Page 10 of North’s Claim

“Need a read on something,” I growl. “Got a girl. Been used, maybe drugged. Don’t know what the fuck they gave her.”

Cutter sighs, all sharp and dry. “I’m not psychic, North. If you don’t know what the bastard pumped into her, I sure as shit can’t guess.”

“You’ve got more tools than I do, Doc. Give me something.”

“She’s shaking? Throwing up? Paranoid?”

“Yeah, all.”

“Could be meth. Could be laced something. Could be fear.”

I grit my teeth. The urge to punch through the railing builds by the second. “Would charcoal help?”

“Yeah, activated charcoal won’t hurt. It’s not a miracle fix, but better than nothing. Get her tested when you bring her in.”

“We’ll be at the hood tomorrow. Be ready.”

I hang up before he can say more. My pulse is a steady, thrumming drumbeat of rage.

I shoot a message to my tech team. Need a full background check on Nyxa. Birth records. Last known address. Arrests. The works. I don’t care how deep they dig, I want to know who she is, who she was, and every bastard who’s touched her. I know she’s not underage, Bullet wouldn’t allow that shit.

She looks early twenties at least, but without an ID? No wallet, no phone, no clothes, only a damn toothbrush. No one lives like that unless they’re running or hiding something worse. The thought makes my gut twist. I want to storm out, drive straight to Zane’s, and beat Myka into the asphalt until he’s unrecognizable.

Instead I march back inside. The water’s still running. Through the frosted glass, I see her. Back turned. Her frame looks even smaller under the stream. Bruises line her skin like ghosts. I can barely breathe. I set the shirt on the counter and turn to leave. That’s when I hear a sob. It’s muffled by the water but sharp enough to cut through bone. I stop just for a breath. The flutter in my chest punches me dead center. But I move. I fucking move. Because if I stay, I’ll break something, and it won’t be the wall.

I sit on the edge of the bed, jaw clenched so hard it aches, and grab my phone and shoot a text to Rook:

Bring me activated charcoal. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Hairbrush. T-shirt, leggings. Water. Crackers and Gatorade. First aid. Now.

He replies instantly:

On it, Prez.

I toss the phone down, my jaw tight. She doesn’t need another man with fists. She needs someone who listens, and god help me—I don’t know how to be that man.

She steps out. Damp. Pale. Barefoot in my shirt and stops when she sees me. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“For what?”

She fingers the hem of the shirt. “For using this.”

My jaw tightens. “I gave it to you. Didn’t want that fucker’s scent anywhere near me.”

She blinks like she doesn’t understand why I’d care.

I stand. Move past her. Right before I reach the door, I throw over my shoulder, “I need to hear your voice.” Then I step into the bathroom, shut the door, and finally let myself breathe. Try to clear my head. But it’s fucking useless.

The water keeps running; so do the thoughts.

Who the hell is she? What did Myka do to her? How long has this been going on? Why didn’t anyone stop him?

Why didn’t I stop him the first time I saw her?

My dick aches under my jeans. I’m still hard. Still wired from that moment, when she came on my fingers like she’d never felt it before. I can’t stop seeing her face.

I fist myself, hard and fast. Angry. Frustrated. Trying to drain it out of me before it turns into something I can’t leash. The tingling comes faster than I thought, and I come with a growl. My heart’s pounding, my brain gets foggy and quiet for once. Until reality crashes on me. What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s in my room. Wearing my shirt. Hiding from a man who nearly broke her.

When I walk back into the room, she's not in bed. She’s in the goddamn chair, curled up like the world’s on fire and she’s waiting for it to eat her next. Knees to her chest, face turned toward the window, eyes vacant like she’s already halfway out of this place.