Page 60 of Lord of Obsession

The question hangs between us as gunfire continues below. Marco shifts impatiently by the door, but this moment matters more than tactical retreat. This is about choice. About surrender. About finally admittingwhat burns between us is worth any price.

"Yes." The admission costs nothing. Not anymore.

Rafael's expression transforms, that perfect mask cracking to reveal something fierce and possessive underneath. He moves with practiced efficiency, disconnecting medical equipment while Marco clears our exit route. Each motion carries the weight of inevitability—of chains we've forged not through violence this time, but through choice.

"Hold onto me." His arm slides beneath my shoulders, taking my weight as we stand. The position brings his mouth close to my ear as he adds, "I won't let you fall."

The words carry layers of meaning neither of us are ready to face. Rafael guides me through his apartment's hidden passages, one hand keeping pressure on my wounds while the other maintains a firing grip on his weapon. Each step sends fresh agony through my chest, but his steady presence makes it bearable.

Glass shatters somewhere behind us; they've breached the main entrance. Rafael's team returns fire, covering our retreatthrough maintenance corridors and service elevators. My vision blurs at the edges as blood seeps through fresh bandages. But I keep moving, one foot in front of the other, trusting him to get us clear.

Marco's voice crackles through comms. "Vehicle is ready in the loading bay. Ten seconds."

Rafael's grip tightens as we emerge into underground parking. The sound of combat follows us down, growing distant as his carefully planned escape route carries us deeper. He's planned for this, I realize. All those hours studying tactical manuals and building contingencies weren't just academic exercises.

Three cars, six turns, and two driver switches later, we finally reach the safe house. Marco's team swept it an hour ago, but Rafael still insists on checking every room himself, his weapon drawn despite how his hands must ache from supporting my weight during the escape. Only when he's satisfied does he help me to the bedroom, his touch clinical as he checks my stitches for fresh bleeding.

Now I sit propped against the headboard, watching him establish a security perimeter through cameras and motion sensors. Hehasn't stopped moving since we arrived, his body humming with leftover adrenaline as he scans for threats. The room smells of bleach and old fear, but his presence makes it feel like a sanctuary.

"They're not tracking us." I try to keep the pain out of my voice. "Your uncle's men lost our trail three districts back."

"They'll find us eventually." He doesn't look up from his tablet, where dots of red mark enemy positions across the city grid. "They always do."

The movement tears my stitches when I reach for him, but I manage to snag his sleeve. "Come here."

He resists for a moment, that ingrained need for control warring with baser instincts. But when I tug harder, he lets me pull him down beside me on the bed. His body runs hot despite the room's chill, tension radiating through designer fabric.

"Stop thinking so hard." I slide my hand to his nape, feeling how his muscles bunch under my touch. "Your escape plan worked. We're clear."

"For now." But he leans into my grip, betraying how exhaustion pulls at him. "TheValentis have connections in every hospital and every clinic. They'll figure out which supplies were stolen and trace the?—"

I shut him up with my mouth on his. The kiss carries none of our usual violence; I'm too weak for that kind of game. Instead, I pour three days of watching him protect me into the contact. Three days of seeing him throw away everything he built to keep me alive.

His hands frame my face as he responds, careful of my bandages and bruises. The gentleness should feel wrong, like weakness. Instead, it settles something restless in my heart.

"I had a plan, you know." His words ghost across my skin between kisses. "Before all this. A way to expose the whole system—the corruption, the bribes, everything that keeps our families in power."

I laugh against his mouth, the sound carrying more bitterness than intended. "Playing reformer? That's not you, baby. Not really."

"No?" He pulls back enough to meet my gaze. "Then what am I?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. Outside, traffic moves in familiar patterns. Inside, we remain suspended in this moment of raw honesty.

"You're like me." I trace the shape of his mouth, feeling how his breath catches. "A killer trying to be something else. The difference is, I never pretended I could change."

Color floods his face as truth hits home. His hands clench in the sheets beside my hips, betraying how control slips. "I wanted..."

"To fix things? To save people?" I tug him closer, until our foreheads touch. "Noble of you. Fucking stupid, but noble."

He tries to pull away, but I hold him still. Three days of fever dreams and morphine haze have stripped me of patience for his careful lies.

"You chose this," I remind him, letting my grip tighten. "Chose us. Everything you've done since the clinic proves what you really are."

"A monster?" The words are rough, as if they’re scraped raw with stark honesty.

"Mine." I catch his chin, making him meet my stare. "Just like I'm yours. Stop fighting it."

His resistance crumbles as I pull him down again. This kiss carries more heat, more hunger. His hands map my skin with possessive care, finding paths between bandages and bruises. When he bites my lowerlip, the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

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