Page 23 of Devil's Claim

We both looked down at the same time. In my slight struggle, the silky sash had come free, the strap on the cotton tee shirt I always wore to bed exposing one breast. My nipple was hard. Another moment of true mortification. I quickly covered myself, but not before his nostrils flared.

If he truly believed I’d make the same mistake as to allow him to touch me again, he was sorely wrong.

We both breathed heavily. What was I supposed to say to him? That I was sorry? I wasn’t.

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, his voice gravelly, but not from sleep. Something told me he hadn’t slept a wink.

“What?” I wasn’t in the position to argue with him. We both knew it.

“Come with me.”

“Where? I’m not dressed.”

He backed away, cocking his head. I was struck by how handsome he was with his tousled hair and the easy three-day stubble covering his chiseled jaw. He’d obviously made himself at home in my guest bathroom using my toothpaste. His breath was minty where mine likely smelled like dragon’s breath.

The man of few words had returned and he moved stiffly toward the door, turning to ensure I was following him. His mood was entirely different. Maybe he’d gotten a terrible phone call from one of his associates.

My feet were heavy, but I made my way into the hallway. Instead of guiding me into the living room or kitchen, the man did the truly unthinkable thing in my mind.

He walked into my son’s room.

Almost instantly, my eyes welled with tears. I’d pretended that I was so damn brave. I’d tried to convince him and myself that nothing could bother me. I’d even acted nonchalant while staring down the barrel of a gun.

Maybe I hadn’t been afraid.

Because I’d already faced the greatest fear of my life.

Losing my son.

“Talk to me,” Kruz said after a few seconds of enduring my silence.

“How dare you,” I said quietly, blinking to try to keep the tears from falling. He didn’t deserve a second’s worth of explanation or satisfaction.

Not one.

Sniffing, I was already shaking, the treacherous memories of the last few months tearing through me like the most powerful tidal wave.

“Who is he?” Kruz asked, keeping his voice low.

Did he actually believe that was going to make things better? “None of your goddamn business. Get out of this room. You weren’t allowed in here.”

“Who is he?”

His repetitive question was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I spun around to face him, immediately pounding my fists against his chest.

“Leave me alone! Get out of here. Get out of my apartment. This is my home. Mine. Not yours. You can’t take what little I have, Kruz, because that’s already been done. It’s already… Been done.”

He hadn’t grabbed my arms or tried to stop me.

When I stopped, I was gasping for air while he remained completely calm. Yet those eyes of his were darker than before, a fire burning in his irises that confused me. It was as if he cared. Ridiculous.

I pulled away, refusing to face him and dropped my head into my hands. I’d tried so hard to be strong, but one snap and I’d lost everything emotionally and mentally that I’d gained.

“Who is he?” Kruz repeated and this time, I laughed bitterly.

“He’s my son. Maverick. He’s three and a half and such a little man. God. I swear he’s growing up so fast. Before I blink, he’ll be an adult.” The laughter continued, but the angst was evident.

“Why is he not here?”