Page 98 of Claimed By the Psychos

"I know enough." He lets go of the bag, moving toward the door. "Besides, something tells me you need this as much as I do. Get dressed. Something dark, flexible. We leave in ten."

He's gone before I can respond, leaving me standing there with sweat cooling on my skin and a decision to make. Stay here, keep spiraling, keep pushing Juniper away with my distance. Or follow the alpha who should be my enemy into whatever violence he's planning.

Fuck it.

Ten minutes later, I meet him in the garage, dressed in black tactical pants and a jacket that's seen better days but moves like a second skin. He's standing next to two bulky yet sleek motorcycles, checking something on his phone.

"You know how to ride?" he asks without looking up.

I scoff. "What do you think?"

"Just checking." He swings a leg over one of the bikes, a matte black monster that looks like it could break the sound barrier.

"No blindfold?" I ask dryly.

"I'm trying to build trust," he says, and there's something in his voice that might be amusement. "Besides, something tells me you'll behave knowing Juniper's back at base."

I roll my eyes, but he's not wrong. The threat is implicit but unnecessary. I’m not going to do anything that puts her at risk. Not when she's finally somewhere secure, even if that somewhere is with them.

The bike roars to life under me, and for the first time in days, something in my chest unclenches. The engine's vibration travels through my body, grounding me in basic physics. Speed, momentum, the laws that govern objects in motion. No complicated emotions, no pack dynamics. Just the road unwinding ahead and the night air cutting through my jacket.

We ride for an hour, maybe more, following back roads that wind through forests and forgotten industrial districts. No talking, no need for it. Just two people who understand that sometimes you need to move or you'll explode. The city lights appear gradually, sprawling across the valley like spilled glitter, and we descend into it like we own the place.

The freedom of it is intoxicating, but I’m still memorizing every mile we cover, every turn we take. Not because I'm planning to run, at least not yet, but because information is survival, and knowing the terrain is half the battle.

But more than that, the ride clears my head in a way nothing else has. The decision I've been circling crystallizes into something sharp and definite.

Help them first.

End whoever's hunting us.

Then deal with Evan.

Then... whatever comes after.

We pull into a warehouse district on the edge of what must be the industrial quarter. It's all rust and broken windows and the kind of shadows that hide a multitude of sins. Bane kills theengine, pulling off his helmet to reveal a scarred grin that's all predator.

"Low-level gangster," he says, answering my unasked question. "Been harassing omegas at bars in the area. Spiking drinks, getting handsy, the usual piece of shit behavior."

I raise an eyebrow. "Seems like sending the National Guard to rescue a cat from a tree."

He snorts. "Maybe. Probably would only take one guy to handle him, and an amateur at that. But I needed fresh air, and breaking skulls is my idea of distraction. Figured you might be a kindred spirit."

There's something honest in that admission that makes me respect him more. No pretense about justice or righteousness. Just the simple truth that sometimes violence is its own reward when directed at people who deserve it.

"Lead the way," I say, and follow him into the maze of streets that smell like piss.

The bar he leads us to is exactly what you'd expect. There's dim lighting, sticky floors, the kind of place where nobody asks questions as long as you pay cash. We settle into a corner booth with sight lines to all the exits, ordering whiskey that tastes like paint thinner but burns just right.

"So," Bane says after the first drink, "given any more thought to what we discussed earlier?"

I spin the glass between my fingers, watching the amber liquid catch the neon light from the beer sign. "I'm still leaving. After whoever's trying to kill us is dead, after you're all safe, I'm gone."

He nods slowly, no surprise on his face. "I'd hoped you might change your mind, but I figured that was the case."

"You going to tell Juniper? Try to stop me?"

"No." The word is simple, definitive. "That would be kind of the opposite of building trust, wouldn't it?"