Page 29 of Obliterated
Everyone in that building knew us. They all knew little Martha had a son. They all knew where to find me when she was too far gone to stand on her own.
One time, he was there. Waiting in an armchair when I walked into his flat after a tip about where she was. Smirking at me in a way that made Max’s smile look like a kitten purring. My mother was sprawled across the couch, barely clothed, high out of her mind, head lolling back.
His eyes dragged over her first, then over me, slow and deliberate.
“You’re even prettier. Wanna earn some coin, boy? Just like your momma?” he’d said, like it was a joke, like it wasn’t the most rotten fucking thing I’d ever heard. “That pretty ass couldmake you rich in no time. You’d have half the block lined up for a turn.”
He tossed some tokens onto the table then, glinting under the shitty lamp. Payment for her, and a promise of what he wanted next.
I yanked one of my daggers free right then, blade flashing in the dark, but he didn’t even flinch. Stayed seated, smoking something harsher than Ashleaf, grinning those rotten teeth at me while I dragged my mother up and the fuck out of there.
And that same smirk—rotten, lazy, like he’s already won—is the one staring back at me now. I swear to the Gods, Max seems like a walk in the park to me right now. Nothing but a big ol’ softy.
My heart kicks against my ribs, erratic, haywire, as he pushes himself up from the chair.
“Well, well,” he says, voice oily smooth. “Kieran fucking Freyr. Fancy seeing you here.”
My hand tightens on the dagger. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He laughs, spreading his arms like we’re long lost acquaintances. “Is that a way to greet an old friend?”
The other bronze-tagged idiots rise too, scraping their chairs back, and I flick my gaze to the bar. The noise has died. Everyone’s gone silent. The so-called security hesitates, starts inching closer… but they’re no match for this crew.
ThisTouchedcrew.The kind that embraces it. Who see their condition as a gift, an excuse to lean into the strength, the speed, the hunger. The power.They’re the ones that fuck the Red Rain out, basking in it.
“You’re no friend of mine,” I hiss, letting the dagger slide lower, blade now balanced between my fingers, itching to throw it at him, to stab him like I did before.
He made it a chase after that first encounter, followed me around whenever I left our rooms, making snide comments about how he fucked my mother and how I’d be next. His voice was always right there behind me, dripping venom, laughing when I flinched.
One night he cornered me. Pinned me to the wall, tore my pants. That stinking breath hot against my cheek, filthy fingers already tugging at my underwear. For a split second I thought that was it, that it was over, that I’d break the same way my mother did.
But I didn’t.
My hand found the knife he had athiship, and I shoved it into his side, deep enough to make him howl, enough to slip away. I ran until my lungs burned, shaking so hard I thought my ribs would crack. The shame, the fear, it clung like a second skin.
That was right after my mother had died. I could’ve stayed in that shithole, faded into the same filth that ate her alive… but that was my final cue to leave.
I didn’t want her life to bemylife.
Her warning always rang in my head:Stay safe, Kieran. Live.I wanted to honor that, the last real piece of her I had left, and claw my way to something better. Somewhere else I could actually live.
“I wondered where you went after you poked me with your little blade and disappeared,” he says easily, as if he’s talking about the weather. “Had to beat it out of that old neighbor of yours. Poor bitch tried to keep your secret, but you made the mistake of telling her where you were headed. Ibitha. Hiding this little piece of paradise all to yourself, weren’t you?”
I don’t reply, heart hammering in my throat. My fingers tighten around the blade instead, and I shift my stance, angling my body just so.
My gaze flicks over the five men spread around him. Not all as big as he is, but by the way they stand, shoulders loose and ready, I know what they are. Not honorable men. Predators. There are too few men left in this world with any kind of honor. And none of them were sitting at that table.
When he opens his mouth again, some new insult cocked and ready, he pauses. Frowns.
Something shifts in the room. Soft whispers, like a collective gasp dragged out of every throat at once. Eyes dart to the entrance, wide and wary. The air changes… It’s thick, heavy, expectant.
Mine don’t move. They stay locked on my tormentor, my mother’s tormentor, every nerve in my body strung so tight it hurts.
But I know what it is—whoit is—when that low, dangerous chuckle rolls through the silence of the bar.
My eyes close for half a second, relief whooshing out of me, my whole body loosening despite the dagger still burning hot in my grip.
Max.
