Page 7 of Max
“Max, what?”
Why was it so unbelievable that I owned a business? I was about to ask for the third time the same question when Max growled his own.
“How deep are you?”
“Deep in what?”
He was making no sense.
“How fucking deep, Bean?”
“Deep in what, Max?”
“Deep in shit, woman!”
“I’m not in any kind of shit, except the relationship you got me out of this morning.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me. I know what goes out of that warehouse.”
“You mean my warehouse?”
I didn’t get what he went on about. He needed to start making some sense.
“Yes! Your warehouse. I know the merch that’s stored there. Every slime in Denver knows about merch that’s stored there.”
“About my couches and tiles? Why would people know about that?”
He was standing right in front of me in what seemed like a nanosecond, towering over me, his broad chest expanding with every harsh breath, his eyes turned to slits, and his beautiful mouth curved into a sneer.
“Stop lying to me and tell me how fucking deep you are in?” he demanded.
I was shaking, shaking from fear of the beast that he became in a blink of an eye, fear from what he would do to me. And the fear of something that was obviously going on in my warehouse that I had no idea about. But, if what Max said was right, every bad person in Denver knew about.
“I have no idea what you want me to tell you, Max. I store things I find on flea markets or tiles that are going out of production or couches I find on sale but are interesting. Sure, I have some pots and frames that are made exclusively for my company, something like my signature thing, but that’s it.” I told him softly. I was afraid that high volume might spur him into action, and I would bear the brunt of it. “Oh, and sometimes, I buy the construction material that’s leftover so I can resell it for a lower price to my next clients. You know so that they could save some money.”
“So, you’re telling me you have no idea about the shady stuff? Or the high-priced merchandise that’s coming out of that warehouse?” he demanded.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I stressed that fact.
“I’m talking about drugs, Bean. Drugs and weapons,” he tilted his head and a cold smile spread across his face. “And if the night’s good, there’s the occasion that flesh will walk out of that door.”
“Flesh?”
“Yeah, mainly female flesh.”
When the information swirled in my brain and the fact that someone was dealing drugs, guns and on occasion humans out of my storage, I gasped for breath but it was too late.
All the lights went out and everything was black.
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Chapter Four
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Skylar
I woke up not knowing where I was.
