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.
We roll through slowly. Heads turn. A few of the guys peer from the porch. Some nudge each other. Curious, interested but I ignore them. I’m too fucking tired for questions. Even though we stopped a few times to get her hydrated and keep her upright, I feel the weight of every mile in my bones.
I pull straight to Cutter’s door and kill the engine.
The second the bike dies, the front door swings open.
Cutter steps out, beer in hand, wearing that lazy-ass grin he always has when he’s off-duty. “Look who finally dragged his ass home.”
I swing my leg off and stretch my back. “Didn’t miss you.”
He nods to Nyxa as she carefully dismounts. “She yours?”
“Cutter,” I warn. “This is Nyxa. She needs you to run the works. Now.”
Nyxa blinks, unsure. I turn to her, voice a touch lower. “He’s our doc. Don’t let the beer fool you. He knows what he’s doing.”
She goes pale but nods.
Cutter tips his bottle toward her. “I’m the guy who pokes and prods. Nothing you can’t handle. Promise.”
She swallows hard and glances at me.
“You’ll be fine,” I say. “Just let him check you out.”
Cutter arches a brow. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the day you brought a woman to my door.”
I glare at him. “Mind your fucking business.”
He laughs, stepping back to let her in. “Alright, alright. Come on, sweetheart. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
She follows him with hesitation in every step and I watch her go, jaw tight. I should walk away but I don’t, I follow her in.
Cutter gestures to the cot inside the exam room. “Sit. I’ll make it quick.”
Nyxa lowers herself slowly, her hands folded tight in her lap.
He runs through vitals first, blood pressure, pulse, light in her eyes. Her skin’s clammy. Color’s off. Still dehydrated.
Then the blood draw.
She flinches but doesn’t complain. Just watches the vial fill with red.
Cutter loads it into the testing machine behind him, the one we had installed last year when I enforced monthly checkups. Everyone—members and club girls. I’m not risking the club’s health because one dumbass couldn’t wrap it up.
Just as Cutter’s adjusting the settings, the door nudges open.
Boot trots in. Her tail sways like she owns the place. Nyxa startles when the dog walks right up to her, sniffs her leggings, and then rests her head gently on her knee.
Nyxa’s hand moves slowly, tentatively. But she pets her and fuck me if that isn’t the first real smile I’ve seen on her.
Cutter watches, something easing in his shoulders. “She’s got good taste.” Then he starts asking questions. “When’s the last time you were tested?”
Nyxa hesitates. “I… I don’t know. Maybe… a year? Myka said I didn’t need to. I was only with him. And a few… others. From Wolves.”
She goes quiet.
Cutter looks at me.
I give him a single nod.
He knows. We both know what that means. They didn’t protect her. Not physically or medically.
Cutter doesn’t push. “Alright. We’ll have answers soon.”
I don’t move. Just lean against the wall with my arms crossed and eyes locked on her. She notices and lowers her gaze again.
Boot nudges her leg, and she strokes her fur absently.
Cutter flips a switch and the machine starts humming. “You’ll have results in twenty. In the meantime, let her sit.”
“She needs a meal,” I mutter.
“And a week of sleep,” Cutter replies, cracking open another beer.
I say nothing, but my jaw tics because he’s right and it pisses me off that I can’t fix it with a gun.
The door creaks open again, and Iron and Soul step in. Iron barely has both boots inside when Nyxa jolts like someone stuck a live wire in her. Her eyes dart toward the exit. The kind of look you give when you don’t know whether to run or drop to your knees.
The fuck is happening? It’s known bikers are loud as hell, and they didn’t even slam the door.
She looks shaken. Pale again. And that twitch in her hands doesn’t go unnoticed. My men see it too.
Soul swaggers in with a smirk, raising his brow at the tension thick in the air. He eyes me, then her.
“Boss,” Iron murmurs first. “Ran the name Nyxa like you asked. Nothing.”
My jaw locks. I stare at Nyxa, now seated beside Cutter, her hand stiff on Boot’s head.
“Nyxa.” She flinches, then stands. Snaps upright like she was trained to. I take a step closer, voice even. “What’s your full name?”
She hesitates. Her lips part. “Elizabeth Nyxa Monterall.”
Soul’s already pulling out his phone, punching in a message to our tech team.
I raise a brow, still not satisfied. “Louder.”
She swallows. “Elizabeth Nyxa Monterall,” she repeats, voice shaking.
And then, like clockwork, Cutter curses from the other side of the room. “Fuck.”
I whip my head toward him. “What now?”
He doesn’t look up, just glares at the monitor. “She was dosed with a cocktail. GHB, probably laced with ketamine. A real special mix to keep someone pliant. It’s a smart blend for control. Dangerous as fuck in the wrong hands.”
My blood goes cold, then hot, and I step forward clenching my fists. “What the fuck do we do now?”
Cutter finally meets my eyes. “She’s not overdosing, but her system’s worn down. We’ll flush it out. Hydration and vitamins. Mostly she needs rest, clean food, and time.”
I look at her. She looks at the floor.
“How long’s he been doing this to you?” Cutter asks her.
Her lips part, then close again. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
I don’t buy it, but I don’t press.
Her silence says enough.