Page 27 of North’s Claim

Nyxa relaxes—just barely.

And I let myself breathe.

It’s a start.

I glance down at her. “Want your own beer?”

She grabs mine instead, takes a long pull, and hands it back.

My brows shoot up. “Well, shit.”

She shrugs. “You offered.”

I chuckle, dragging her closer. Her back leans into my chest as I sip what’s left of my beer. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she settles on my lap.

I almost choke. “What the hell are you doing?” I rasp.

She peers up at me, smirking. “Sitting.”

I shake my head, without holding a grin. “Go mingle. Have fun.”

She hesitates, glancing toward the other girls.

I raise an eyebrow. “What are you wearing?”

She looks down at herself, cheeks pink. “Your shirt.”

“And what does it say?”

Her blush deepens. “President’s Property.”

“Exactly,” I murmur. “Which means no one will dare touch you—unless they wanna die choking on their last breath.”

She shivers, but a tiny smile tugs at her lips.

Then she walks off toward the women.

Iron whistles low. “You’re screwed, Prez.”

“Totally whipped.” Tornado snorts.

Soul chuckles. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

I raise my beer and toast them. “Shut the fuck up.”

And for the first time in a long time, I laugh with them.

Chapter 11

Nyxa

Ithought every brotherhood was run the same.

Loud men. Loud bikes. Loud rules.

But apparently, that’s not the case.

Saints' MC is nothing like the Wolves. Not even close.