“Where were you?”

“I said,” I say, my voice strained, “an appointment.”

He knows I’m bullshitting, and he calls it. “Bullshit.”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

I try to step away, but his hand curls around my arm, stopping me. I wince, as quietly as possible.

“I fuckin’ employed you, therefore you do need to explain yourself to me. You left the baby with Santana and ran out.”

I lose my shit.

Stress, fear, all of it—it all gets the better of me.

“You know what?” I cry, tugging my arm out of his. “Shove your job up your fucking ass. I don’t need it. I don’t need you. I certainly don’t need an asshole who can’t even look at his child and acknowledge him.”

It’s a low blow, I know.

I turn, trying to get my arm from his grip, but he’s too strong.

“Let me go!”

“You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on, or do I need to guess?”

“Fuck you.”

“Has it got somethin’ to do with you askin’ me for more money?”

I stiffen, and he snorts. “That’s what I thought. You’re goin’ to sit down, you’re goin’ to tell me what the fuck is goin’ on, and we’re goin’ to sort it.”

“No,” I say, jerking my arm. It doesn’t budge. “I’m going to get my shit and leave.”

The state.

No, the country.

Possibly find a one-way ticket to space and never return.

“No,” he grinds out. “You’re goin’ to sit down and fuckin’ tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“I don’t want, or need, your club involved in my shit. Thank you, goodbye.”

I tug, hard. So hard he lets me go, and I stumble backwards. A pained cry leaves my throat and I double over, gripping my ribs as pain radiates through my body.

“Stand up,” Mack’s voice is like a whip. “Now.”

“No,” I croak.

“Stand up!” he roars.

I stand slowly, and he takes a step closer. Maddox is standing now too, I notice. Santana is watching with a concerned expression on her face.

“Lift your shirt,” Mack orders.

“What?” I cry. “No way!”

“Now, or I’ll do it for you.”

“Do as he says,” Maddox growls.

I turn to him. “Who invited you, Hulk?”

He flashes me a grin. “You either do it, or I fuckin’ will.”

I grind my teeth, and lift my shirt. I hear a few hissing sounds, and then Mack’s voice. “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing. I fell.”

Suddenly, he’s in my face, his arm curled around my bicep. “You tell me, or I’ll tie you down until you fuckin’ do.”

I close my eyes and without warning, burst into a fit of uncontrollable tears. I hate my stupid ex-boyfriend. I hate Gregor, and I hate Mack. Okay, that’s a lie, I don’t hate Mack, but he’s on my hit list for the moment. He’s close in my weak moment, so without thinking I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He stiffens, but I don’t care. Oh, man, he smells amazing. Like beer, and man, and something else, something better.

“My stupid ex-boyfriend,” I wail. “He got himself into serious shit, he owed money, I wanted to help him. I stole drugs and I sold them, giving him the cash. The dealer found me, and now I owe him money.”

I realize I’m clutching Mack’s shirt, sobbing wildly.

“Now he wants more than I can give.”

“Let me go.”

“No,” I screech, ignoring his request. “Please don’t fire me. If you fire me, he’ll kill me.”

“Girl,” he says, his voice low. “You’re puttin’ shit all over my shirt . . . let me go.”

“You just need to deal with it,” I hiccup, curling into him more. His body grows even more tense. “You are always so mean, it won’t hurt you to just deal.”

Maddox bursts into a fit of laughter, and I hear Santana giggling as Mack’s body quickly turns harder than a brick wall. Someone doesn’t like comfort.

“Shhhh,” I whisper.

Maddox’s laugh gets so loud it’s all I can hear. Mack tries to peel me from clutching him like he’s the air I need to breathe.

“Love the snot, embrace the snot,” I murmur into his chest.

“You’re seriously whacked,” he grunts. “Now let me go, and tell me what’s goin’ down.”

I don’t want to, but I pull back, swiping the back of my hand across my face. I look up into the most dazzling brown eyes I’ve ever seen and I want to melt. Pity they’re hard. I take a step back, and blink up at him. When my vision clears, I continue on with my story.

“I didn’t have any money. When I saw this job come up, I applied for it. Gregor called this afternoon and requested two thousand dollars. I didn’t have it, so he beat me a little, and then told me I now owe him four thousand next week.”

“Gregor?” Maddox growls. “Gregor Potani?”

I whip my head around. “You know him?”

His eyes widen. “You stole money from Gregor Potani?”

“Stop saying it like that,” I squeak. “I was trying to help my boyfriend.”

“Gregor Potani . . .” he repeats.