Page 38 of Obliterated
Kieran
Ittakesforevertoget out of the arena. The crowd’s too thick, everyone jostling, buzzing like they just watched the best bloodsport of their lives. Which, technically, they did.
When we finally break outside, Sami and I end up by the cliffs while Tass talks with Commander Roe a little ways back, asking if they’ve released Max already.
We can’t find him.
He should’ve been out here first, but of course he’s not. He’s vanished like fucking smoke.
My chest tightens with something I don’t want to call panic. He’shurt, dammit. They tortured him. And him being the stubborn ass he is, I know he won’t drag himself to Medical.
I rub my face, trying to shove down the gnawing edge in my gut.
“Shit. Where do you guys even live?” I snap harsher than I intended when Tass comes our way. But fuck, I should know that already, right? After all this time, I don’t have a clue where he lives, what he does to unwind, what he looks like when he’s not bleeding in front of a crowd, when he’s not in uniform. What he is,whohe is, when he’s justMax.
“Easy there, loverboy.” Tass can’t even hide her grin at my mess. She jerks her chin toward the gate through the wall, since the arena is just outside of it. “Other end of the city. Past the docks and the beach. One of the last apartment buildings at the end of the boulevard.”
Great. That’s helpful. Totally specific. I roll my fucking eyes.
“But I think you know he won’t be there,” she adds, “not inhisapartment, at least.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs, almost fond. “You’re just as much a tool as he is, you know that?”
It clicks then, my eyes widening. I know where he is.Of fucking course.
When I spin to take off, she catches my arm. “Tell him he gets two days off. Roe’s orders.”
I nod, too wired to answer, and push into the flow of bodies spilling out the gates. On my right the beach stretches dark and endless, but I cut left instead, taking the road that runs parallel to the wall, north toward the resort and its three looming buildings.
I almost run, don’t bother to look back since I know Tass and Sami are still there, watching, following, making sure I gethome safe. Like I can’t fucking take care of myself. I’m not some damsel in distress. I know my way around a knife; I know how to cut a man open if it comes to that. But I’ll tell them to fuck off with the babysitting another time. They’re just following Max’s orders.
By the time I’m up the stairs, my chest is tight, heart hammering. My hand shakes on the handle, though I’llneveradmit that out loud.
When I open the door, the air hits me like a punch. Familiar.My soap. One of the few things in this whole gods-forsaken city that’s actually mine, paid for with my own earnings. It curls through the room, sharp and fresh, making my skin prickle like it has caught me doing something I shouldn’t.
The bathroom door’s ajar. The glass divider is still slick, rivulets of condensation sliding down like someone’s just stepped out. A toothbrush that isn’t mine on the counter.
But Max is nowhere in sight.
The sliding door to the balcony is open, the night air drifting in together with something tangy.Ashleaf. Sure enough, I finally spot him when I step outside. I let out a deep breath, my eyes closing for a second.He’s here.He’s slouched against the glass beside my flower pots, barefoot, wearing the gray joggers he shoved into my hands weeks ago.
My chest lurches, not only in relief that he’s here, mostly in one piece, but also because those aremyjoggers. On him. Nothing else.
I try not to notice they’re a bit too short, try not to stare at the ankles peeking out, the curve of his feet… bare. And that hits me harder than it should. Max is always in boots, heavy, stomping, indestructible. But barefoot? He looks almost vulnerable. Like someone I could actually reach.
His black hair’s still damp, shoved back messily, droplets catching on the curve of his neck and sliding slowly, so slowly, down those very broad, very muscular shoulders.
I swear my skin’s on fucking fire.
Swallowing the nerves away, I lower myself beside him, careful, like any sudden move might break the moment. The only acknowledgment I get is a whisper of a nudge—his shoulder brushing mine as if by accident—before his gaze lifts right back to the sky.
He lifts his cigarette for another drag before he stubs it out against the concrete and exhales smoke slowly into the night, a long sigh escaping as his head tilts back.
Finally,finally, his eyes cut toward me.
For a breath we just look at each other. His gaze heavy, unreadable. And mine stuck on the bruise swelling dark around his eye, on the raw mark at his neck where teeth broke skin.
