Dare to Dream: The Maxwell Series Read Online Free Page A

sounded behind me as Kelton and Seever battled it out. I flicked my head at Hunt, and he let Sullivan go. I wasn’t about to beat the shit out of him while he was tied down, and I wasn’t about to throw the first punch either. If he was going to have his lawyer daddy press charges, I wanted to be able to claim self-defense.
    With a guttural sound, Sullivan charged at me, fists in the air. The guy might be three inches shorter than me, but he was in good shape and had strength behind his punch. He delivered a left hook to my jaw, and I suddenly felt alive for the first time tonight.
    He plastered a cocky smirk on his face. I let loose, ramming my fist into his face then his gut. The feeling was euphoric as I released the pent-up frustration that had been building since he’d returned to town last fall. Maybe I understood now why Kross liked boxing.
    “Is that all you got, Maxwell? You punch like a pussy.” Sullivan’s voice was sardonic as he returned a blow, catching the corner of my mouth.
    As the metallic taste of blood coated my tongue, two things happened at once. Sullivan pulled a knife from his jacket, and the sound of someone chambering a round on a Glock, a sound I knew all too well, reverberated through the garage. I glanced past Sullivan to Hunt, who’d backed away to watch the fight. He shrugged with a lopsided grin. He knew the men behind me with their guns drawn. They couldn’t have been cops either. The law would have identified themselves immediately.
    I didn’t want to turn. Not with the knife Sullivan was holding, even though his posture was ramrod straight as if he’d been flash frozen. Hunt wandered toward me. When he reached Sullivan, Hunt shoved him toward a parked car. Sullivan stumbled, and the knife clanged to the ground.
    “It’s just Pitt and his men,” Hunt said. “Turn around slowly.”
    Wiping the blood from my lip, I pivoted to find the steroid twin with the scar had a gun pointed at Kelton and Seever. The Charles River was looking like a good resting place for my brother. The other steroid twin had his gun pointed in my direction. I wasn’t leaving my brother here. So running was out of the question, and attacking Pitt or his men without a weapon was suicidal.
    “Hunter, good to see you.” Jeremy Pitt hung to our left near a dented van with his hands in his dark pants. His daughter, Chloe, was next to him staring at Kelton and Seever.
    Fuck me. We were out here in the first place because of her.
    “Have you made your decision yet? Your brother Wes speaks highly of you,” Pitt said in a gritty tone, as though he’d been smoking cigars since he was ten.
    “What’s he talking about?” I asked Hunt without taking my eyes off the guns or my brother.
    “Not now,” Hunt whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Pitt, tell your men to lower their weapons. You have no reason to point them at us,” he said matter-of-factly.
    I could always count on Hunt for not taking shit from anyone, even from a man who supposedly had ties to the Russian mafia.
    “Oh, I do. You see, these two morons”—Pitt wagged a finger at Kelton and Seever— “have managed to spew blood all over my Mercedes. And my daughter doesn’t like the sight of blood. Also, I can see a dent from here. Which means someone is going to pay.” He gave me a death glare.
    Sure, Kelton, Seever, and the Mercedes were spattered in blood, but why the hell was he eyeing me?
    “Mr. Sullivan,” Pitt said. “Are you that stupid?”
    All eyes went to Sullivan, who was on my right, halfway bent over, reaching for his knife.
    “Stupid is too kind of a word.” Kelton licked the blood from his mouth.
    Then all hell broke loose. Seever elbowed Kelton. My brother stuffed his fist into Seever’s gut, slamming him against the Mercedes. By the time Kelton was done with him, we were all going to be tied and beaten. As Pitt tucked his daughter behind him, Sullivan picked up his knife. Hunt reacted quickly, knocking it from him.