"Well?" Mrs. Gallagher stared at Oscar expectantly, her scrutinizing gaze betraying a hint of curiosity. "You must be either a very good friend of Marcus, or in an awful lot of trouble, for him to have brought you here."
"Yes, ma'am—I mean, I am a friend of Marcus's, Ma'am," Oscar replied, without seeming to take a breath, as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and stood at attention like he was being interrogated by law enforcement.
Only that Oscar wouldn't have behaved that way for any officer of the law... In fact, Max knew the punk to be more sarcastic and insolent with nearly any form of authority he interacted with—until now. An astonished snort left Max, and he wasn't able to tame his smirk before his mother's eyes were on him. She raised her brows, and Max replied. "You're freaking him out, Mom."
"Good," Gloria said, sounding rather pleased, glancing over Oscar again before pacing a small circle around the punk, heels clicking against tile like the counter on a detonator. "As a friend of my son, I'll expect you to remember you're a guest in this house, and that you'll mind myself and its occupants accordingly." She then turned to Marcus, who leaned down for her to give him a brief kiss on the cheek. "Speak to your father before you go off getting distracted with whatever it is you have planned," she said before stepping away, then adding, "And tell Mr. Maylone if your nameless friend intends to stay for dinner, so he can plan accordingly."
Max nodded. "Got it."
They both watched her disappear down a hall, before Max let loose a barely restrained cackle. "Where did that come from?" he teased, elbowing Oscar in the side. "You didn't even look that nervous when what's-his-face was bleeding out, that day at the boardwalk." He motioned for Oz to follow him. "I didn't even know it was possible for you to act so...respectable."
Oscar glared back at Max, but the slight tint of pink across his cheeks made him look less intimidating than he'd probably have liked. "Look, I—I was just brought up to respect ladies, alright? And you didn't warn me that your mom had ragging 'step-on-me; vibes!" Oscar snapped back in a hushed tone, just in case Mrs. Gallagher was still somewhere within ear shot. "On another note, you lied to me. You said you and your sister were the only hot ones in your family!"
"I didn't lie." Max lowered his voice as well, though he was still grinning. "I said I thought we were the most attractive out of my family cuz Elise was right there, and I have two sisters, by the way. You haven't met Angela yet. Although, if you hadn't pulled that brilliant move at Davenport's, then you probably would have."
Come to think of it, that was very likely why she'd been calling him. God only knew what people at the party had been saying about the incident.
It wasn't uncommon for shit to go down at parties where there were a bunch of wealthy inheritors with big, but easily bruised egos, booze, babes, and drugs. But shit like what Oscar pulled didn't happen. Sure, none of them liked each other that much, and would be offensive, and sometimes even get physical, but there was this sort of unspoken understanding. A sense of respect; not so much for the individual, but rather for the value of their things... You didn't trash someone else's crib, and you certainly didn't fuck with their rides.
"Look, that's how you have to be... Opportunity doesn't just break into your house, take off her clothes, and lay down on your bed until you get home. And the best time to steal something is when no one expects it... Well, usually."
But what Oz had executed was probably the furthest thing from a good plan. In fact, it was probably what you'd find in a textbook next to the antithesis of a plan. The only redeeming quality being the element of surprise, which was now also lost.
Max shook his head. "Remind me to keep you on a tight leash, then," he replied, lowering his sun glasses so that Oz could see Max's eyes raking down his form suggestively. "I don't want you pulling any surprises on me in my parents' house..."
It almost sounded like a dare...
After ascending a beautiful, seemingly centrally located staircase, Max stopped in front of a door. "Wait for me in there. I'll be right back."
"Sure."
Oscar found it odd that he had less of a problem being left alone in an alley at night on the west end, than he did being parted from Max in his own house; but right now, this place felt infinitely more dangerous, and the chances of someone finding his body far less likely.
The room that Oscar entered was clearly Max's bedroom. Oz recognized a shirt draped neatly over the back of one of the chairs, as well as a few other personal items that he was pretty sure he'd seen before, either on Max or in one of his cars, but the space still felt very sterile and impersonal by comparison to Oz's apartment. There were no posters on the walls, no clutter on any of the shelves or furniture... There were some nicely framed pictures, though–photographs of places and people...a fancy-looking diploma...books that Oz doubted anyone had ever read...all organized or placed perfectly enough to be in a picture on an interior decorating nerd's Pinterest board.
The door cracking open was the first sound Oscar had heard besides his own pulse since he'd entered, and caused a slight echo.
"Oh! Oscar?" Elise blinked a few times in disbelief, before hurrying inside and closing the door, as if she wasn't sure if anyone else was aware that he was there, despite how insanely impossible that would be. This place seemed to have more security than some government buildings did. "What are you doing here? Where's Marc?"
"I think he's talking to his dad?" At least that was what Oscar had assumed, given what he'd overheard.
Elise tilted her head, before a small smirk appeared on her glossy lips. "I can't believe he actually brought you home..."
"Really? I mean just look at me, who wouldn't bring me home?" Oscar said with a grin. For a moment, he'd felt the same thrill that he got when he hot-wired a car. The same surge of adrenaline he got when he pushed his bike to top speed on a straight away. The thought of Max 'bringing him home' like some sort of stolen contraband had the same effect on him as a high-speed chase.
A giggle made its way out of Elise, and she looked away from Oscar as she spoke, slowly venturing farther into the room. "Pretty much any respectable bachelorette... or bachelor, in Baypark," she mentioned. "Not that that's a deterrent for Marc at all."
"Exactly! It's fucking crazy!" Oscar agreed. "But uh, I'm not complaining or anything, ya know?" Oscar down in a chair and tried to imagine Max sitting in that same spot. But he couldn't do it. This place...didn't feel like Max. At least not the Max he knew.
"Max-I mean Marc... He, uh, does he spend a lot of time here?"
"Not at all," she said, her smile reaching her eyes as she settled her gaze on Oscar again. "You can tell, can't you?" There was an almost dreamy quality to her voice. "Anyway, it's more of that...if Marc brought you here, then he's bringing you in...and I'm not sure how that's gonna work."
Oscar had been leaning back in the chair a little further than he probably should have when Elise's declaration made him almost fall over completely, and it was only by a sudden frantic struggle that he regained his balance.
"Wait, what?" Oscar cut himself off and then continued in little more than a harsh whisper. "You mean, like...bring me in? Like, into the... ?" Oscar made a dramatic motion as though the walls could hear him. "Oh, no... No, that—I can't, that wouldn't work." He was part of the Devil's Rejects, and to them, there was only one thing worse than a cop, and that was a rat.
A concerned frown appeared on Elise's face. "I...don't know that you'll have a choice at this point."
Oscar grimaced. Not because of the problems that this could all cause but, surprisingly enough, because of the frown on Elise's face.
He couldn't stand it. It wasn't like any of this was her fault or her problem, after all. "Eh, it's probably fine. I usually handle things pretty well," he assured, with a smile of his own—desperate to dispel the look of concern on her pretty face.
He had this. He had to have this. It was his mess—he'd manage it... somehow. He just wasn't sure how yet.
His optimism seemed to work its magic, relieving the majority of her frown.
A haze of silky, woody-sweet smoke enveloped Max as he stepped into his dad's office. Rich hickory paneling absorbed the light from the few lamps, pushing back the walls, making James and his desk look like a man on an island in a sea of darkness.
"See? There he is." His dad tapped the ash off the end of his cigar. "You can explain yerself why Benni Dina suddenly has a problem with ya..."
Max looked at Rory, then Darren before pulling over an armchair. Darren offered him a smoke, which Max took as he perched his ass on the chair's high back, resting his feet in the seat. "It's his nephew who has a problem with me, now," Max explained while fishing a lighter from his pocket. "And I'd bet money that has to do with the current state of his Bugatti," he added lightly.
"I'm going to trust you had a damned good reason to go kicking that hornet's nest?" Darren probed.
"A friend of mine wanted to give me a little tech demonstration," Max said, noting the small upward twitch of his dad's lips.
"Ah feck'n hell." Rory sighed.
"Well, Benni wants your friend," James said, eyes alight with amusement. Max had always wished he'd gotten his Da's eyes... Nothing could look more intimidating than those cold, icy blues. "Money, too, of course."
"He can't have him," Max stated. "And they don't need the fucking money..." the room fell silent for a moment before Max spoke again. "What did you say?"
"That I didn't know the kid you were with," James said easily. "I wasn't raised a liar... So, is he actually a friend, or what?"
"I don't want them beating on him," Max replied, before taking a long drag. He knew better. When the Italians wanted to 'teach someone a lesson' more often than not, that person's days were numbered...which was exactly why he hadn't trusted Oz staying at that shitty little west end apartment.
James smiled. "An I don't want the Italians thinkin' they can make demands of us. S'not a good look, is it?" He glanced at Rory.
"No..." Rory agreed, rubbing a finger crossed his upper lip like some sort of mock mustache as he thought.
"Benni's gotten pretty comfortable making demands, letting his business spill over into other people's territory..." Darren suggested.
James leaned back in his chair, a quizzical look on his face as he watched the swirls of smile above him. "...I think it's time we make them uncomfortable again."
Max's brows furrowed slightly as he watched his dad sit up, and point straight at him. "I'm gonna tell Benni to expect ya and yer friend..."
"When?" Max stated, smoke slipping passed his lips.
"T'morrow..."
If you could pick one theme song for Max, and one for Oscar, what would they be? 🎵👀
Shout out to Sneaky_carpet ! Thanks so much for your support!!