eyes on Maren's father, but out of the corner of my eye I see a woman lingering in the hallway, likely Maren's mother.

"What's going on?" she asks.

"Stay in the room, Isabella," Manny orders. He's now focused on Maren, his eyes narrow and sharp. It makes me want to push her behind me before I wipe that stern look off his face. It's been so long since I've known what it's like to have a father. Not Benji, who treated our relationship like a business transaction. But my real father. I remember him, but sometimes it feels like I only remember a muted version of that man. Only bits and pieces. So there is a lot I've forgotten. But one thing I am absolutely certain of, I was never afraid of him. He never raised a hand, never his voice, and certainly not a gun.

Maren shared a little about her family situation that night at that rooftop bar. I knew she hadn't seen them in years, and that she went through some hard shit until she finally course corrected. I knew things were strained enough between her and her parents that she was no longer welcome in her childhood home. And the venomous way her sister treated her, even though she was drunk, made it clear that Maren's name had been dragged through the mud in this house.

But the look on her father's face makes it clear just how bad it really is. If I wasn't sure before, I am now .

"I won't call the cops," Manny says, as if he's showing mercy. "I should, but I won't. Just know that my job here is to protect my family, and I take that very seriously."

The way he uses the word family sparks the fire inside me. A look at Maren's face, and I can see it's a gut punch. If Manny thinks he needs to protect his family from his oldest daughter, then I will be the man Maren needs and protect her.

"Look, asshole, the only reason you should call the cops is because I'm going to kick your ass for speaking to your daughter this way. You don't even know why she's here, haven't even asked. She brought your—"

"No," Maren cuts in, turning from her dad and pushing her hand on my chest. "Let's just go."

I was about to rat out Lydia, to let Manny know that his perfect youngest daughter isn't as innocent as he thinks. The look on Maren's face is clear though. Keep Lydia's secret safe. Even after the way her sister treated her, even with the way her father is looking at her, Maren's holding fast to loyalty. She owes this family nothing. All they gave her was the blood in her veins, and yet she's willing to leave here without defending her character.

Fine, I'll keep her secrets. But I'll be damned if we leave before I give this shithead a piece of my mind.

I place my hand over Maren's, taking it from my chest and folding it into my fist. It becomes my anchor to remember that, through everything, this is her father and I am not allowed to beat him to a pulp.

"We'll leave, but first you'll hear what I have to say. Maren won't tell you, so I will."

"Mac, please," Maren begs. I stop and squeeze her hand.

"I won't," I promise. I won't tell on your fucked up sister. I turn back to Manny. "Your daughter is an amazing woman. She's smart, and funny, and so full of heart. Her musical talent is off the charts, and she's going to be famous one day. But even if she isn't, she has so much she should be proud of. And if you'd get your head out of your ass, you'd be proud of her too. But you're too blind to see it. You see her in your home after all these years, and you automatically think she's stealing from you without even considering there might be another reason why."

I'm squeezing Maren's hand, but she's squeezing back just as tight. I glance at her, and I can see she's done. The look on her face is full of pain, even as she tries to keep her mask on. Her need to escape is stitched into every cell of her body.

"We're done," I murmur. She immediately turns, releasing my hand and racing through the open front door. I follow after her, hearing the door close behind us without a further word from her dad. I'm so pissed, I can barely see straight.

But Maren? She's volcanic. She tries to open the door to my car, then slams her hands on the windows when she discovers it's locked. I don't care if she breaks the windows. It's just an overpriced car.

I reach her side, then pull her into my arms. She struggles, pounds her hands against my chest, a rageful growl in her throat. I hold her tight, as if I can squeeze the fury from her veins.

"Get off me!" she screams, but I hold fast. Her struggle lessens, and then she's shaking. I smooth her hair, my hold lessening as I glide my hands over her back. When she pulls back, this time I let go. Her face is free of tears, her eyes dry. But the veins in her temples, and the way she's clenching her jaw, let me know how hard she's holding back.

"I just want to go home," she whispers.

I'm struck by the layers in her words. Home . The one her family barred her from? Or the one I took from her when I sold the apartments?

I feel like an asshole. I had no choice, but she'd never understand that. I now understand the depth of her pain over the concept of home. Her family denied her a home, so she picked herself up and made her own home. Then I come along and rip that away from her too.

"I'm so fucking angry, I could scream," she hisses through clenched teeth.

I unlock the door and open it, pushing aside my guilt. Right now, the last thing she needs is for me to bow to my guilt. She doesn't need a confession, she needs a release.

"Get in," I order.

She glares at me, looking ready to fight me. But then she surprises me and does as she's told. Once I'm in the driver's seat, I peel away from the curb. Maren's eyes are glued to the window, and I realize she's watching her parents' house in the side mirror. I glance at the reflection in my rearview mirror, seeing the lights off at her parents' house—as if we were never there, as if they're sleeping soundly, safe from harm.

We don't speak as I drive, even as I take the interstate to King's Cove, away from the heart of Sunset Bay. She doesn't know it, but we're heading toward my home on the hill. I take the winding roads, the city getting further and further away as we're surrounded by darkness. The only light is from my headlights and the glow of the full moon reflecting on the ocean below. The only traffic would be from people who live up here, and at this late hour, the roads remain empty.

We pass my gated driveway, and I keep going. I long to bring her to my house, to show her where I live, to feel her body under the satin fabric of my sheets. I want to kiss away her hurt, to touch her in ways that will make her forget. But right now, I know this is not the release she's looking for.

I reach the turnout, the one that's miles from any home and offers an uninterrupted view of the ocean. It's not like we can see much at this time of night, but no one will hear us either. No one will hear her .

"What are we doing here?" she asks, breaking the silence. I say nothing. Instead, I unbuckle and get out of the car. She's already opening her door when I reach her side. It's windy enough that I feel protective as she takes a step closer to the cliff edge.

"Don't do anything stupid," I say, and she shoots me a weary look.

"You're the one who brought me here," she reminds me, her voice raised over the sound of crashing waves below. "Why, though?"

I gesture to the miles of ocean below us. "You wanted to scream, right? Here's your chance."

She hesitates for only a second. Then she turns, takes a deep breath, then empties everything she has into the screaming wind. There are no words, just an animalistic, guttural cry that carries with the tempest around us. I wrap my arms around her waist as she gives it everything, unloading years of hurt into the wind. Her tiny body shudders from sheer force, and she clutches my arms as she continues to scream—for the sister she saved, the home she was turned from, the ways she changed, and how her family would never know.

But I know, and I'll be damned if I ever let anyone make her feel that way again. Even if it means I have to keep my secrets, because the only other choice is to stay away from her, and I already know that's no longer an option.

Maren sinks to her knees, and I drop with her. She's sobbing now, and I scoop her into my arms, holding her as she buries her face in my chest. She clings to my shirt as she fully submits to the brokenness inside, no longer fighting. Maren, who is always so strong, who keeps her mask on tight. But in her vulnerability, I am struck by her true strength. She will walk away from this, I know. In this moment, though, I will be the pillar she can lean on so that she can truly feel. I cradle her head, kissing her tangled hair as I crush her against me. She pulls me in tighter, our bodies molded together like she can't get close enough.

And then her mouth is on mine, and she's kissing me with unbridled fire, sparked by tension and rage. She searches my mouth for solace, I search hers for absolution. She straddles me as I sit in the gravel against the car, my slacks and the thin fabric of her panties the only barrier between us. Her hot breath contrasts with the wind around us, and I clutch her ass, needing all of her—needing inside her.

My thoughts immediately go to the condom in the glovebox, and how far away it seems. But it's as if she's reading my mind.

"I'm on the pill," she breathes in my ear, and it's all the convincing I need. I unbuckle my belt, pull down the zipper, then nudge her panties to the side. She's dripping wet, her cunt hot and tight as I slip my fingers in. She groans, clenching around me, and I realize neither of us has this kind of patience. I need to feel her around me.

I free my cock, and hiss as she slides on me. My mouth greedily tastes hers as she clings to me, grinding down on me. Her skirt is hitched around her waist, her thighs gripping mine, and I know her knees are scraping against the rough ground. She doesn't let it slow her down, though. This is raw and animalistic, especially the way she growls as I hold her hips in place, pushing her down so I can reach the deepest part of her. I taste her tears mingled with sweat, and I lick every inch of her skin within my reach. We push and pull against each other, and it's unclear who's in control. For the record, I feel out of control as she grips the back of my neck, meeting me thrust for thrust as she rocks against me. Like I'm slipping into space and she's the only thing keeping me grounded.

Headlights flash from a passing car, but she never breaks rhythm. She grips me by the neck, squeezing slightly, and fuck if the threat of suffocation paired with the threat of being caught doesn't send me over the edge. I cry out against her mouth, her hips rocking over mine as we come together. She feels so fucking good, the bareness of her sliding over me as I throb inside her.

We stay connected once it's over, our foreheads touching as we recover, breathing hot, steamy breath into the cold night air. My hand remains on her hip, the other tangled in her hair. Despite the wind, she's covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and she grips my shoulders to keep herself upright.

I watch the transformation like I'm watching the seasons change color. For a moment, her face holds the hint of a smile as we both catch our breath. But then the realization slides over her. The expression on her face falls first, followed by the strength of her body. My spent cock is still inside her as she starts to pull away. But I keep a firm grip on her hip, preventing her from leaving. I can't bear the thought of leaving her body. Not yet. But I also see the way her mind has wandered, already gone from what just happened.

"Hey," I whisper, tilting her chin up so she's looking at me.

"Hey," she whispers back.

I don't miss the tear that slides down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb, then I brush that same thumb over her lips as she gasps out a sigh. This time when she shifts, I let her go. She rolls off me, adjusting her skirt before she sits in the gravel. I wrap my arm around her. She leans into me, burying her head into my side. I say nothing as she shatters. All I can do is be here for her.

I hope it's enough.