Page 85 of Shadows of Obsession

Several minutes pass while Julia and Max discuss something in a corner of the room. I'm aware I could try to run, but either that therapy session won't help me much anymore or I actually trust I'm safe here.

Max seems capable of ripping my head off if I anger him, but when I look at him and Julia, I realize she represents for him what Roman represents for me: an anchor. A refuge that helps me center myself when darkness consumes my mind.

Without thinking, I take out Sergey's switchblade, wondering if he made it. I know for sure it was the Irish mafia who ran us off the road, based on the accent of the guy who wanted me "whole." I can only hope Sergey is alive.

"The driver is fine," I hear Max say, and only then do I notice he's no longer with Julia but instead stands a few feet from me.

"And the other one?"

For a second I feel guilty that I only thought of Sergey when Vlad was there too.

"No."

Just hearing his answer makes my throat tight. Someone died today - died protecting me from the bastards who tried to grab me. Every muscle aches from tension while guilt eats me alive.

You'd think after dealing with the Polish mafia, a stalker ex, and now being attacked in broad daylight, I'd be more prepared mentally for these kinds of moments.

"You care about them." It’s a statement, not a question, but I somehow feel the interrogative note in his voice.

I don't think a man like him could understand the idea of caring about people even if you aren’t close to them. But that’s how I've always been. Maybe it came from my attempt to please everyone even if it meant trampling myself. The fact is, I've always cared about others' well-being over my own.

And look how much trouble that's gotten you into.

"They were there because I wanted to have coffee with Victoria outside the house. It's normal to care and feel guilty," I say, trying to keep any emotion out of my words, knowing it wouldn't help in this conversation.

I turn the switchblade in my hand, fascinated by its handle. The fact that I feel comfortable with it when Igor used the same type of blade on my back should alarm me.

Maybe it's the mental threshold I crossed when I shut down the device keeping a man's heart beating, or maybe it's the last few days showing me how vulnerable we are. Right now I feeltired. Tired of this whole situation I'm in, of how much I deplete myself trying somehow to calm my thoughts. I could sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

When I raise my eyes to Max, it hits me that Roman is probably desperate to find me, so I try to find the energy to get up even though the room's warmth and the couch's comfort pull me toward sleep.

"Can I leave now?" I ask, that being the only thing that interests me.

I did what he wanted. I don't see what else he could want from me, and if I can spare Roman a few minutes or hours of worry, I want to do it.

Just then, a man with a two-way radio and a knife strapped to his leg enters through the door and, with a wary look, whispers something in Max's ear. I see the vein in his neck tensing, a sign the news isn't exactly good, and when those gray eyes fix on me, I already know what it is.

Roman found me.

I don't know at what moment I stood up or when I reached the door, but I reach to open it. I sense Max right behind me, and unlike with Roman, it's a full-body warning. Before going outside, I pause, my head still facing forward. I don't want to take my eyes off my path to freedom and the road Roman will arrive on.

"Will you stay here when he comes?" I ask and hope he says yes.

I don't know how it will be for the Borisov family to learn of his existence, but I've seen how united they are. And that's something I'm sure Max never had. A family. An idea of what it means to not be alone in this world.

"I've never hidden from him, Luna."

I open the door, and the cold November air revives me instantly. I immediately smell wet grass and earth combined with cedar. I wrap my arms around myself to generate some warmth and notice two soldiers coming toward me, but when they see Max behind me they resume their patrol.

"Never thought I'd see him this soft for anyone," he says, crossing his arms over his chest as we wait. "He's completely gone over you."

"Have you kept up with everything that's happened to him?"

I don't understand how Roman never found out about him. Though if I consider that Max grew up in Russia, while Roman and his family were in Chicago, the chances of them crossing paths were zero.

"Of course."

There’s something in his tone, something I don't think even he realizes is there. A note of protectiveness. As if keeping up with what happens to his brother is something normal, natural. A twin brother who has no idea you exist. For thirty-two years.

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