She’s curled on her side, her hair a dark spill across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Sunset filters through the blinds, casting soft shadows across her bare shoulder and the curve of her spine.
She looks untouched by everything that happened today.
But I know better.
She’s still fighting her ghosts—just like I’m fighting mine.
I linger there, caught in the doorway, wishing I could step inside and close the distance.
But I don’t.
I let the image burn into memory, then pull the door shut behind me.
Because wanting her safe andkeepingher safe?
They’re not the same thing.
And I’ve still got work to do.
CHARLOTTE
It'sthe click of the door shutting that jolts me from sleep, my body tensing before my mind even registers why. I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. For a moment, I just breathe, trying to center myself in this strange new reality where bikers, abduction attempts, and my ex-husband are somehow all part of my daily existence.
The sound of another door opening down the hall pulls me from my thoughts. I slip from the bed, bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. I creep to my door and ease it open just enoughto peek through. Thor strides down the hallway, his broad shoulders hunched with exhaustion. He looks like hell, clothes rumpled, hands curled into fists at his sides. There's something dark smeared across his knuckles. Blood.
My breath catches. Where has he been? What has he done?
He disappears into the bathroom. A few minutes later, the shower turns on. Steam begins to seep under the bathroom door, and I find myself standing in the hallway like some kind of stalker, heart hammering against my ribs.
I should go back to my room. Mind my own business. Let him clean up whatever he's been a part of today.
Instead, I pad closer to the bathroom door.
“Thor?”
The water stops abruptly. “Charlotte?”
“Are you...are you okay?”
Silence stretches between us, broken only by the drip of water hitting tile. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, “I'm fine.”
“You're bleeding.”
Another pause, “It's not mine.”
Those three words hit me like a physical blow. Not his blood. Someone else's. My stomach clenches as images flash through my mind. Thor's fists connecting with flesh, the sound of bone breaking, the metallic smell of blood.
“Go back to your room.”
“No,” the word surprises me with its firmness. “Not until you tell me what happened.” I press my palm against the cool wood of the door. “I have a right to know if this is about me.”
The lock clicks, and suddenly the door opens. Thor stands there in nothing but a towel. Steam billows around him, framing his massive frame like some kind of mythological being emerging from the mist. Water droplets cling to his shoulders, tracing paths down the intricate tattoos that cover his chest andarms. My eyes follow one droplet as it slides down his sternum, disappearing beneath the towel. Why does he have to look so good? It’s not fair. I need answers, and his abs arereallydistracting.
I force my gaze back to his face. There's a bruise forming along his jawline, and his lip is split at the corner.
“Tell me what happened.” I cross my arms, refusing to be intimidated despite the way my heart hammers. “If this is about me, I deserve to know.”
Thor exhales slowly, running a hand through his wet hair. “We found them.”
