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 fuck? 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 fucking 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.”
“Yeah. Let’s get this shit out there, Carter.” With stiff shoulders, Max made his way around the desk. His steps were heavy, angry, but Carter stood firm. “You think because you have a woman who believes the bullshit you feed her about being a good guy, that you’re above all this.” He motioned around the small room with wide arms. “You’re not. You’re still the Wesley Carter you’ve always been. You’ll never change. You can’t.”
Though Carter knew it was mostly the coke talking, the urge to smack his best friend in the mouth still thundered through him.
Max smirked at Carter’s silence. “You think you’re so fucking perfect with your grandmother’s piggy bank. Not all of us have a fucking trust fund like you, Carter. Some of us have to pay our way.”
Anger carved through Carter’s chest. “Are you serious with this shit? You know what that money means, what I’ve been through over it. It means exactly dick. It always did! Jesus! Do you even know what you’re talking about, or has the coke finally killed off what brain cells you had?”
“Respect is more important than money, Carter.” Max held up the Glock, pupils black and menacing. “This is more powerful than owning sixty percent. This is more important than some Upper East Side bitch who sucks your cock—”
Carter’s index finger snapped up to Max’s face. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he spat. “You don’t know a thing about her.”
Max sneered, “You said you had my back. But you don’t have shit.”
“You selfish son of a bitch,” Carter murmured, shaking his head slowly. He breathed, his temper starting to loosen. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.” He swallowed. “Do you remember the night you saved my life?”
“Of course I do. How could I not? I took a bullet for you.”
“I’m glad you do.” Carter’s chest grew tight. “Because we’re even now, Max. I’ve paid my debt. I did the time for you. I owe you nothing.”
“Carter—”
“No,” Carter snapped. “I’m done. I have everything I want in my life.” He turned to go.
Max’s eyes widened in disbelief, stopping him. “You’re leaving to go back to what? To a woman?”
“I’m in love with her, Max. Don’t you get it? She’s enough for me. She made me realize I’m better than this.”
“I don’t believe this! She’ll leave you, man,” he spat. “Once she’s done with you, she’ll be gone like they all are. They take from you what they want, and then they’re gone without a fucking word or care! Can’t you see? That bitch is slumming it for a while, just like your mother did—”
Carter’s fist connected hard with Max’s face. His nose exploded with an almighty crack. He stumbled back, arms flailing, while Carter stood over him, filled with a rage so furious he could barely breathe.
Finding his bearings, with a face covered in blood, Max grabbed wildly for the Glock Carter had set on the desk and pointed it at Carter’s head. His eyes were wild.
“Are you gonna shoot me, Max?” Carter asked, pinning his friend with a white-hot stare that dared him.
“Touch me again and see,” Max growled, cocking the gun. “You owe me a bullet.” He spat blood onto the floor.
Grief twisted in Carter’s stomach. It was fucking tragic that it’d come to this. His best friend was lost in the depths of a drug that was slowly driving him crazy, insane with his heartbreak but too stubborn to ask for help. They’d traveled the same road for so many years, brothers in arms, but now they were headed in completely different directions.
Slowly, Carter turned toward the door of the office, the sensation of the loaded gun blistering through his leather jacket.
“You’re leaving?” Max asked without inflection. “Just like that? You’re … You can’t. I need you here! Carter! CARTER!”
Carter reached for the handle. “I love you, brother, but I have to think of Kat now.” He shook his head. “You’re better than this shit.” He pulled the door open. “When will you realize that?”
“Carter, I—”
When Max stayed silent, Carter turned back. His mouth dropped open when he saw a tear fall down Max’s face. The Glock in his hand shook.