A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(206)

He owed the woman in his arms everything. He’d become the man he wanted to be for her, the man he liked being. And as their clothes started coming off when the passion between them burst into flames, Carter vowed to himself that he would continue to repay her every single day of his life.

It was his most deeply desired obligation.

His precious debt.

His beloved pound of flesh.





Max O’Hare is ready to move on with his life after successfully completing rehab and learning to explore his deepest fears and dreams through art. It’s through art that Max meets Grace Brooks, the seemingly perfect girl. But why won’t she tell anyone anything about her past? Will they slowly allow each other in or are they both too afraid to get hurt again?

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by Sophie Jackson



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Max’s sponsor arrived at the coffee shop with his customary smile and a yellow T-shirt decorated with—

“What the f*ck is that?” Max asked with a puzzled shake of his head as they ordered their sandwiches.

Tate glanced down at himself and cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a Minion dressed as Wolverine,” he answered, clearly disgusted with Max’s lack of comic book expertise. “What the hell else would it be?”

Max snorted. “I apologize. I’m obviously having an off day with DC—”

“Marvel! Jesus.”

“Whatever.”

[page]Tate shook his head. “I don’t even know why I keep coming back to see you.”


“Because you love me,” Max retorted as they took their lunches to their usual table.

Tate shrugged. “Someone has to, I guess.” They sat in companionable silence, watching the world go by, while they ate. “So how have things been?”

Max nodded. “Okay. Got my six-month medallion.” He took a mammoth bite of his chicken on rye.

When he was in rehab, he’d never imagined he’d get to this point—but the gold medal in his pocket proved he had. When he’d been awarded it at his last group session, it’d been the first time he’d truly felt a shiver of pride.

Tate grinned. “My man. Nice.” They fist-bumped. “Any more ‘off ’ days?”

Max shook his head. He and Tate stayed in frequent contact, exchanging texts at least once a day, with phone calls just as regular. Tate had been a true support for him, and the fact that he traveled three hours every week to see Max was testament to how seriously he took his role as Max’s sponsor.

As always, they shot the shit about therapy, caught up on friends—with Riley at the helm, Max’s body shop was booming; Carter was stressed with Kat’s wedding planning—and drank coffee.

Suddenly, his coffee mug frozen in mid-air, Tate’s attention moved to something on the street. Max followed his line of sight and smirked.

It was Grace.

Dressed in running gear, she was walking toward the coffee shop, looking at her watch, no doubt checking her run time. Her hair was pulled back, her ponytail bouncing, her running pants breathtakingly tight. Max’s cock gave a nod of appreciation. He was annoyed he’d had to cancel his run with her this morning to meet Tate.

“Good Lord,” Tate muttered as he watched her enter the shop and head to the counter.

“Like what you see?” Max asked. A curious and unfamiliar warmth crept across his skin.

“Um, yeah … Shit, do they all look like her around here?”

Max looked over at Grace, catching her eye. She beamed and waved. He smiled and dipped his chin back at her. “No,” he answered. “She’s one of a kind.”