Cobalt Bay, California

Several years ago...

Maximilian Augustus Croft must've died and gone to hell as he rightfully deserved.

It would be a stretch for him to hope for purgatory because the drinking spree he'd indulged in for about a week had sealed his fate.

Surely, seventeen-year-old devils with a penchant for whisky and women in nearly equal ratio weren't allowed through the gates.

So down and down and down he'd go, into the fiery pits of hell.

It was definitely hell because his body was on fire with excruciating pain. He was having trouble telling which limb was which and his eyes were too swollen shut he couldn't even take a look to see if any limbs were missing.

Not that he had any time because before he could do anything else, he was dragged off by the feet, his back and head bumping painfully against what felt like the floor of a vehicle.

Voices rumbled around him but he couldn't make out faces.

None of his companions sounded sympathetic or concerned. In fact, with the way they were hastily handling him, like a gab of trash being hauled out to the dump, they seemed quite eager to be rid of him.

No-good fuckers.

Max opened his mouth to speak and realized two things—his jaw ached like a bitch and his drawn-in breath sucked fabric into his mouth.

No wonder he couldn't see—he had a bag over his head.

And then he landed on his side against the cold, hard concrete, the impact jostling his bones and making his teeth rattle. Despite the pain, Max tried to push his way up and realized why he was having trouble distinguishing his limbs. His wrists were bound together behind him, joined by his ankles since his legs were folded backwards. In this form, he couldn't have escaped or fought.

What the fuck happened to me?

Max vaguely remembered being out on a yacht party. It was the end of summer, just a week after he and his friends came back from Santa Catalina Islands where they'd spent the last two months. He'd been making rounds at all the parties all week so he wouldn't miss anything. This was the only one he'd gone to without any of his friends but Max hadn't been without company for too long. There were guys there who wanted to hang out, talk surfing, talk sports, drink their kidneys to dust and lose their trust fund to him in a jet ski race. He enjoyed those well enough and his competitive nature wouldn't let him sit anything out but it was the women who really made that party a party.

A party that sure went to shit.

The last clear memory he had was of stumbling off the yacht and into the town car he'd thought was waiting for him. He'd been half-passed out when he climbed into the backseat but he hadn't forgotten the sudden sharp force that had slammed into the side of his head.

The next thing he'd woken up to were the heavy boots smashing against his sides and the metal pipes swinging into his back and down his legs. He'd grown hoarse from yelling out in pain and foul-mouthing his attackers because that was all he could do, blindfolded and strung up to the ceiling as he'd been.

"Tell your father this is just our friendly warning," a man had said to him.

Max didn't recognize the voice or the crude accent.

The only thing that stood out was the spade tattoo he'd spied on the man's forearm while he was being choked. There was a scant gap from under the blindfold with just enough light in the room for him to make out the jagged line that ran down the middle of the spade, resembling sharp pointed teeth snapped together.

He'd started detailing the brutal vengeance he was going to unleash on the man when something slammed into his head again, knocking him out cold.

How he was still alive right now was a mystery.

Max spat out the thick clump of blood and saliva in his mouth, effectively spraying it on his own face inside the bag but he could care less. He was alive which meant he had a chance to hunt down whoever did this to him.

The screech of tires told him his abductors had gone. There was a faint buzz of traffic in the distance so he was near the roads. Max tried to take stock of his injuries to assess what he could still do.

Then footsteps and voices exploded after a metal gate squealed open.

Max did his best to roll over to his stomach and shield himself from the coming onslaught of attacks but the hands that landed on him were gentle but frantic.

He could hear them saying his name.

Someone loosened the drawstring wrapped around his neck and slowly pulled the bag off his head. He heard his mother choke on a scream and through the narrow slit of his eyes, he saw his father's ashen face hover over him.

He was home.

He was safe.

But it was still hell.

***

Max had grown up with his fair share of broken bones.

It was inevitable given the kinds of trouble he could get up to.

If it was anything fast or dangerous or reckless, Max could usually be found right in the middle of it, chasing the high, tempting fate and usually coming out more alive than he'd been before it regardless of injuries.

It wasn't unusual for him to wake up in a hospital room to a set of worried expressions—his parents, naturally. His brother, Lincoln, who was younger by four years but probably ten years more mature than he would ever be. He was nodding and listening to something Mom was telling him.

Max's friends were there too. Stellan was reading an issue of MIT Technology Review. Eleven-year-old Vivienne sat next to him by the bay window, very methodically fixing her braid. Their Dad, Jack, was in a quiet conversation with Max's father.

Oliver was sitting on the chair next to the hospital bed, watching a baseball game on TV. He was the first to look up and find Max awake. There was no laughing "Man, you scared us!" opening from him because this had been no stunt from Max like usual.

"Sebastian was going to fly back out here but we told him you're going to pull through," he said grimly, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. Max's mother hurried out to call the nurse.

"It's going to take more than this to kill me," Max answered with a smile although no one could see it clearly from the swelling on half of his face. His words came out slurred that no one could make them out either. Frustrated, Max tried again, speaking slowly no matter how much it cost him.

"Don't exert yourself too much, Max," his father cut in. Edgar Croft had never been a teddy bear of a father but there was something hard about his tone. Max looked at him, at his granite expression and the flicker of alarm in his eyes.

Tell your father this is just our friendly warning.

Max's heart clenched as the intent of the words finally sunk in.

Max swallowed hard, his throat as dry as sawdust all of a sudden.

He'd been made an example.

An example of the kind of punishment that would be meted if his father didn't fall in line.

Fall in line with whom, that Max didn't know.

All he knew was that he was only alive because they didn't want to kill him—yet.

And when they were done with him, his mother would come next.

Maybe even Lincoln.

Icy fear filled Max's veins and he squeezed his eyes shut, panicking on the inside to do something, anything, but helpless to do so.

A wave of drowsy exhaustion pulled him down under.

When he opened his eyes again hours later, the room was dark save for the low glow of a lamp in a corner. Only his father was there, standing by the window, staring into the night.

"What did you do, Dad?"

Edgar didn't budge from his spot. The only indication that he'd heard Max was the long sigh he released.

"They said this is just a friendly warning," Max said slowly, emphasizing each word so that there could be no confusion. When his father still made no sound, he snapped, the words streaming out of him no matter how much his face and ribs hurt. "What the fuck did you do?"

"Nothing that should concern you!" Edgar shot back, whipping around and marching over to the bed. His face was flushed, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"Nothing?" Max huffed. "I'm in a hospital bed with broken bones and bruises and God knows what else. Don't give me bullshit, Dad."

"You're going to need to grow up, Max, and realize that you'll need more than your games and childish antics to live in this world," Edgar grated out. "You'll make friends. You'll make enemies. You'll make choices that determine whether some people are going to be one or the other. And most of all, you'll make mistakes and sometimes, you're not the only one who'll have to pay the price."

Max had never seen his father afraid before. At the helm of such wealth and power, there was very little he could possibly be afraid of.

But Edgar Croft was very afraid.

In a softer tone, Max asked. "Who are those people, Dad? And what do they want?"

Edgar's gaze grew distant. "They want do to business, like usual. Anyone looking to maximize their wealth always turns to us."

"That's not how our usual clients do business, Dad," Max said. Despite his wild ways, his father didn't spare him from learning about the job. Croft Financial, at the core of the multitude of investment companies that the family owned and operated, was a hefty player in the money-trade industry. Max had to learn the ropes if he was to run it someday and what he'd seen so far of it had no relevance to what happened to him a few nights ago.

"They're not our usual clients," Edgar said under his breath, settling into the chair next to the bed, his shoulders slumping and for once, looking decades older than he was. "But they're clients we can't shake loose, Max. We don't have to like it. But we have to take their money and manage it. What they do with it is none of our business."

"We're not doing business with criminals, Dad," Max said in furious indignation. "We don't need their money. We need to—"

"Do you want your mother or your brother to endure what you did, Max?" Edgar asked softly. His eyes were tired and red, his expression pained. "Can you live with something happening to them because of your morals and principles—"

"You can't let them threaten you!" Max argued stubbornly despite the painful protests of his battered body. "You fight them! You do whatever it takes!"

"The only way to win is to keep playing, Max!" Edgar bit out. "That's the rule my father taught me and that's the rule I'm teaching you now. Do it for your mother and brother. Do it for your future children. It's the only way you can protect them. God knows I had to learn that the hard way."

Max was still seething but he said nothing as his father lowered his head into his hands.

Edgar Croft was resigned to his fate.

He was defeated.

But Max would never be.

***

Hello everyone!

Welcome back to Cobalt Bay!

I know this story is long overdue but here it is. I feel like I've got a pretty good idea of the story and honestly, these two quickly became among my favorite couples as I started writing them so I wanted to share them with you as soon as possible.

As you may know if you've read the last two CBB books, the series can get pretty heavy. I'm glad to report that while this story will still contain a lot of the complications I'm fond of in plots, this story feels lighter—at least to me anyway! LOL.

I normally post Sundays but this first post is two-part just to give you a really good start so one's going up tonight and the first chapter goes up tomorrow.

I hope you enjoy.

XOXO,

Ninya

***

♪♪♪ Chapter Soundtrack: Train Wreck by James Arthur ♪♪♪

Laying in the silence
Waiting for the sirens
Signs, any signs I'm alive still
I don't wanna lose it
I'm not getting through this
Hey, should I pray, should I fray
To myself, till we're gone
To a saviour who can...

Unbreak the broken
Unsay these spoken words
Find hope in the hopeless
Pull me out the train wreck
Unburn the ashes
Unchain the reactions
I'm not ready to die not yet
Pull me out the train wreck
Pull me out, pull me out, pull me out
Pull me out, pull me out