Page 13 of North’s Claim

“There she is,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “Back with me.”

I nod, but it’s weak. Shame clings to my skin like sweat.

“What happened?” he asks.

I shake my head.

He doesn’t push. Just sighs like he knows I’m lying.

North helps me stand again, steadies me, and this time I hold on. Only for a second.

When we go back into the room, I notice the tray on the side table. There’s coffee, juice, more food than I can name. He’s already munching on the sandwich I left untouched last night.

The guilt curls in my stomach like poison. He shouldn’t be taking care of me. Not like this, but he is. I glance down. I’m still in his shirt. I should feel dirty. Like I owe him something, but he hasn’t asked for anything. Not a touch or a smile. That scares me more than anything. Because men like North aren’t supposed to care. Not about girls like me.

Once we check out, the weight returns. It presses down on my shoulders the second I step into the morning sun.

He’s already at the bike.

Leather, chrome, black steel. It looks as unforgiving as the man straddling it. North turns, spots me, and jerks his chin. I walk to him, my legs slower than I want them to be. They don’t listen to me anymore. Not fully. He reaches for my hand and pulls me closer.

“I need to know you’re conscious and with me,” he says, rough but steady. “Keep your hands on me. Always.”

I nod, swallowing. “Okay.”

He watches my eyes for a moment longer, then swings a leg over the seat and waits.

I climb on behind him. Hesitate. Then wrap my arms around his waist. His body is solid. Heat radiates through my palms where they rest on his stomach.

The engine roars to life, and the vibration rolls through me. I tense for a second, instinct flaring, but North doesn’t move. Doesn’t press. So I breathe.

We ride and the wind whips against my cheeks, my hair pulling free from its braid. I watch the road blur beneath us, mile after mile, like we’re leaving pieces of hell behind with every turn of the tires.

“Can we stop?” About an hour later, I ask, my voice barely above the wind.

He hears it and pulls into a gas station parking lot without a word.

“Can I…”

He lowers his sunglasses daring me to continue. I get the message, and rush to the bathroom. My bladder thanks me. After washing my hands I head out. Rook is standing by the door and I almost shout. He grins and shakes his head while I walk back to North’s bike. He’s not there. I peer around and see him coming back with another bottle of Gatorade.

“Here. Drink.”

I stare at the bottle like it’s punishment. I hate the taste. Hate the way it clings to my tongue, but I drink. Because he asked. Because I don’t want to be a problem. Because something in me needs to prove I’m not broken beyond repair.

When we ride again, something shifts. I settle closer. My arms tighten around him and this time, I rest my cheek against his back. Just under his shoulder blades. He smells like leather, smoke, and salt. I breathe it in and let the rhythm of the road lull me into a strange kind of peace. It’s not safety, but it’s the closest I’ve ever felt.

Chapter 5

North

The sun’s dipping low when we hit the edge of the property.

Nyxa’s head rests against my back, light and steady, but the second the private gate buzzes open without us stopping, she lifts it, and I feel her shift.

Her first time seeing the compound.

The road is long, flanked by pines and silence. Then the clubhouse comes into view: garage to the right, Cutter’s place tucked just behind the main building, and the flag flying high on the pole: Saint’s MC.