Page 64 of Obliterated
“Still that ratty bag?” he drawls, watching me with an amused tilt to his mouth.
I freeze mid-zip and glare at him over my shoulder. “It used to be my mom’s.”
That shuts him up for a beat. He just gives me a small nod, gaze softening. “You miss her?”
The question hits deeper than I want it to. I sigh, rub at my forehead, feel that familiar ache flare in my chest, the one that never really leaves, just hides until something drags it out. “Yes and no. I miss who she used to be, if that makes sense. I miss… the version of her before everything went to shit. Before the drugs. Before the prostitution.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just watches me pack, expression unreadable. Then he mutters, low, almost like he doesn’t want me to hear it: “Guess I’m glad you had someone. A kid shouldn’t… grow up without that.”
My heart cries for him, for the parents he never had, for all the small things he missed—bedtime stories he never got, a hand to steady him when the world tipped. It makes something ache behind my ribs.
“You had Roe, right? Tass?” I ask, casual like it’s nothing, though we both know it isn’t.
Max huffs through his nose, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. I have Tass and Roe. But he’s not—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “He was more a father to her than me, but that’s on me, not him. I made his life very difficult.”
The corner of my mouth pulls up. “Still do.”
A curt nod as he pushes off the wall. “Yeah. Let’s go. I need to make his life a bit more miserable tonight when I report in, but we have something to do first.”
I stare at the bag when he goes for the door and for a second I mourn this place.
Leaving this place feels like leaving a piece of me behind. When I left home, that wrecked place, I never expected to find something for myself, even if it came wrapped in stipulations I’d rather not mention.
It was still mine—this little box with its meager contents. Small, but it still felt like a home. But standing here now, staring at the blood-spattered walls and ceiling, at the wreck of what used to be mine… there’s nothing to come back to.
My home is with him. Even though he can be intense, downright scary, he’s right. He’s mine, and I’m his.
“I’m dropping you off at my place, then I’m going to the Den.” He says it like it’s nothing, like the Den is just another stop.
It’s not. It’s a shithole that coughs up the city’s worst.
Smoke, piss, and stale booze hang heavy; the lights stay low so you don’t see who you’re cutting deals with. The Touched come to let whatever’s left of them loose, favors get traded for bullets, Ashleaf or bodies… you keep your head down or you don’t leave.
I halt my steps. “The Den? What do you want to do there?”
“There’s someone I want to… interrogate.”
I cock my head, study him, this man who delved his way into my heart but says the worst things like they’re the most normal things in the world. “When you say interrogate… you mean torture, right? I want to come with you. This investigation impactsmyfuture, you know.”
“I don’t want you in there, Kee. Ican’thave you in there. I’m doing this alone.”
“I’m not some weak kid that needs you to save me all the damn time.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t get clever,” he says, voice low. “You go in there and you make a mistake and you’ll get yourself buried.”
“Ikilleda guy. I can handle it.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up, almost like he’s proud. “I know, you’re very tough.”
“Fuck you. I can defend myself.” I say it like I mean it, because I do. I’m not fucking budging on this. I’ve slept with knives under my pillow and traveled thousands of miles through worse. My hand tightens on the duffel strap until the fabric bites into my palm.
A sigh. “Iknow.”
“So I’m going with you to the Den. It’ll probably be deserted anyway—most of them only come in at night.”
“Fine. Grab your shit, Kee. Let me call the gang, tell them to hang back and be ready if things go south, and then we go—quiet, fast, no bullshit. And you listen to me in there, you hear?”
“I hear,” I say, cheer in my voice, and plant a quick, stupid peck on his cheek as I pass. He only glares back, that silent warning in his eyes while his hand already reaches for the door.
