Page 25 of Born into Darkness

Max forces out a soft laugh. “Fuck you. If I was going to turn on my family, I would’ve done it before you ruined my hand.”

Mateo’s quiet for a second before he says, “I’m not asking you to turn on your family. I’m asking if you think they’ll get here in time to save you.”

Keeping his head on my lap, Max looks up at him. “Why do you care?”

Mateo’s jaw tightens, the only emotion he allows himself to show and says, “My father and I disagree on a few things.”

It’s obvious by his tone that he’s not going to elaborate. He stands back up and straightens his suit jacket. He’s all freshly washed skin and nice-smelling clothes, while Max and I are probably making his eyes water with the scents wafting off us. Even though he’s sparkly clean and handsome, Mateo does nothing for me. Every other man will always fall short to the one whose head is lying in my lap.

He waves a hand at the food and water. “Make sure he eats and drinks,” he tells me. Knowing it could be hours before he comes back again, I ask if I can use the bathroom. I very carefully help Max up and then quickly use the bathroom after Mateo uncuffs me.

When I come back, Mateo says, “I’ve ordered Miguel to stay away. To disobey me is death, but his hatred for you might override whatever common sense he has. I’ll do my best to make sure he doesn’t come in here again.”

“Thank you,” I tell him as he starts to walk away. I know he’s partly responsible for us being here, but I still appreciate what he’s done, and I’ll take all the help we can get.

He meets my eyes and gives me a small nod. When he walks out, he leaves the light on for us. I’m immensely grateful that I won’t have to try and feed Max in the dark. Grabbing our plates and water, I put them beside me and lift Max’s head back onto my lap.

“You didn’t drink the water,” he says, looking over at the half-empty bottle that I’d left for him.

“You need it more than me,” is all I say before pinching off a piece of bread and bringing it to his lips.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, trying to turn his face.

“You have to eat. You need your strength.”

“The pain is making me nauseated,” he admits. “I keep waiting for it to die down or at least dull a little bit, but it just keeps getting worse.”

“Maybe eating will help the nausea. Please try. You’ve survived too much to give up now.”

He lifts his eyes to mine. “Not giving up. Just don’t want to be sick on you.”

I give as big of a smile as I can mange. “Let’s be honest. It wouldn’t make me smell any worse.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up, the barest hint of a smile through all the pain he’s feeling. “You could never smell bad to me.”

“Such a liar,” I whisper, pushing the piece of bread back to his mouth. This time, he opens and takes a bite, chewing slowly before swallowing it down. I keep feeding him in between sips of water until his plate is empty and he’s drank an entire bottle. Only then do I reach for my own plate. I eat while he closes his eyes, exhausted from the simple process of eating. My fingers run through his hair until his breathing steadies and deepens and I know he’s fallen asleep.

I hope for his sake that it lasts for hours. Now that he’s out, I take a better look at his hand, not daring to touch it for fear of waking him or causing him more pain. The skin is pulled tight from the swelling and shiny in places. The coloring is a deep red that’s starting to turn purple in places, and just the sight of his damaged fingers has tears coming to my eyes.

He did this for me. He willingly gave them his hand, knowing that it could very well damage it for life and ruin his ability to play the piano. He risked losing something he loves, something that’s deeply ingrained in who he is, and he did it to protect me—a woman he just met a few weeks ago. He doesn’t owe me anything. He could’ve let them hurt me, and many men would have, but he didn’t, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay him for a sacrifice like that.

Leaning closer, I press my lips lightly to his forehead. Being careful to not wake him, I whisper, “I will love you for the rest of my life, Max Melnikov.”

I keep holding him while he sleeps, but it isn’t long before the pain wakes him up again. The next twenty-four hours are the hardest I’ve ever endured. A cold sweat breaks out on his skin, but he still burns with a fever. The pain never lets up, and I watch helplessly as the strength fades from him and the light slowly goes out from his beautiful grey eyes.

“Don’t you dare give up,” I tell him, knowing it’s getting harder and harder for him to fight the constant agony and that it’s taking its toll on him in more ways than one. The physical pain is bad enough, but the mental anguish must be just as overwhelming. Every few hours, his body gives up and allows him to sleep, but it’s never for long, and it’s never enough. Mateo is the only one who comes in here now, and every time he drops off more food and water, he eyes Max with an increasingly worried look on his once unreadable face.

“I wish you’d go back to wearing an unreadable mask,” I say on his next visit as I continue to run my fingers through Max’s hair. He keeps dipping in and out of consciousness, seeming more delirious by the hour, and the fear that grips my heart is unrelenting.

Mateo’s dark eyes meet mine. “You’d better hope your family gets here soon.”

“Why do you care?”

He arches a dark brow at me. “Who says I do?”

“I’m too tired to play games.” It’s probably not a good idea to piss off the boss’s son, but the second I heard the loud pops of them dislocating Max’s fingers, I stopped giving a fuck. “You’re not like them, or at least you have enough sense to know that this is only guaranteeing your deaths. You fucked up going against our families, and I think you know that.”

He’s quiet for several seconds, and when he does speak, it’s not at all what I’m expecting. “I’ve always known that, but my hands were tied.”

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