Page 111 of Shadows of the Past
“I don’t need this. I don’t need it beating if Julia’s in that operating room losing her fight. If she doesn’t make it, Roman, I’ll tear this damned thing out myself because the only reason it beats at all is for her.”
“I know,” he says quietly, dropping his gaze.
I know he’s thinking about Luna, wondering what he’d do if she were the one behind those doors.
A doctor steps out from surgery and scans the room for Amalia. I try to read his face, searching for any sign of hope, but somehow, I know she’s alive. My heart is still beating. If she’d slipped away, the universe would have stopped mine too, just to keep us together on the other side.
“She made it, but she’s sedated,” Amalia breathes, and for the first time, I find myself praying. I don’t know who I’m praying to or if I’m saying the words right, but I know one thing:hedidn’t take her from me. She’s still here.
“I’ll call to have her transferred to a private clinic, Max,” Roman says while typing on his phone.
I simply nod, too numb to form any other words. This place isn’t safe enough, and I still have a hunt to finish.
Now that I know she’s out of danger, my mind is already racing with thoughts of finding that bastard and Lupe. One of our men saw which way they went, but Aleksandr was dragging Lupe, unconscious, and our people were too outnumbered to chase them down.
How did she not see the rot in him?
But I’ll have time for them. For everything I want to do to both of them.
Because they dared to hurt her. And no amount of spilled blood will ever be enough to make up for that.
Chapter 41
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Maksim
Six hours. That’s how long it takes for the transfer to go through. The helicopter blades thrum above, drowning out everything but the steady beep of Julia’s heart monitor. She lies motionless on the gurney, IV lines snaking from her arm, her skin pale against the white sheet.
I sit so close I can count the freckles on her wrist. My pinky hooks around hers, the only anchor I have. Every rise and fall of her chest is a silent negotiation with fate, and I can’t look away. If I do, maybe she’ll stop breathing.
The memory of her sprawled on the floor, blood pooling beneath her, eyes glazed, claws at my insides. Ivan’s shadow has haunted my dreams for years, but nothing compares to the image of Julia’s blood soaking through cotton, staining my hands as I pressed down, desperate to keep her here.
The helicopter lands and Roman jumps out first, already barking orders at the clinic manager, but I barely hear them. My world has shrunk to the narrow hospital bed and the woman fighting for each breath.
Her room faces east, and I smile because I know she likes the sunrise. I don’t know how much time passes, just that dawn creeps in, painting the sheets gold. I haven’t moved from the armchair all night; my back aches, my legs are numb, but Idon’t care. Roman and Amalia hover in the doorway, suggesting showers, hotels, rest. I shake my head. I won’t leave her. Not again.
Her eyelids flutter.
I lean forward, heart hammering.
“Hey,” she rasps, lips cracked.
I fumble for the cup of water, guiding the straw to her mouth.
She sips then tries to smile. It falters when she catches my expression.
I drop back into the chair, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “You left me,” I whisper, voice barely audible.
Her hand trembles, fingers curling in the sheet. “I know.”
She’s so pale, the veins in her arms like blue rivers.
Anger simmers beneath my skin, directed at her, at myself, and at a world that keeps demanding impossible choices.
“She shot you, Juls,” I say, the words scraping my throat.
She closes her eyes, lashes trembling. “Heshot me, Max.”
