Page 13 of The Vagabond

She gave the smallest nod. And I touched her again. Lower this time. Just enough for the cameras. Just enough to sell the lie. But my fingers weren’t lying. My fingers trembled like I was the one being touched. Like she had reached inside me and found something raw and pulsing and alive I didn’t know was still there.

She made a sound—soft, broken—and my chest ached so bad I thought I might rip it open.

This wasn’t acting anymore. This was survival. For the both of us.

Her hands gripped the edge of the bed like she was holding on to her last shred of self. Her ribs moved under her skin with every shallow breath, and I saw it there, all of it—the fight, the fear, the fire. She wasn’t just someone’s pet. She was a whole universe, barely holding itself together. And I was falling for her in pieces. One breath at a time. One touch at a time. I didn’t realize it yet. But I knew that when I left her, I wouldn’t be able to forget her. Ever.

On our final night together, we went through the motions. I talked to her softly between the moans and muted cries, told her she’d make it out. That someone knew she was here. That I was working on it. That she wasn’t alone. I gave her hope. For the first time since her imprisonment, I gave her the only shred of hope she’d known.

And even as I thrust into her, over and over again, I held back—not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. Needed to stay in her, stay with her, for as long as the moment allowed. I delayed my own release just so I could anchor myself to her body, to the heat of her skin and the fragile rhythm of her breath. Her heart beat against my chest like a whisper begging not to be forgotten, and I drank from her soul like it was the only thing keeping me human. Every moan, every tremble, every flicker of pain and pleasure painted itself onto my bones. And inthat moment, I didn’t know where I ended and she began—only that I’d never be clean again.

On the fourth morning, Kadri returned. He was all smiles and back pats. “Let’s do business.”

I almost smiled. Because I knew I’d been right - he’d been watching. Nothing spells “ Fed” like a man with morals. And for three nights while he was away from his kingdom, Devon Walsh displayed not one shred of decency towards his ‘pet’.

But then the call came.

Ukraine.

A terrorist cell I’d infiltrated two years earlier had gone active. Twenty potential casualties if I didn’t move. My handler gave the order. I had to leave. Now. I argued. Screamed. Raged. Because I knew that if I left, I was failing her. Just like I’d failed Sienna. Because Sienna had screamed for me, too. And I never came.

But in the end, I left.

I promised Kadri I’d be back in two weeks. Said I had urgent matters to handle—gun deals, I claimed. He bought it. Or maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter. Because when I came back? She was gone. Our paths never crossed again. Not until I saw her standing in that visitor’s room when I went to see her uncle, Mason Ironside.

7

SAXON - ONE YEAR AGO

Kadri ghosted me.

Just like that.

One week, I was at his table, sipping aged scotch with a bomb ticking under my breath, playing Devon Walsh like I was born for it. The next, my calls went unanswered, my burner numbers disconnected, and his men wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Which meant one thing. He must have suspected something.

There was no clear path to reach Maxine. No clean rescue plan. No open door. Just walls—thick, unscalable, and laced with every failure I had ever made. But I had promised her. I had told her I’d get her out. Sworn it to her like it was scripture. And I didn’t break promises. Not to people who mattered. Not to people I had bled for in silence. Especially not to her. Because I owed her more than a rescue. I owed her everything.

For the months she spent chained to a monster while I played the part of one. For the nights I left her in that gilded prison with cameras watching and her dignity unraveling. For every whispered lie I fed her, and every truth I buried beneaththe weight of the mission. And maybe—fuck, maybe—it was more than just debt. Maybe it was penance. Because I didn’t save my sister. I had been too late for Sienna. But Maxine? She was still out there. Still fighting. And if there was even the smallest chance I could rewrite the ending this time— if I could drag her out of the fire before it swallowed her whole—then maybe I’d finally stop hearing my sister’s voice when I closed my eyes. Maybe saving Maxine was the only way I could save myself.

I needed an in. A new play. And I knew exactly where to go.

Igor Aslanov. Russian blood. Cold money. A ruthless man who didn’t just have connections—heownedthem. He was a man you didn’t cross unless you had a death wish—or a damn good insurance policy. And he had been sniffing around the Gattis for months, trying to buy favor.

I had put out feelers and intercepted chatter from his people. He was desperate for an in with the family, but the Gattis didn’t respond to desperation. They did, however, respond to leverage. And I had some for him.

I called him under the Devon alias—encrypted line, clean number.

He answered on the third ring, his voice low and flat, like a man who trusted no one.

“Who is this?”

“I’ve got something you want,” I said. “And something the Gattis want even more.”

Silence.

Then, “Go on.”

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