Page 8 of North’s Claim

I glance down. Right. Myka’s favorite. Tight, short, black.

I dig through the bag. Leggings and a worn, soft tee. My fingers fumble and the shakes are worse now. The drugs are fading. My mind is clearer than it’s been in days. Clear enough to remember.

How did he know I was high? That I’d been used. That Myka never… My face burns because I did. With North.

One touch. One small, almost cruel gesture. And I came so hard it knocked the air from my lungs. I shouldn’t think about that. It was about power. Not pleasure. Right?

Denise hands me a folded piece of paper. “My private number. Use it if you need to.”

My fingers tremble as I take it. I haven’t had a phone in so long, I forget what freedom feels like.

“Thanks,” I whisper. It’s all I can give.

She nods. “You’re not alone, Nyxa. Even if it feels like it.”

I don’t answer. Because I don’t believe her. I’m worth nothing and my life is just a cruel joke.

A knock makes me freeze. Everything inside me tenses. My breath stops. Shit, if Myka gets in here it’d end so bad for me.

“That’ll be him,” Denise says quietly. “I’ll wait outside.”

I change fast. Braid my hair. Grab my toothbrush. The only thing that’s just mine.

I reach for North’s cut, hesitate, then press it to my face and breathe in. Safety shouldn’t smell like this. But it does. I drape it over my arm, not my shoulders. It’s not where it belongs. It’s not mine.

I step out and slam into him.

Again.

North exhales through his nose. The same way Myka did before he hit me.

“Sorry,” I whisper, head down. I hold out the cut. “Here.”

He doesn’t move. Not until I lift my eyes. His gaze is molten. Quiet rage. Not at me, I hope. He takes the cut, then places it right back over my shoulders. “You got everything you need?” he asks.

I lift my toothbrush.

He huffs something that might be a laugh. “Let’s go.” He grabs my hand. His skin is warm. Rough. I follow. Like always. But this time, I don’t feel like I’m walking into hell.

The bikes wait. Tornado and Rook are already on theirs. North straddles his and hands me a helmet.

I hesitate.

Myka hated when I touched him. Told me I didn’t deserve to be seen on his bike. That I made him look weak.

North doesn’t say a word. He waits.

I climb on. Careful and distant. I don’t wrap my arms around him. I wouldn’t dare.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

The engine growls to life. The vibration climbs through my thighs, into my ribs, up my spine. He rides fast. Like something’s chasing us. Maybe it is.

The hotel we stop at is quiet, clean and normal. I don’t trust it. He gets the room key without fuss. Leads me upstairs and opens the door.

One bed.