Page 115 of Shadows of the Past
Every movement is a reminder that my body is still healing, that I’m one wrong move away from reopening wounds that haven’t fully closed. Lupe’s bullet could have done worse. She hesitated at the last second, and it hit my abdomen instead. My liver’s still angry about it, but it could have been so much worse.
Max sits beside me, brow furrowed, his thoughts so loud I can almost feel the headache forming behind my own eyes.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, sliding my hand over his.
He meets my gaze, and his voice is low, cold enough to send a chill through me. “You better be. Because if either of them causes you even the slightest bit of stress, I won’t hesitate, Julia.”
“I’ll handle Lupe,” I promise.
“If she tries to hurt you again—”
“She won’t.” I’m not sure I believe it, but I have to calm him somehow. The only reason he’s not at that warehouse right now is me. He couldn’t bring himself to leave my side, and he knew I’d never let him go alone.
After hours of flights and driving, we finally pull up to one of Roman’s warehouses. I shoot Max a worried look, silently praying Lupe hasn’t been kept here all week. The place screams mafia business—like the kind of spot where problems are solved and bodies are never found.
Roman answers the question before I can ask. “She was kept in a separate trailer the soldiers use for overnight missions. She had her own bathroom, her own bed, even a TV. I’d say that’s more than generous, considering what she did to us.”
“To us?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“To us, Julia. You’re part of this family, whether you like it or not.”
A warmth spreads through my chest—an emotion I can’t quite name. Maybe it’s meant more for Max than for me, but coming from a man who never shows vulnerability, it matters.
I walk toward the trailer where Lupe is being kept, letting Maksim know with a look that I need to handle this by myself.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says.
I nod and step inside the three hundred-square-foot space. There’s a bed pressed against the wall, a table and chair in front of it, and a TV off to the side. It’s almost like a prison cell, but I notice three magazines and two books on the table, even a small plant someone left on the floor. Little signs that, even here, someone tried to make it bearable.
Lupe is reading when her eyes land on me. In an instant, she’s on her feet, closing the distance and throwing her arms around me.
“Gracias, Diosito! Julia…” Her voice cracks at my name.
A sharp pain twists through my abdomen, but I hold her tightly, refusing to let go. She wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, and all I can do is hope she’ll come out of this without carrying the scars forever.
“I thought you were dead. No one would tell me anything,” she whispers, her eyes rimmed red from too many sleepless nights. She’s thinner now, her skin almost ghostly.
I thought I’d have the right words for her, but standing here, nothing seems enough.
She steps back, tears brimming, and asks, “Do you know anything about Aleksandr?”
The question slices through me. There’s hope in her voice—a part of her still clings to that man, and as much as I want to rip it out, she has to let go on her own.
“He’s here, in the warehouse, waiting for us to deal with him,” I say, my voice cold, distant. I see a storm of emotions flicker in her eyes. “Sit down, Lupe. We need to talk.”
She obeys, but her body is tense, on edge.
My chest tightens, knowing she doesn’t feel safe with me. Pain throbs beneath my shirt, and I just hope I haven’t torn any stitches. Maksim will lose his mind if I start bleeding again.
Come on, Julia. Just say it.
“After I left you that night, I went back for Mom and Dad. I got there just as the whole house went up in flames. I don’t know how long I stood there, staring at the fire, maybe that was my first mistake, not realizing I’d been there too long. The men who came for Dad took me instead.”
Lupe’s face goes even paler, which is saying something. But if I stop now, I’ll lose my nerve, and the urge to protect her will cloud my judgment again.
“Those men were involved in human trafficking,” I say, forcing myself to keep going. “One of them decided to ‘test’ the merchandise before shipping it overseas.” My voice breaks.
A sound of pure agony escapes her, and her hands tremble as she covers her mouth.
