Page 17 of North

Victor shook his head, muttering under his breath. “You’re both psychopaths.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But so are you.”

Victor didn’t argue.

Connor cracked his knuckles, grinning. “So what’s the move?”

I rolled my shoulders, smirking to myself. “She’s not gonna know what hit her.”

Victor gave me a long look. “You really hate her that much?”

I exhaled through my nose, my smirk fading. “It’s not just her.”

It was her mother, her father. It was everything they fucking took from me.

Victor sighed. “Right. Lauren.”

I scoffed, dragging a hand through my hair. “Yeah, that fucking gold-digging whore.”

Connor chuckled. “Tell us how you really feel.”

I glared at him. “You don’t get it. She destroyed my family. She latched onto my father like a parasite, sucked the life out of him, and now she’s just…” I gestured vaguely, my stomach twisting. “Sitting in my fucking house, pretending to be some fucked up version of a Stepford wife.”

Connor tilted his head. “Still haven’t spoken to your mom, yet?”

No. In fact, I hadn’t even seen her since she left. A muscle ticked in my jaw, but I didn’t answer. The guys knew what was up. They knew she wasn’t answering any of our calls. Not mine, or Evie’s, or Liam’s. There wasn’t anything I could do about that.

Victor exhaled. “Because of Lauren?”

“Because of my father,” I corrected. “Because he let her do this.”

Silence settled between us.

Then Connor grinned, slapping his hands on his knees. “Alright. I’m in.”

Victor hesitated. “We go too far, we can’t undo it.”

I smirked coldly. “Good.”

Victor sighed again, shaking his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game, North.”

I picked up my drink. “It’s only dangerous if I lose.”

Connor chuckled darkly. “Guess we better make sure you don’t.”

I downed the rest of my whiskey. Quinn Harley was already hanging by a thread. It was far beyond the time that someone should cut it.

Chapter 6

North

The bonfire roared higher as the night grew darker, the flames licking at the ebony sky like they were trying to burn through it. Laughter and music bled together in a chaotic mess, the pounding bass vibrating through the ground beneath my feet.

I leaned against one of the posts on the deck, nursing another drink. Whiskey. Or maybe vodka. Didn’t matter anymore.

I tipped the cup back, the burn sliding down my throat doing little to dull the sharp edge in my chest.

The edge had a name, one that I was trying to ignore.

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