Page 95 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Have to say," Max said through the haze. "I'm surprised you don't outsource your violence to one of your goons. Aren't you worried you're gonna break a nail?"

Damien's eyes hardened. "Oh, don't worry, they can take over when I get tired."

Guess Damien planned on making him suffer for a while yet. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing. Probably good, because then it would give Violet a chance to save him.

Of course, then Violet would probably kill him herself.

A guy just couldn't get a break.

"Tell me," Damien said. "Is the wedding real or did you hire a bride for the weekend?"

Whoa, that was far more perceptive than he'd given Poole credit for being.

"Violet is my wife," Max said firmly before lying. "The location of our wedding was purely coincidence."

"And you thought what? Since you were already here, you'd see if you could dig up some dirt on me? You have no idea how to stay down when you're put on your ass. You should have learned your lesson five years ago when I killed your stupid-ass story. But no, here you are, trying again. It's pathetic. Tell me, why are you so fascinated with me? Is it envy?"

"You really don't know, do you?" He wasn't sure why he was even surprised.

"Enlighten me." Damien leaned back and folded his arms, the picture of bored amusement.

Bile rose in Max's throat and, for a second, he wasn't sure he could reply. But Sandi deserved it. "I had a friend in college. Her name was Sandi Greyson. You raped and beat her, and she took her own life a few months later. That's why I've been writing about you, and why I intend to bring you down."

Damien looked genuinely bewildered. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

"Seventeen years ago. Toronto. You can't remember beating and raping a young college girl? What kind of animal are you?"

"Oh, I remember having a good time with many women, but the one you're talking about doesn't stand out. She must have been rather plain."

Rage washed through Max, cresting like a wave and exploding from his lips. "You're a bastard, you know that? You take and take, destroying everything in your path, and you don't give a crap about anybody. I hope you rot in hell."

Damien laughed. It was cold and hard, like the man himself. "There's no hell, Maximillian. Look around you, because this is it. It's all we get. That's something guys like you never understand. It isn't about doing what's right, or fighting for some sad cause, it's about amassing as much as you can in the time you have left. See, while you're worried about being noble, I'm doing whatever the fuck I want. That's the thing, Max. When you have money and power, there's nobody to stop you from taking what you want, when you want it. Nobody. And I'll tell you something else. The woman you're so concerned about? She probably threw herself at me, and if she didn't, then she definitely wanted what I could give her. They all do."

"You're sick in the head, you know that, right?"

His expression became thunderous. "I'm the smart one here. Look at you. An empty bank account, no job—yeah, I called your boss and he told me you'd been fired—and you're on your second marriage. And I gotta say, I don't think this one is going to last either. Face it, Maximillian, you have nothing." He waved a hand to indicate his kingdom. "While I own my own fucking island. I've got all the beautiful women I want. I have politicians scrambling to lick my boots. They suck up to me, hoping I'll make them richer or ease their way. My life is a party, you sad little fuck. The only inconvenience I experience is when assholes like you try to take me down because you're jealous of my success."

"Is that what you think?" Max exploded. "I'm jealous? You couldn't be further from the truth. You have nothing I want. Nothing. Everything you touch is contaminated."

"Really?" Damien smiled at Max. The expression made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Then, I think I'll add the new Mrs. Durant to the list of things I very much want to touch."

It was Max's turn to burst out laughing. It sounded brittle and desperate, but there was definitely a thread of amusement in it. "Violet Lee will castrate you, you moron."

Damien's face turned red with anger as he nodded to one of his men.

A guard stepped in front of Max, flexed his fists and grinned.

Then all Max felt was pain.

Violet peered through the foliage as rain hammered down on her head. The wind howled around her and overhead the sky flashed with lightning. But she wasn't aware of any of it. All she could see was Max, tied to a chair, while one of Damien's guards pummeled him.

She memorized the man inflicting the pain. He was tall, heavily built, and had a crewcut. He also smiled each time he hit Max. The guy was experiencing his last night on earth. He just didn't know it yet.

"What do you want to do?" her stalker whispered.

Violet stared at him for a moment, tempted to ask for his help to free Max. But she couldn't do it. Alan might treat her like his commanding officer, but it wasn’t her right to send him into battle.

"You know this isn’t the army, right?" she asked gently.