Page 98 of The Vagabond

“I survived you,” I say. “That’s more than most can say.”

He steps closer, fingers wrapping around the back of the chair as he leans in, breath hot against my face.

“You won’t survive a second time.”

I stare straight through him. He holds my gaze for a moment too long, jaw tightening. I know I won’t survive a second time. “It won’t come to that. Because if it’s between chains or the grave, I’ll dig my own damn hole and climb in smiling.”

“You’re home now,” he murmurs, voice low, almost tender. “Time to remember the rules. What happens to girls who think they can slip the leash.”

His head tilts, that slow, spreading smile like a disease eating through flesh.

“We’re going to break you all over again…”

He leans in, breath hot and foul.

“Then we’ll sell you back out — maybe throw the boys a discount this time.”

My pulse hammers, brutal and fast — but I cage the fear, bury it deep. Let them see the fire instead. Let them choke on it.

I’m not that girl anymore. Not the one who shattered under hands that didn’t care if she lived or died.

I’m Maxine Andrade. And I don’t just survive — Iendure.

The way he smiles at me guts me—vile and deliberate, a twisted smirk that makes my skin crawl and every instinct scream. He paces once, slow and deliberate, then crouches in front of me. His eyes trail over me like he’s scanning a blueprint for weaknesses.

“You were always too pretty for your own good,” he says, almost conversationally. “That mouth. Those eyes. Altin had a taste for delicate, precious things.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t respond.

“You know, I liked Kadri,” he continues, like he’s reminiscing over an old war buddy. “Not because he was smart. He wasn’t. But he was useful. He had vision.”

He leans closer. His minty breath is warm.

“And he broke you beautifully.”

I grit my teeth.Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.Don’t give him the satisfaction.

“You were his favorite for a while, weren’t you?” His voice drops, almost a whisper. “Tell me, Maxine... do you ever miss your Master?”

I spit in his face. Without flinching, he pulls a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wipes himself clean with the patience of a surgeon. Then he slaps me again. Hard. Pain flashes white behind my eyes. My head jerks sideways. The sting crawls across my cheek like fire. I taste blood.

When I look back at him, he’s still smiling.

“You’ve spoken to the Feds.”

My silence is my answer. He nods like he expected it.

“I’m not here to stop you,” he says. “I’m just here to remind you of the rules of the world. Of the order of things.”

He stands slowly, then kicks the chair—just enough to rock me off-balance. Just enough to let me know he could tip me over and split my skull open if he wanted to.

“Killing Kadri didn’t end anything,” he says. “He was a pawn. A symbol, maybe, for people like you. Survivors. Whistleblowers. Victims.” He says the last word like it’s a punchline. “You thought you were free. You thought justice was coming.”

He kneels again, leveling his eyes with mine.

“You sweet, stupid girl.”

I clench my jaw so tight it aches. But he sees the flicker in my eyes. The crack. The one he’s been looking for.

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