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“You can’t carry it all,” she whispers.
My hand lifts, cradling the back of her head, fingers threading into her damp hair.
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” I whisper.
And fuck, she looks at me like she wants to save me. But she can’t. No one can.
She kisses me — slow, trembling, soft — a promise without words, without conditions. And when we finally pull back theblankets and crawl beneath, bodies drawn together, hearts still pounding, she burrows close, her breath warm on my chest.
For tonight, just tonight, I let myself believe the world outside can’t touch us here.
That for one stolen, fragile moment, we can survive inside the silence twisting between us.
53
SAXON
Everyone has a price to pay.
I’ve known that since the first time I wore a badge. Since the first time I looked a man in the eye, promised him justice, and delivered something far bloodier. Since the first time I told myself the end justified the means — and started making bargains with the parts of myself I swore I’d never lose.
Now here I am, sitting on the edge of this bed, Maxine curled against my chest, her breath soft, her fingers light on my skin.
And I’m wondering if I’ve already paid my price — or if the bill is still coming. Because redemption? It’s not some grand, sweeping moment where you save the girl, kill the bad guys, and walk away clean.
It’s quieter. Crueler. It’s the long nights where you can’t close your eyes because you see every face you ever left behind. It’s the mornings you wake up next to the woman you love, and the first thought in your head isn’tI’m lucky— it’sI don’t deserve this.
Maxine stirs, shifting closer, her cheek pressing into my chest. I tighten my arm around her, burying my face in her hair,breathing her in like she’s oxygen. Because here’s the fucked-up truth: I never thought I’d get here. I never thought I’dfindher — let alone keep her. And now that she’s in my arms, safe, alive, trembling but unbroken — I’m terrified.
Terrified the past is still waiting for me. Terrified that no matter how hard I fight, no matter how many bodies I bury, the ghosts will keep coming. Because I made choices. I sold pieces of myself. And everyone has a price to pay.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, closing my eyes. I think about the cases I buried. The favors I called in. The lines I crossed — lines that, once crossed, you don’t come back from. I think about the people who watched me do it. The ones who kept my secrets.
I rub a hand down my face, breath shaking.
Maxine murmurs something soft before she resumes her fitful sleep.
I have to figure out how to keep her safe from the monsters I brought to our doorstep. Because the irony? It’s not just her past that’s dangerous. It’s mine. My past is a loaded gun, cocked and aimed, and sooner or later, the trigger’s going to get pulled.
I ease back, slipping from the bed, standing at the window, staring out at the endless forest.
The trees. The silence. The thin, fragile space I carved out for us - knowing damn well it won’t hold. My reflection stares back at me in the glass. Tired. Hard. Haunted. I know who I am. I know what I’ve done. And I know — with a sinking, inescapable certainty — that no matter how tightly I hold Maxine, no matter how many promises I whisper against her skin, everyone has a price to pay.
The cabin is quiet.Maxine is still asleep in the bed behind me—half-curled into the space I left, the sheet low on her hip, her breath soft and slow. The bruises on her face are starting to fade to purple, the swelling gone. Her swollen eye is looking a little better. But the weight in my chest? Worse. Because I know peace doesn’t last. Not in this world. Not when the ground’s already shifting under our feet.
My burner buzzes on the table. It’s an unknown number. But I’m sure I know who it is. I snatch it up and step out onto the porch, boots crunching over pine needles, gun tucked into my waistband.
I press the phone to my ear. My jaw’s tight, my pulse louder than it needs to be. Scar’s voice cuts through the line like a serrated edge. Cold. Precise. No warning.
“You need to come back, North.”
Scar Gatti doesn’t make small talk. He delivers the directive like a man who’s too busy to dress anything up. He’s become the last person I ever thought I’d trust. An unlikely ally with his own brand of justice, feeding me intel from the inside while I stay buried off-grid with Maxine. He gives me the pieces. I put them together. And together, we’re planning something no one’s ready for.
I close my eyes for half a second, exhaling slow and steady through my nose, forcing control into a body that wants to snap.
“I can’t do that,” I murmur, because there’s nothing else to say — no excuse, no lie, no half-truth that could change what’s already carved into my bones.
The truth is, I’ve been drowning since the day I met Maxine. And the tide hasn’t let me up once.