Chapter 28 The Safe Spot
Now
The hunting lodge feels different tonight—smaller somehow, as if the walls are closing in around our carefully constructed plans.
Max sits cross-legged on the musty carpet, his laptop balanced on his knees as he sorts through financial documents by the flickering light of our makeshift fire.
The glow catches the sharp angles of his face, transforming him into something almost ethereal against the backdrop of rotting wood and forgotten memories.
“Belle?” His voice cuts through the silence I hadn’t realized had fallen between us. “You’ve been staring at that same page for twenty minutes.”
I look down at the notebook in my hands, seeing the half-finished organizational chart that was supposed to map The Architect’s network.
The pen hovers over incomplete connections, names that float in isolation because my mind keeps drifting to darker possibilities.
Every shadow in this place could be hiding surveillance equipment.
Every creak of settling wood could herald the arrival of Harper’s extraction team.
“I can’t stop thinking about David,” I admit, setting the notebook aside. “He’s in that hospital bed because of choices I made, because I chose to fight back instead of surrendering quietly.”
Max’s fingers pause on his keyboard. “Belle—”
“I know what you’re going to say. That it’s not my fault, that he knew the risks, that justice requires sacrifice.
” My voice comes out rougher than intended, scraped raw by hours of guilt and second-guessing.
“But knowing something intellectually and feeling it emotionally are completely different things.”
He closes the laptop with careful precision, setting it aside before moving to sit beside me on the worn couch.
The cushions sag under our combined weight, springs protesting years of neglect and abandonment.
Like everything else in our lives lately, this temporary sanctuary feels precarious, borrowed time that could collapse at any moment.
“Talk to me,” he says simply. “Not about strategy or evidence or next moves. About what’s really going on in that brilliant, terrifying mind of yours.”
The invitation to vulnerability should frighten me—after years of weaponizing every emotion, every revelation, every moment of genuine feeling, the idea of lowering my defenses feels like stepping naked into a battlefield.
But looking at Max, seeing the exhaustion in his dark eyes that mirrors my own, I realize that keeping my walls up might be the most dangerous thing I could do right now.
“I’m scared,” I whisper, the words barely audible over the wind rattling our windows. “Not just of them finding us, or of what they’ll do if they catch us. I’m scared that this is all pointless. That we’re just delaying the inevitable while people we care about pay the price for our defiance.”
Max’s hand finds mine, fingers intertwining with the same deliberate care he brings to everything else. “What else?”
The question opens floodgates I didn’t know existed.
“I’m scared that I’m becoming exactly what they trained me to be.
Look at what we’re planning—surveillance, manipulation, psychological warfare.
The same tactics my father used, just pointed in a different direction.
What if fighting monsters requires becoming one? ”
“Is that what you think you’re becoming?”
I close my eyes, trying to find an honest answer in the darkness behind my lids.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I look in the mirror and see Richard Gallagher’s daughter—cold, calculating, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to achieve her goals.
Other times I see that eleven-year-old girl in the white dress, still trying to survive in a world that views her as disposable. ”
“And what do you see when you look at me?”
The unexpected question makes my eyes snap open. Max is studying my face with an intensity that makes my breath catch, like he’s trying to memorize every detail before it’s too late.
“I see someone who chose to stand with me when it would’ve been easier to walk away,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “Someone who makes me feel human instead of just functional. Someone I’m terrified of losing because I’m not sure I know how to exist without you anymore.”
The confession hangs between us like a bridge I’m not sure either of us is brave enough to cross. In the firelight, Max looks younger somehow, stripped of the careful composure that usually defines him. Vulnerable in a way I’ve rarely seen.
“Belle.” My name on his lips sounds like a prayer, rough with emotion I don’t dare name. “There’s something I need to tell you. About my family, about why I really approached you that first night at Shark Bay.”
Ice floods my veins. Another betrayal, another revelation that nothing I’ve believed about us is real. “What?”
“My father didn’t just launder money for your parents’ operations.
He was part of the inner circle—one of The Architect’s direct subordinates.
” Max’s words come in a rush, like he needs to expel them before he loses courage.
“I’ve known about the network since I was fifteen, Belle.
I’ve been planning to bring them down for years. ”
The world tilts around me. “So your interest in me was—”
“Strategic at first, yes. You were Richard Gallagher’s daughter, positioned to have access to information I needed.
” His grip on my hand tightens, as if he can anchor me to him through sheer force of will.
“But Belle, everything that’s happened between us—everything I’ve felt, everything we’ve built—that’s real.
That’s mine, not his mission or anyone else’s agenda. ”
I should pull away. Should feel betrayed, manipulated, used once again by someone I trusted.
But looking into Max’s eyes, seeing the naked fear there—not of physical harm, but of losing me—I recognize something I’ve never encountered before: genuine love tangled with genuine deception, creating something too complex for simple categorization.
“How do I know?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “How do I know where the mission ended and you began?”
“Because I’m telling you now, when I don’t have to.
When it would be easier to let you believe the fairy tale.
” His free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“Because I’m choosing you over the mission, Belle.
Over justice, over revenge, over everything I thought I wanted. ”
“Max—”
“I love you.” The words cut through my protest like a blade through silk.
“Not the spy, not the asset, not the source of information. You, Belle. The woman who makes terrible coffee and argues with news anchors and still flinches when someone touches her unexpectedly. The woman who chose to testify against her very own parents because she couldn’t live with their crimes.
The woman brave enough to hunt monsters in the shadows. ”
The declaration should feel like manipulation—after years of being told what people thought I wanted to hear, I’ve learned to distrust pretty words. But there’s something in Max’s voice, in the way his body trembles against mine, that speaks to truth rather than performance.
“I love you too,” I whisper, the admission scraping raw against my throat. “And I hate you for making me feel this when everything is so fucking complicated.”
His laugh is broken, desperate. “I hate myself, too, sometimes. But Belle, whatever happens next, whatever we have to face—I need you to know that choosing you is the first purely selfish thing I’ve done in my entire life. And I don’t regret it.”
The honesty breaks something open inside me, some final wall that’s been keeping me separate from genuine connection. Before I can overthink it, before fear can paralyze me, I close the distance between us and kiss him with a desperation that surprises us both.
He responds immediately, arms coming around me to pull me closer, and suddenly we’re no longer sitting on a rotting couch in an abandoned hunting lodge.
We’re suspended in our own private universe, where the only things that matter are his hands on my skin and the way he says my name like a sacrament.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, neither of us tries to pull away.
I let myself get lost in the warmth of Max’s body, the reassuring solidity of him, the first pure moment of connection I’ve experienced without calculation or contingency.
We don’t talk again, no pretty words or promises we’re not sure we can keep.
Instead, we help each other strip off the layers of practicality we wear like shields.
Kisses taste like forgiveness, teeth grazing flesh with the sharp promise of pain. Hands chart terrain already familiar, exploring planes and angles and edges as if cataloging secrets.
I straddle him on the couch, letting my hips move with deliberate precision. Feeling his skin against mine, the friction sparking tiny fires under my eyelids. Wishing it could last forever, until the dawn breaks us like a beautiful dream.
There are no elaborate plans, no analysis, or cross-references, or goals beyond this moment. Just me and Max and the need to feel closer to one another.
I lift my dress, push my panties to the side, and Max unzips his jeans just enough to expose himself. Slowly, almost reverently, he reaches for me, tracing wetness with gentle fingertips.
I brace myself with one hand on his shoulder, the other wrapped around his cock. Find the angle, let him guide me. Let him sink into me.
The slide of him makes us both sigh, and I wrap my legs around his waist to take him deeper. Fill myself up and close my eyes. Feel the universe narrow to a single point of light in a dark, dark world.