Page 87 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"This is the dumbest idea you've had since we met. I swear, if you even get a scratch on you, I will be furious."

"I know," he said in a soothing tone. "It's okay. I know you're the only person who's allowed to get physical with me. I won't let anyone else touch me."

She blinked at the door. How did the man always make it sound like her detaining him was some sort of intimate foreplay.

"You are going to get yourself killed," she warned.

"I don't plan on dying tonight," Max said. "But just in case it all goes wrong, and I don't come back, there's something I need you to know. Today's ceremony was real for me. I'm not talking about the license thing. I'm talking about how I felt." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Violet Lee."

She gasped and placed her palms flat on the door. Her ears straining to hear his soft words. Her brain scrambling to make sense of them.

"You completely blindsided me," he said, sounding bemused. "All I could think about was bringing Damien down, about getting justice for all the people he's hurt, and stopping him from hurting more. And then you stormed into my life, this tiny tornado filled with an iron will and a sensuality that disarmed me completely. I love how strong and capable you are. I love how sexy you are. I love how soft and confused you get when you feel insecure. I love that you have the darkest sense of humor and say the most unexpected things. I even love your violent streak. You are spectacular, Violet. I can't figure you out and I want to." The sound of yearning in his voice was a vise around her heart. "I really want to."

"Then don't go," she said.

Stay with me. Stay safe. The words stuck in her throat.

"You know I have to. This has to end. Damien has to go to jail, and tonight is my only window of opportunity for making it happen."

Rage built again. "Then take your bodyguard with you. Let me do my job. Let me protect you."

He laughed, it sounded sad. "See, here's the weird thing, now that I should want you standing between me and danger, I find I can't stomach the thought of you getting hurt because of me."

Violet stared at the door for a beat, uncomprehending.

"Wait a minute, you're protecting me?" Was he out of his mind?

There was no reply.

"Max?" she called, thumping the door again.

This time the silence of the bungalow was all the answer she got.

How dare he? How dare he tell her he loved her then leave her like this? Naked and vulnerable while he rushed off into danger. Violet couldn't remember the last time she’d felt so much rage.

No, not just rage.

Fear.

Not for her, but for Max.

She let her head fall back and she screamed out her anger and frustration. The sound reverberated around the tiny room, sending her emotions straight back to her. She took a deep breath, then another, clenching her fists at her thighs. At last, the red in front of her eyes began to clear and the room came back into focus.

Violet shoved at the door again. It didn't budge. Max had obviously wedged a chair under the handle to stop her getting out. If he thought this would contain her, he didn’t know her at all. He’d have been better off drugging her and chaining her to the bed.

Her eyes landed on the vent in the ceiling. It wasn’t big, but then neither was she. Seeing as there was no switch to turn it on, she assumed it was just an airway out through the roof. If she could get the cover off, she could squeeze through the opening into the attic. And from there, she’d find a way out into another part of the bungalow.

She glanced around, scouring the room for something she could use to unscrew the vent cover. There was a toilet brush, toilet paper holder, a tall narrow stool with a bowl of potpourri on top of it, and that was it. There wasn't even a sink.

Her attention went to the small, framed pictures on the wall. She removed one and smiled when she saw it had metal corner brackets. The right-angled shape would make the perfect screwdriver. Just what she needed to unfasten the vent from the ceiling. All she needed to do was break the frame to free one of the brackets, and to do that, she had to smash it.

Not wanting to send glass flying around the room when she was naked. Violet wrapped the picture in toilet paper to contain the shattered glass, then hit the frame against the side of the toilet.

After the first hit, she carefully removed all the glass, then slammed the frame against the toilet bowl until one of the brackets came loose. She smiled with satisfaction as she held the metal shape in her hand.

Now she had a screwdriver.

After removing the potpourri from the stool, she stood on it to reach the vent. It was agonizing work. Violet had to keep stopping because her arms ached from holding them over her head for so long. But at last, she got two end screws free. She tossed the makeshift screwdriver to the floor, worked her fingers into the gap she'd made and clutched the vent cover. Using her weight, she pulled it off its frame. It sent her crashing to the floor, and she hit her head on the wall.