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Max—in afight.
He looks vicious in a way I’ve never seen, his jaw clenched, and his lip curled as he swings at the man who grabbed me. The other man ducks, landing a punch to Max’s gut, but Max surges forward, grabbing the other man in a headlock as he violently grapples with him. I stare at the two fighting men, unable to fully reconcile what I’m seeing for a moment.
This is a side to Max that I’ve never seen before. I wasn’t there when he helped Viktor and the others take down Alexei, but I’d heard that he was, that he took part in the violence too, before he’d come up to get me and the girls from the bedroom where we’d been hiding. That it had been Alexei’s blood on his hands. I hadn’t been sure I could believe it—that the gentle, kind former priest that I knew was capable of such violence.
But I see it now. There’s a viciousness in his face, a rage in his eyes as he throws the other man into the wall opposite me, taking the blows the other man deals out and flinging them right back; that should terrify me. It’s proof I’ve never seen so clearly before that Max is capable of the same bloody things that Viktor and the other men in his world are—but it doesn’t frighten me. If anything, it makes me want him more than ever.
He’s protecting me. Defending me. Seeing the feral rage on his face at the thought of anyone laying a hand on me in violence rouses something in me, a primal need to reward that loyalty, to turn the adrenaline rushing through us both into something else.
I want Max. I’ve never known it more clearly than at this moment. And there’s no one else who could ever measure up to him.
The man gets in another blow to Max’s jaw, but Max grabs him by the shirt, flinging him into the wall so hard that the man’s head bounces off of it. He advances on him before he can recover, murder in his eyes. I watch in fascinated horror as he slams the man’s head against the wall again, blood streaking the brick as Max turns towards me.
His lip and nose are bleeding, and I stare at the man slumped against the wall as Max reaches for me. “Is he—”
“He’s not dead,” Max says quickly. “Just knocked out. But come on. We have to go before anyone else comes.”
I nod wordlessly, following him as he hustles me out of the alleyway towards his car, checking the seats and underneath it hurriedly before opening the passenger door for me. I slide in, feeling the shock of it starting to settle over me as Max starts the car and quickly pulls away from the curb.
Once we’re on the highway, he glances over at me. “Are you hurt?” he asks, and I stare at him, a squeak of a near-hysterical giggle getting past my lips, which makes him look at me with barely veiled concern.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, clapping my hand over my mouth. “I’m mostly fine. A little sore, I think. But yournoseis bleeding, and you’re asking me—”
Quickly, I reach for the glove compartment of the car, rifling through it until I find some napkins. I grab them, leaning over the center console so I can press them gingerly below Max’s nose, careful not to bump his swelling lip or jaw.
He reaches up, his hand brushing mine, and the contact is enough to send a jolt through me. I feel my breath catch in my throat as he takes the napkins, holding them against his nose as he drives.
“I could have kept doing that so you could drive,” I murmur, and Max glances sideways at me with a hint of a smile.
“I know,” he says, his words a little thicker now through his banged-up nose and mouth. “But it’s fine, Sasha. Sit back; I don’t think you’re as okay as you claim.”
Now that he mentions it, I can feel the ache spreading through my shoulder and arm where the man grabbed me, and more bruised aches on the other side where I’d been tossed into the wall. I still don’t think it’s anywhere near the injuries Max took, though.
He doesn’t say anything else as we drive back home, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s angry with me. I hadn’t been paying attention, and I’d ended up dragged halfway down an alley while Max had to come to my rescue. I hadn’t thought Ineededto be—but after everything that’s happened, shouldn’t I know better than to let my guard down?
Am I ever going to be able to feel like I can walk safely anywhere?
Just when I’d started to feel as if I might be testing the limits of my healing so far, wondering if I might be able to move past those boundaries and try new things—going out into the world, seeking out friends, even a date or two—I’d been sharply reminded of just how dangerous the world can be.
It’s dangerous for you still because you insist on staying with people who live side by side with danger.
I let out a small huffing sigh. I’m exhausted from hearing my therapist’s voice in my head, criticizing, telling me to leave behind the only anchors I feel like I have.
“Are you alright?” Max glances over at me, and I jerk out of my careening train of thought, nodding quickly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I realize we’re passing the mansion, and I look curiously at Max.
“I don’t want Caterina to see me like this and worry,” he explains. “Just let me get cleaned up at my place, and I’ll walk you back to the main house.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I can walk back on my own, that I’m not all that badly banged up. I don’t want to inconvenience him even more. Still, curiosity stills my tongue as my heart leaps with the realization that Max is inviting me inside his home.
I’ve never been inside the small stone guest house where Max lives. I can feel the butterflies flitting around my stomach again as he stops the car in front of it, still holding the blood-soaked napkins to his nose as he comes around to open my door, ever the gentleman, despite the fact that he’s bleeding from his face.
I slip out, and I see him stagger just a little as I do. Without thinking, I reach out to grab his arm, and the warmth of him sinks into me like a wave as he leans against me for just a moment.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, fishing for his house key to unlock the door.
“Don’t mention it.” My pulse is racing, and I don’t want to let go of his arm, but I do so that we can both go inside. The place is very clearly a bachelor pad, neatly furnished and sparsely decorated with art that was probably here before Max moved in. I follow him back without thinking, glancing at the dark leather couches and the sleek, small kitchen, before I realize with a start that I’ve followed him into his bedroom.
