He crossed the room in seconds. Three strides, maybe four, the room was small, and Max was moving with the focused, unstoppable momentum of a man who has traveled three years to get to this moment and is not slowing down for anything on earth.
His hand found Maxwell's collar.
He pulled him away from Ruby with one motion, clean and absolute, the way you remove something from beside something precious, with no ceremony and no hesitation, and Maxwell came up off the floor and backward in the same movement, stumbling, and Max's men were already through the door behind him, already moving, and Maxwell was apprehended before he had fully processed what was happening. Two sets of hands. Firm and final.
"Get the hell away from my wife," Max said. "You filthy moron."
The words came out with a quiet, scorching contempt that was somehow more complete than any volume could have made them.
And then he turned.
And he looked at Ruby.
