Page 97 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"As much as I'm enjoying this, it will have to wait." Damien fastened his suit jacket as he walked to the front of his desk. "I have a very important meeting I must attend."

Huh.

Looked like the meeting was on after all. Max hoped they drowned in the storm. He smiled at the thought then winced when his lip began to throb.

"Why are you smiling?" Damien demanded.

Max heard his voice through the ringing in his ears. It made it seem melodic.

"No reason," he said. "No reason at all."

Damien gestured to his guard and the man punched Max in the gut, stealing the breath right out of him. He convulsed and gasped for air. Slowly, his diaphragm relaxed and he could breathe again.

"I'll ask one more time," Damien said. "Why are you smiling?"

What the hell? He had nothing to lose by telling the bastard he was on to him. "I was hoping you'd drown at sea."

Damien's gaze turned sharp and assessing. "Why would I drown at sea? Why would I even be on the water on a night like this?"

The room began to swim and Max could barely think straight. "Because you're going to meet your business partner." He fought to lift his head and stare at the devil. "Your secret partner."

Without warning, Damien picked up a paperweight and threw it at the wall. It smashed and showered the floor with glass fragments.

"Temper, temper," Max said.

Suddenly, Damien rushed at him, grabbing his arms and forcing him to look up into the monster's soulless eyes.

"What do you know about my partner?" he demanded.

If Max wasn't mistaken, along with the anger in his expression, there was also a touch of fear. He tried to smile again, but it hurt too damn much.

"You'll never know," he said.

Damien let out a roar, stepped back and struck Max across the face. His head whipped to the side and his eyesight faded in and out for a second or two.

Don't pass out, he told himself. Don't pass out.

He breathed through the pain. Damn. Everything hurt so much. Violet had been right. He should have brought her with him. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. She was the last person on the planet who needed protecting. Plus, he was a writer, not a fighter.

Hey, that rhymed.

He tried to smile but it hurt all over again.

Damien adjusted his linen jacket. "Keep an eye on him," he told the guard. "Keep your hands off him until I'm ready to deal with him personally."

The guard looked disappointed. "You want me to keep him in here or move him someplace else?"

"He can stay here. I'm meeting my friend in the sitting room."

Max's head jerked up at that. What? They were meeting on the island?

Damien saw his reaction and smirked. "Seems you don't know everything, Maximillian. My partner has decided to come to the island after all. The water is too dangerous tonight—in more ways than one."

"That's why you're still here." Max had the worst luck.

"Ah," Damien said, knowingly. "You thought you'd poke around in my business while I was off the island." He shook his head in an imitation of pity. "Has anybody ever told you that you suck at being a reporter?"

"Hey," Max said. "I've won awards for my work." Not that he cared, but it was the principle.