Chapter 7
North
The moment the door clicks behind me, I storm across the lot and march straight into the office.
Tornado, Iron, and Colt are already inside. Cutter’s just behind me, Soul steps in last, shutting the door.
They know I’m not in the mood for bullshit.
“She settled?” Tornado asks.
I don’t answer. I just glare.
“Right,” he mutters. “Soul ran the tech sweep. Cutter pulled what he could from medical. Here's what we got.”
Soul steps forward, scrolling his phone.
“Name she gave us—Elizabeth Nyxa Monterall. Turns out that part’s legit.
She was born in Indiana, 22 years. School records check out.
Smart as hell. Straight-A student. Dance school, awards, top of her class.
” He lifts a brow. “Girl was destined for some kind of stage.”
Cutter speaks next. “Her dad passed away when she was fifteen. After that, grades dropped. ER records show a broken forearm at sixteen, some cracked ribs. Couple stitches. Appendectomy a year later. After that? Nothing. No medical, no credit, no trace until a coma admission showed up in Chicago.”
I narrow my eyes. “The coma. When did it happen?”
“Eleven months, give or take a few days. No follow-up, no physical rehab. She checked herself out and vanished again.”
That means she’s been with the Wolves long enough to be worn down. Long enough for the shit to dig in deep.
“She’s not in withdrawal,” I mutter.
Cutter nods. “Which means she either didn’t get the heavy dose daily, or she purged. You said she puked before and after the charcoal? She might’ve done that every time it hit her system. Might’ve been instinct, might’ve been her way of fighting it.”
My fists curl. “Get her a cell phone,” I order. “All her documents. ID, driver’s license, everything. I want her on paper and protected. You hear me?”
Soul and Tornado nod, both stone-faced now.
“And a cut,” I add. “She wears my colors. No one fucks with her.”
That gets a reaction.
“You making her your ol’ lady, Prez?” Iron snorts.
“Shit, I didn’t even know you dated.” Colt grins.
“Shut it,” I snap. “She’s not my ol’ lady. She’s under my roof. That’s all.”
Cutter grins. “Under your roof. On your bike. Wearing your jacket. You sure, brother?”
I shoot him a glare so sharp he actually steps back.
“Anyone else wanna make jokes?” I ask.
No one does.
Good.
My phone rings and my eyes land to the caller ID.
I sigh and answer. “Yeah?”
“You boys’ ride smooth?” Bullet asks. I can hear a beer cracking open on the other end.
“She’s fine.”
“You sure about that?”
I glance toward the window. “She’s not going back.”
Bullet chuckles. “Never saw you look at a woman like that.”
“Don’t push it.”
“I’m not. I’m just sayin’… she yours now, and I don’t mean property.”
“She’s under protection,” I correct. “Mine. Saints'’.”
“You ever plan on giving her back?”
I pause. “No.”
Bullet laughs hard. “Didn’t think so. She’s got fire. Didn’t see it at first, but I see it now.”
The line goes quiet for a minute.
“Keep her safe, brother.”
“I will.”
I end the call, shove the phone in my pocket, and look up.
Every man in the room is watching me but no one says a word because they know the truth I won’t admit. She’s not mine but I’ll burn the fucking world down before I let anyone else touch her.
By the time I get home, it’s past midnight. Everything’s still. Quiet. My boots echo through the house as I drag my ass toward the fridge. I pop a beer, down half in one go, and peer around.
It’s spotless. Not a damn thing out of place. That woman must’ve cleaned everything with her bare hands.
Then I hear it. A voice. Sharp, panicked. Broken.
My gut knots, and I bolt for the bedroom. She’s curled up in the armchair, the one I use to toss my cut and gear, twisting in her sleep. Breathing ragged, fists clenched, legs trembling like she’s fighting ghosts. Fucking nightmares.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, finish the rest of the beer, and leave the empty bottle in the sink. Then I strip down and head for the shower. Need to clear my head before I do something I regret.
Later, stretched out on the couch, I find I can’t sleep. There’s no silence in this house anymore. I can hear her breathing across the house: slow, shallow. Then it speeds. Then stops and starts again. It’s like my brain synced with hers, waiting for the next breath to fall.
Footsteps echo, soft and bare. She whispers my name, and I pretend not to hear.
Then her hand lands on my arm, feather light. “North?”
My jaw ticks. I keep my eyes closed.
“Why are you sleeping on the couch?” she asks.
I crack an eye. “You weren’t in the bed either.”
She flinches at my tone. I didn’t mean it harshly. I just… don’t know how to speak softly sometimes.
“I thought—” she starts.
“You thought what?”
“That you didn’t want to share space with me in here.”
I stay silent.
“Please go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”
That’s when I close my eyes tight, trying to kill the fury that bubbles up again. I hear her shifting. Quiet as hell. I’m about to leave out a breath when I feel her move.
My eyes snap open. The fuck? She’s lying on the damn carpet.
“What the hell are you doing?” I bark.
“Since you don’t want to share a room with me, I’ll sleep here.” Her voice is small.
I sit up and rub my face. Jesus fucking Christ.
“It doesn’t bother me to share a room or a bed with you,” I grit out. “What bothers me is you sleeping on a fucking armchair or the goddamn floor.”
She blinks at me, like she’s still trying to process the fact that I’m not screaming, or swinging, or shoving her back into silence.
“Get up,” I growl. “Let’s go.”
She scrambles up, following me without a word.
We get to the bedroom, and I jerk my chin toward the left side of the bed. “You ain’t staying near the window.”
She crosses her arms, voice low but firm. “I’m not gonna escape.”
I arch a brow. “Didn’t say you would.”
Her jaw clenches. “Then why can’t I sleep there?”
“Because,” I snap, “if someone breaks into the hood, they aim for the windows first. It’s not about you running, it's about keeping your head from being the first thing blown off.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it again with a frown.
“I’ve been sleeping near a door that didn’t lock for a year,” she mutters. “Windows don’t scare me.”
I step closer. “They should.”
She huffs. “You’re bossy as hell, you know that?”
“Yup.” I walk to the other side of the bed. “Get used to it.”
She grumbles something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like asshole.
I smirk, not even hiding it. “That sass gonna keep you warm tonight?”
She flops onto the bed, tugging the blanket over herself. “Warmer than the damn floor.”
I shake my head, crawling under the covers. “You’re stubborn.”
“Not stubborn. Just not used to someone barking orders without swinging a fist after.”
That sobers me.
For a second, we’re both quiet.