Page 9 of North’s Claim

I freeze.

“I need to make a call,” he says, already stepping out. “Make yourself at home. We leave in the morning.”

The door shuts.

And I dash to the bathroom right to the sink before vomiting my soul out. Everything spills out, acid and fear and memories.

I cry. Silently. On my knees. Until my ribs hurt. Until the only thing left is shaking. Then, I get in the shower. Let the water burn me clean. Tears mix with steam. I scrub hard like I can erase the past. Like I can start over. But I’m not a fool.

When I step out, a t-shirt waits on the counter.

His.

I pull it on. It hangs low on my thighs. Smells like him. And god it calms me.

I slowly walk out.

North’s there, sitting on the bed. Hands tight in front of him like he’s holding back a war. He looks up, meets my eyes and I shrink.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

He blinks. “For what?”

I gesture to the shirt. “For using this.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “I gave it to you. Didn’t want that fucker’s scent anywhere near me.”

He stands, paces once, then stops. Just before leaving, he throws over his shoulder, “I need to hear your voice.”

Chapter 3

North

She shuts the door like she’s afraid it might bite her.

And I just stand there.

Room’s quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside. I hear the water running. Heavy. Relentless.

She’s in there, washing something off.

Him, maybe. The shame. Or whatever it is she thinks she still carries.

I rub both hands down my face, then I hear it, retching. Violent.

She’s puking.

I freeze.

Every instinct tells me to go in there, but I force myself to stay rooted. If I touch that door, if I even knock, I’ll cross a line.

So I move.

March out to the balcony. The air out here bites colder than I expect, like even the night’s pissed off.

I pull out my phone and call Cutter.

He picks up after the first ring. “You finally let someone bleed out?”