Page 33 of The Vagabond

MAXINE

I left the chain on the door. Not because I thought it would stop him. But because I needed the illusion of control for just a second longer. There’s one knock. Then another—harder, more violent. Then silence. And then: “Maxine. Open the door.”

My breath catches. He’s here.

I undo the chain with shaking fingers. The second the bolt clicks, the door crashes open and Saxon North barrels inside like he’s ready to kill someone.

His chest is rising too fast. His jaw is clenched, his eyes scanning the apartment like he expects to find someone with me.

He’s soaking wet from the rain, suit jacket clinging to his frame, tie half undone.

He looks like a man who’s been dragging himself out of hell—and got halfway through before deciding he liked the fire.

I shut the door behind him. Lock it.

“You came,” I say, barely a whisper.

He turns to me slowly. His eyes—those tortured, storm-wracked eyes—land on mine, and something inside him shatters .

“I ran,” he says.

And then he’s on me. His hands are everywhere—checking, scanning, searching for a wound that isn’t there. His palms skim my arms, my sides, my face. And when he finds nothing—no bruises, no cuts, no damage—he steps back like it confuses him more.

“You’re okay?” he rasps.

“I’m fine. Just shaken.”

His jaw ticks. His gaze drops to the floor, and when he lifts it again, he looks wild.

“They showed up at your fucking door.”

“I told you. I didn’t let them in?—”

“I know.” He cuts me off. “But what if you had? What if Zack had gotten to you first? What if he’s already...”

He trails off, like even saying it is too much. His voice drops, quiet and brutal.

“Tell me he didn’t touch you.”

I blink. “What?”

“Zack,” he growls. “Tell me he didn’t come near you. Didn’t try anything.”

“He didn’t, Saxon.”

“Swear it.”

I step toward him. “I swear. No one touched me.”

He backs away, pacing like a caged animal. His hands rake through his hair. His jaw flexes. He’s on the edge of panic, chaos, and he doesn’t know where to put his violence.

“I should’ve never let you out of my sight,” he mutters. “I should’ve had people on every corner. I should’ve had this fucking place wired.”

“Saxon—”

“They came to your door. The Feds, Maxine. My team. They’re supposed to be mine . And they’re still trying to drag you into this bullshit like you’re a resource instead of a person. ”

He finally stops. Stares at me.

“They’re not done. They’ll be back.”

“I can’t give them what I don’t have,” I say quietly.

He doesn’t speak. Just moves toward me until we’re toe to toe.

“You’re the only thing I care about protecting,” he says, voice stripped bare. “Not the case. Just you.”

His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for me again—but doesn’t.

“What about Zack?” I ask.

Saxon goes still. His nostrils flare.

“I don’t trust him. I never have. And I sure as fuck don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“Maybe that’s a little harsh. I think he scared them off tonight.”

“Zack can’t be trusted, Maxine. And I need you to stop pretending otherwise.”

I swallow, throat tight, but he barrels on before I can speak.

“If he so much as breathes in your direction, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes and ask for forgiveness later.”

I exhale, shaky. My heart’s a riot in my chest.

“You’re out of your mind,” I whisper.

“I am. Over you.” His voice cracks on the words. “You called me, Maxine. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

My silence answers him. That’s all it takes.

He grabs me. Lifts me. My legs wrap around his waist, and he carries me to the bedroom like I weigh nothing.

The moment he sets me down, he’s everywhere—kissing me like he needs it to survive, grinding against me like he’s trying to make sure I’ll memorize the feel of him.

I tell him not to be gentle. I beg him not to be. And Saxon listens the way only a man on the edge of ruin can. Like he needs this to survive; like I’m the air he hasn’t breathed in years.

His mouth crashes into mine—bruising, frantic, all tongue and teeth and pent-up hunger.

His hands are everywhere, grabbing, clawing, desperate to memorize every inch of skin he already knows like scripture.

My clothes don’t come off—they're ripped, torn seams and flying fabric hitting the floor as he pushes me backward until my knees buckle and we hit the bed.

He pins me down like he’s afraid I’ll vanish beneath him. Like if he lets go for even a second, I’ll be gone again. His eyes rake over me—starved, wild, feral.

“Open for me,” he rasps, dragging his cock through my folds. Not entering. Just torturing . “Let me back in, Maxine. Let me the fuck in.”

I stare up at him—lips swollen, breath shaking, heart clawing its way up my throat.

“You never left me.”

And that’s it. That’s all it takes. He slams into me with a brutal thrust that knocks the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my skull.

I arch off the bed, gasping, clawing at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything to keep me grounded as he fucks into me like he’s carving his name into my bones.

Every thrust is a sentence. Every drag of his hips a confession he never got to make.

“I should’ve come back,” he groans into my neck. “I should’ve burned the whole fucking world down to get to you.”

“But you didn’t,” I gasp, digging my nails into his back. “You left me.”

He groans—pained, guttural, wrecked.

“I know. And you hate me for it. Say it. Say you fucking hate me.”

“I do,” I sob, tears blurring my vision as my body breaks open beneath him. “I hate you. I hate you—I hated every second without you?—”

He slams in deeper. Filthy. Brutal. His cock thick and unforgiving inside me .

“Say you missed me,” he growls.

My voice breaks.

“I missed you.”

“Say you’re mine.”

I choke on the truth. The ugly, beautiful, ruinous truth.

“I never stopped being yours.”

His rhythm turns savage. He grabs my thigh and throws it over his shoulder, angling himself deeper. Harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin is thunder in the room, echoing off the walls, tangled in the moans and whimpers tearing from both of us.

He fists my hair. Leans in. Presses his forehead to mine like a prayer.

“I’m going to come so deep inside you,” he snarls, “you’ll feel me every time you fucking breathe.”

And I do. Because I’m already full of him. Full of everything he is—fury, grief, guilt, love twisted into obsession.

I cry out as I come, my whole body seizing under him, and he follows with a roar—hips jerking, cock throbbing, fingers bruising into my waist as he buries himself to the hilt and stays there. Breathing hard. Shaking. Inside me. Still inside me.

Neither of us speaks. Because right now, there’s nothing left to say. He didn’t just let himself back in. Because he never even left.

Saxon’s weight is still on me. Not crushing or heavy. He’s just there. Like an anchor. Like maybe if he stays long enough, this will feel more permanent.

He doesn't speak or move. He breathes against my skin. Slow. Shaky. Buried in the crook of my neck like he’s afraid to look me in the eye.

His chest is slick against mine. His heartbeat thunders into my skin.

His hands—usually so rough, so deadly—are now nothing but gentle pressure at my waist, thumb brushing lazy circles into my hip like he can’t stop touching just one part of me.

Eventually, he shifts. Pulls out of me with a groan, curses under his breath when I whimper at the loss.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I’ve got you.”

He disappears for a moment—bathroom light flickering on—then returns with a warm towel, soft and damp. He cleans me carefully, like I’m made of something precious. Like I might shatter. But I don’t. I let him touch me. I let him care for me.

When he’s done, he climbs back into bed beside me, dragging the covers up around us both. I curl into his side without thinking. My cheek finds his chest. His arms lock around me like he’s afraid I might disappear.

He doesn’t say I love you. But his hand finds mine under the blanket and laces our fingers together. He doesn’t say I’m sorry. But his lips press to my forehead like he means it more than an apology could ever cover.

I shift, just enough to look up at him.

“You’re still shaking,” I whisper.

“I won’t lose you again,” he says.

“Don’t leave me,” I whisper, as though that’s confirmation of the only way he could possibly lose me.

“I won’t.”

I rest my hand over his heart. Feel it thudding. Strong. Uneven. Alive. His eyes meet mine. Glassy. Wrecked. Like he’s been bleeding from the inside for years and only just realized he’s still alive.

He doesn’t say the word. Neither do I. But it’s there. Thick in the air between us. Lodged in the silence. Screaming behind his clenched jaw, echoing in the spaces between his ribs. Because love doesn’t always need a name. Sometimes it’s carved into the quiet .

It’s in the way his hand slides over mine beneath the sheets—not demanding, not urgent. Just there. Steady. Present. Interlaced fingers in the dark like he’s trying to ground us both.

It’s in the way he watches me. Not with hunger or guilt. But with reverence. Like he doesn’t know what he did to deserve being here, but he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure he doesn’t lose it again.

He doesn’t say “I love you.” But he brushes the hair from my face with the gentleness of a man who once lost everything and is terrified of doing it twice.

He doesn’t make promises. But he tugs the blankets up to my chin when I shiver, kisses the corner of my mouth like it’s sacred, and settles in beside me with a kind of stillness I’ve never seen from a man before.

And when I blink up at him in the low light, I see it.

Not the agent. Not the weapon. Not the broken man who walked away from me once.

I see the truth. That this isn’t just sex.

This isn’t just guilt, or obsession, or survival.

This is love, spoken in silence. In breath.

In the spaces where language fails and touch becomes the only thing that still makes sense.

Because the loudest love is sometimes the quietest.

It’s in the way he stays awake to watch over me while my eyes drift closed.

The way he traces circles on my spine, like each one is a vow.

How his body curls around mine, shield and anchor and apology in one.

But most of all, it’s in the way he stays.

He stays . And for the first time, I let myself believe that he always will.