Page 28 of North’s Claim

At first, I thought it was a show meant to fool me because I’m the new girl and I showed up with North. Because everyone knew what I was. What I used to be.

But time passes. And no one pushes. No one corners me. No one asks me to do anything I don’t want to do.

North’s rules are set in stone. It’s not just the men who respect them, it’s everyone. Every prospect, every patched member, every woman and kid around this place. The neighborhood breathes his law. And somehow, it works.

The fear that clung to me like a second skin when I first arrived it’s not gone but it doesn’t suffocate me anymore.

I still flinch when a door slams too hard. I still pause when someone yells down the street. I still sleep with one foot curled beneath me, like I’m ready to bolt.

But I breathe easier here.

The women here don’t look like victims. They laugh loud, unafraid. They touch their men like they want them, not like they’re afraid not to. They look at me like they see a person, not a threat. Not a broken thing.

It messes with my head.

I spend mornings cleaning, folding, sometimes cooking if I feel like I have the energy. I still don’t talk much, not even with North.

But I’m watching, listening, and learning.

After getting some bread from the bakery, I walk back home. Eve is playing with some kids in the garden, her laugh carrying in the breeze. She waves at me from afar. I do the same, still not used to how casual everything feels.

It was weird to find out candies here are not exactly what I always thought. Back with the Wolves, candies were… tools. Playthings. They had no voice. No space. But here they’re more than women ready to please some biker on a whim. They have their own house. They share a huge bungalow, have jobs and responsibilities. A life. They’re friends with the ol’ ladies. Real friendships. No jealousy or manipulation. I didn’t believe it at first. Hell, I still struggle with it but I’ve watched it. Quietly. Closely.

Kayla works part-time at the mini market and handles inventory like she owns the place. Andrea teaches music at the kids’ studio. Jess helps with events and parties and runs a book club on Fridays.

And no one looks down on them. No one makes them feel like less. They’re… respected.

Wanted.

Safe.

It messes with my head. Twists everything I thought I knew.

As I keep walking, I spot a prospect kissing one of the ladies near the corner of the bakery. The way his hand curves around her hip, the way she smiles against his lips, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, makes me drop my gaze fast.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been touched like that. Like something good and wanted.

A strange ache blooms in my chest. Not lust or even longing. Just… emptiness. A reminder of all the nights I lay cold and still, hoping to feel nothing.

I thought North would touch me—especially after the night he hugged me. Held me like I wasn’t made of broken glass. Like I wouldn’t shatter. But nothing happened. And I don’t know if I should be relieved or disappointed. He’s busy. I know that. Club business, phone calls, people showing up to pass him off, but he still slows down for me. Still asks if I’ve eaten, makes sure there’s juice in the fridge and blankets on the couch. It’s stupid, I know it is, but lately I’ve been dreaming of him.

Of that night he claimed me. The way his voice dropped. The way his fingers traced my skin with more care than I’d ever known. I wake up flushed, my chest tight, my body aching for something I don’t understand. Something I shouldn’t want but when you’ve lived in the dark so long… even a flicker of warmth feels like salvation.

After changing into something comfier, leggings and one of North’s shirts, because his scent feels like the closest thing to peace, I wander into the backyard.

The garden’s a mess of overgrown flowerbeds and a dying bush I think he forgot he has. It’s not much, but it’s something. North never gives me a list of things to do. He’s never asked me to clean or cook or even keep busy.

And today, cleaning and cooking isn’t enough anymore. I want to feel useful. I want to do something that leaves a mark.

I dig my fingers into the soil, pulling weeds, trimming the mess, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist. My legs are sore. My back aches. But for once, it feels good.

When I’m done with one patch, I grab my phone without thinking and type out the text to North.

Am I allowed to find a job?

I know he’s out of town. He mentioned something about a meeting. As soon as I send the text, regret slams into me. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have bothered him. Who the hell do I think I am? Still, I don’t delete it. I let it sit there, blue ticks and all, and set the phone down.

The sky darkens sometime later, clouds rolling in slowly like a warning. Then, the first drop hits my cheek. And another. Then another. Until the heavens open and the rain pours down but I don’t run. Instead, I let it soak me. My hair clings to my scalp. My clothes stick to my skin and for some insane reason—I laugh.