From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 287

Chapter 287: Learning the Truth (Part 2)

The only thing Max could hear... was the sound of his own heartbeat.

It pounded in his ears, louder than anything else in the world.

He’d felt this before, this weight pressing down on his chest, this deafening silence after someone said something so final, so irreversible.

And it hadn’t even been that long ago.

Aron didn’t need to repeat himself. Max had heard every single word, and they had struck him like a blow to the gut. He didn’t need to ask if Aron was sure. He didn’t need clarification. Deep down, in the pit of his stomach, he already knew.

This was the confirmation he had feared, and yet somehow already expected.

And Aron... he wouldn’t have made a mistake about something like this. He was too precise, too loyal. Too close to Max.

Once again, someone around Max was gone.

Someone who mattered.

Someone who helped him, even if just in a small, quiet way. Someone who saw through the walls he put up and reached him, even if only for a moment.

Max slowly placed both hands over his face. His fingers dug into his cheeks, and he held his breath, as if stopping time itself might bring her back.

He didn’t want to cry.

Didn’t want to scream.

Didn’t even want to ask "why."

"I was there," Wolf said, breaking the silence. His voice was raw, a shadow of his usual strength. "I was there when it happened. And I... I couldn’t do anything."

Max’s fingers twitched slightly, but he didn’t lower his hands.

"I tried to fight back," Wolf went on. "I tried. But I was the only one there, Max. Just me. I wasn’t strong enough to help her. I wasn’t enough."

His voice cracked. His words began to tremble.

"And even then... even then, in her final moments..."

Wolf stopped. His jaw tightened, and his hands shook by his sides.

"She was so damn brave," he finally said, choking on the words. "Even when it was clear she wasn’t going to make it... she didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just... stood there."

Wolf’s voice was barely holding together now, and tears began to gather at the corners of his eyes.

"F*ck me," he whispered. "I don’t think I could’ve done what she did. Not in her place."

There was a long pause.

Every word felt like a dagger twisting deeper into Max’s chest. He slowly slid his hands upward until they were gripping his hair, pulling slightly as if he could physically rip the pain out of his skull.

"I should have done more," Aron said. His voice was filled with shame. "I should’ve negotiated like you told me to. I should’ve sent people, sent someone else to get her. Anything! All of this... it’s my fault!"

But Max still didn’t speak.

He didn’t offer forgiveness. He didn’t point fingers.

Because right now, no words could fix any of it.

He had lost so many people already.

And in a twisted, painful way... he was used to this.

More than others.

When people nearly get into a car accident, they yell. They shout. They lash out at whoever’s nearby, not because they’re angry, but because they’re afraid.

Afraid of what almost happened.

Afraid of what could’ve been.

Afraid that their lives could’ve changed in a split second.

Max had lived through too many of those split seconds. And now, he was learning to keep the anger in check, especially when it came to the people who didn’t deserve it.

Right now, Aron didn’t need to be punished.

He did what he thought was right.

He made a decision, and in his heart, it was for Max’s safety. Aron’s priority had always been Max. He didn’t hesitate.

And yet, even with that knowledge, it didn’t make this hurt any less.

Because Abby...

Abby hadn’t deserved this.

Who would’ve thought a gang like the Rejected Corps would go this far, would kill someone who wasn’t even directly involved?

Someone who was innocent.

Someone who just... cared.

As for Wolf, his efforts didn’t need to be explained. They were written all over his body.

Max had seen him take on the Black Hounds before, fighting in Max’s name without flinching, and yet even then, he hadn’t come out looking like this.

Now, his frame was bruised, wrapped in bandages, covered in scratches and cuts. His shoulders slumped, his breathing labored.

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