Stealing Emma

Chapter 22 - Judge, Jury, and Executioner

Max finally agreed to take Emma back to school three days later. He would have tried to delay her return even longer, but she wasn’t having any of it. She had woken up that morning with a very determined look and after she applied makeup on her face that barely left a trace of the bruise on her cheek, he really didn’t have another argument to throw at her. His little firecracker wasn’t one to give up easily.

The last few days with her had been a dream. Despite everything, they had really managed to connect and become very close. They had spoken a lot about the fight they had coming back from New York, even argued about it several times. But in the end, they both understood each other better and it just made them that much closer.

The bond he had with her was so strong that it made it very difficult to leave her bed every night and sleep on the futon in the other room. He kept reminding himself that she needed space, and as much as he craved it, sleeping in the same bed with her was the last thing she needed. He knew all too well what could happen when they shared the same bed. Besides, she was still injured and needed time to heal.

So when he walked into school with her firmly by his side, he thought nothing could bring him down from his high. Emma was wearing sunglasses to cover her cheekbone and her silky hair was down, covering her shoulders. She had on a white long-sleeved cotton shirt with buttons running down the middle and his favorite pair of snug fitting jeans. She looked amazing as always.

To the average person, you would never be able to tell she had just spent the last few days cooped up in bed or that she had dozens of bruises underneath her clothing. The only thing that would even remotely tip anyone off were that her movements were still very controlled and he was also carrying her bag for her, but that of course could also be written off as him being the gentleman that he was.

When they turned the corner of the school entrance, the last thing he expected was to run smack into Roy. His high immediately crumbled to the floor. It was almost unfathomable how one person was capable of causing such an instant, dramatic change in him. After momentarily coming to a grinding halt, he grabbed Emma by the waist and positioned her beside him.

Roy looked like shit. He seriously looked really bad, like a dispirited shell of his person. The tosser had obviously not slept in days or was on a binge of some sort. Max had thought about confronting him so many times during that week, especially that first day when Emma had been asleep. Over and over he had fantasized about showing up at his doorstep and beating the shit out of him so he could feel some pain.

He had wanted to simply kill him and had found himself plotting his murder countless times. A sniper shot...double tap to the back of his head, choking him with a pillow in his sleep, slipping some rat poison in his whiskey...

But that was the easy way out. This outcome was far better, seeing him hurt like this, the guilt clearly eating at him. Max found something redeemable in that. It was the least of what he deserved.

“If it isn’t the happy couple,” Roy quipped. “Aww, he’s carrying your bag, too? How sweet,” he said turning to Emma.

“Screw you, Roy. He’s twice the man you’ll ever be,” she responded angrily.