A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(201)

“The dude’s cool. He won’t rat,” Max placated him. “It’s fine. Trust me.”

Carter opened his mouth to argue, but realized there was little point. His trust in his friend was at an all-time low, and Max was as stubborn as he was. Add in the coke, and the bastard was impossible to dissuade. There was no reasoning, no coercing. He’d made his decision, and damn the consequences.

His cell vibrated, and he knew who it was before he even looked at the screen.

Wake me when you get back. Be safe. X

With fear gripping his heart like a vise in his chest, he pushed his cell back into his jeans. “So what am I here for?” he asked quietly.

“You’re the only person I trust to watch my back.”

Carter snorted. “Lucky me. This is a mess, dude. Are you sure there’s no other way?”

Ignoring Carter’s question, Max moved around him and approached the wall safe hidden behind a picture of a Shelby GT. Once opened, Max reached in and pulled out two Glocks. He held out the first to Carter.

Carter’s hesitation had Max’s brow furrowing.

“I’m on parole,” Carter said slowly. “If I’m caught— What the f*ck do you think I can do with that?”

“You don’t have to use the f*cking thing,” Max snapped. “Take it.”

With a deep breath, Carter took the gun, thankful that he was wearing gloves. Ordinarily, it would have felt good. Guns always made him feel strong and undefeatable. Now the metal felt alien and dangerous in his hand.

He swallowed.

Now, he realized, he had Kat to help him feel strong. She made him feel greater than any gun, any drug, any boost, any deal. She gave him more strength than he’d ever thought possible. With her, he was truly invulnerable.

Holding the Glock in his palm and with the image in his mind of Kat warm in his bed, waiting for him to return safely, he suddenly understood the crossroads that lay ahead of him.

One road took him home, to his Peaches, his everything. The other took him back to where he’d been for so many miserable years. It was a dark place filled with bad memories, hopelessness, and fear. With Max on coke and holding a gun in his hand, that road took him straight back to Kill, back to being a worthless criminal with no prospects, no respect, and no future, all promises broken, all faith shattered.

It wasn’t a place he ever wanted to go back to. He’d worked too damned hard to get to where he was now, and he couldn’t give it all up. He couldn’t give up his Peaches. She was all that mattered.

Max dropped a large bag heavily onto the desk and started to retrieve all manner of weapons from its depths.

“I can’t,” Carter said quietly, snapping Max’s head up from the large knife in his hand.

“What?”

Carter shook his head and placed the gun next to the bag. “I can’t do this.”

Max’s face was baffled. “What are you talking about?”

Carter gestured to the gun. “This isn’t me anymore, man.”

Max’s eyes flashed in disbelief. “The f*ck? I need you here.”

“You don’t, Max,” Carter implored. “Look, I can give you the money. You don’t need to do this shit. You don’t need guns and coke. I’ve told you—”

“I’m not a f*cking charity case! I don’t want your money!” Max bellowed. “Why don’t you understand?”

Incredulous, Carter ground his teeth. “Okay. Why don’t you explain it to me? Let’s get this shit out there.”