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There was silence. Thick. Drowning.
And then she spoke—quiet, but with enough conviction to make me think we had a fighting chance.
“We’re getting out of here, Maxine. Together.”
Her eyes burned with something fierce. Righteous. Hopeful in that way only the broken ever are. But I saw the doubt flicker behind it, too.
“And if we don’t?” I asked.
My voice was nothing then. Just a whisper inside a scream.
She met my gaze—and there was something in hers that ached.
A knowing. A recognition of every unspoken horror living in my skin. She’d somehow seen what I’d seen. She’s survived dark things, too. Maybe not directly, but she must have known what I’d been through.
Her silence said more than words ever could.
We both knew what would happen if we failed.
I could almost see it—the Russian smirking, pressing that button, walking away without ever looking back.
I pressed my palms to my stomach, felt the pulse of that bomb against my skin like a second heartbeat. One I didn’t own.
I was supposed to be saved by now. But there was no cavalry coming. No knight. Just her. And me. And whatever fire we had left between us.
“You’ve made it this far,” she told me, voice steadier than I expected. “And I swear to you, Maxine, I’m going to get you out of this. No matter what it takes.”
My chest tightened.
I wanted to believe her. I needed to.
She held my arm with a grip that was both anchor and lifeline.
“You’re not alone anymore,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”
My lips trembled. My eyes stung.
I nodded. But I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t.
Not until the bomb stopped ticking.
9
MAXINE - ONE YEAR AGO
I’ve always wondered how fate picks its victims.
How it decides who gets saved, who gets broken, who vanishes without a trace.
For so long, I convinced myself there had to be a reason for what happened to me — a divine test, a punishment, a cruel symmetry in the universe.
But the truth is, fate doesn’t care.
It didn’t care when our father died. Didn’t care when we lost our home, when Mia worked herself raw and bloody to keep Sophia and me alive, when we ran from debt collectors and the dark eyes of the mob and fell straight into the jaws of disaster.
I should’ve known we were fucked the second Frank Falcone reappeared.
My sister’s ex — smiling like he had a secret. He promised us a night we’d never forget. He kept that promise. Because that was the night we were split apart. The last time I saw Sophia. The night I stopped being Maxine Andrade, sister, dreamer, reckless little twin. And became a product. Merchandise. A girl with a price tag.