Raven
All it's going to take is one more hit, and we'll be face-to-face with my father, my brother, and every consequence we've been trying to outrun.
Sam jerks, his breath leaving him in a harsh, pained rush as he sits up.
“No matter what happens,” I say firmly, “I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”
“Sweetheart,” he swallows hard. “Your father’s about to come through that door and see something he can’t unsee. Something I can’t take back.”
“I don’t care,” I breathe. “I choose you.”
“No matter what happens,” he says, voice ragged. “You stay behind me.”
My mouth opens to argue, to tell him I won't let him face them alone, but the door gives a long, splintering groan. Grabbing the sheet, I yank it to my chest just as the final blow crashes into the door.
The top hinge snaps. The door flies inward.
Knox storms in first, his face twisted with murderous intent. His gaze lands on the bed. On me, half-covered by the sheet. Then on Samuel.
Dad’s right behind him. His face is carved with something infinitely more dangerous.
Samuel doesn’t move. He simply stands there, breath unsteady, spine unbreakable, as if protecting me is the only place in the world he ever belonged.
A sob slips out before I can stop it.
Knox sees red. “You son of a bitch.” He lunges, hitting Samuel so hard his back slams into the dresser.
“Stop,” I scream, clutching the sheet to my chest.
But Knox doesn't stop. Another punch snaps Samuel's head to the side. Then another. His jaw. His ribs. His shoulder. Each blow echoes through the tiny room.
“Enough,” Dad barks.
Knox either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. He surges forward again.
Mouse and Bishop burst into the room, eyes widening as they take in Knox, Samuel, and the chaos exploding between them.
Bishop grabs Knox around the waist, dragging him back. “Knox, what the fuck?”
Mouse wedges himself between them, eyes bouncing from me to Samuel and back to me. “Wolf, tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
“He touched my sister.” Knox lunges again, dragging Bishop with him. “You’re dead, Wolf.”
“Settle down.” Bishop strains, trying to shove him back.
“Get your hands off me,” Knox roars, swinging again even as Bishop digs his heels in to restrain him. “He’s dead. He’s fucking dead.”
“Stop fighting,” I cry, voice cracking. “Please, just stop.”
Samuel braces, jaw clenched, chest heaving, blood dripping from his lip as he pulls himself to his feet. “Everyone get the fuck out.”
The whole room freezes. Even Knox stops struggling.
“All of you, get out,” Samuel seethes, chest heaving. “She deserves her dignity at the very least.”
Dad’s eyes flick to me, the sheet still clutched around my body, my shoulders trembling.
“Raven,” he says, voice cold, “get dressed and meet me in the main room. Now.”
Knox tears free of Bishop’s hold and jabs a shaking finger at Samuel. “You’re done. You’re done in this club. Done in this family. Done breathing if you come near her again.”
I choke on my tears watching the two people I love most destroy each other and knowing I’m powerless to stop any of it.
“Everyone out,” Samuel growls again. “Or so help me God—”
It takes Mouse and Bishop to shove Knox into the hallway. Dad follows.
The room goes silent. Samuel’s still breathing hard, knuckles white, body shaking from pain and adrenaline.
“Sam,” I whisper.
He closes his eyes, anguish, fury, and love slicing through him all at once.
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice ragged. “I’m so damn sorry—” The look in his eyes breaks me wide open.
The sheet slips from my body as I slide off the bed. “Sit down,” I say softly.
He doesn’t move.
“Sam,” I say, stepping closer. “Please.”
He eases himself down onto the edge of the mattress, wincing as the movement pulls at his bruised ribs.
“Raven.” His voice is quieter now. “Get dressed.”
I glance toward the clothes scattered on the floor, but don’t move.
“Sam, I just want to help.”
“I know.” He drags a trembling hand down his face, His eyes glancing over my shoulder to the splintered doorway where light spills into the room. “But the whole damn hall can see straight in. I’ll kill someone if they look at you right now.”
By the time I finish pulling on my clothes, my hands are shaking.
Blood has dried at the corner of Sam's mouth. Bruises are already beginning to darken beneath his skin.
I cross the room and kneel in front of him, lifting his chin so I can get a better look at the damage.
He flinches. “Sweetheart, you don't have to—”
“You're not alone in this, Wolf,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “Let me take care of you.”
His eyes close, lashes wet. I grab the hem of the ruined bedsheet and dab carefully at the blood on his mouth.
“Let me see your ribs,” I whisper.
“Rae—”
“Lift your arm.”
He obeys, wincing. Purple bruises stain his side, ugly and spreading.
My breath hitches. “You need to go to the hospital. Something might be broken.”
“He didn’t break anything.” But the rasp in his voice tells me the truth. He isn’t sure.
I slide my hand along his ribs, feeling for heat, swelling, anything that might tell me how badly he’s hurt. His shoulders sag, and his head drops until his forehead rests against mine.
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t look at me like I’m worth saving.”
My voice trembles. “You are.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “I’ve ruined your life.”
“You are my life.”
His hands rise and cradle my face. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not,” I whisper, tears slipping free. “But you have me. I’m yours, Samuel Morgan. Forever and always.”
He kisses me like he’s memorizing me in case this is the last time he ever gets to touch me.
I slide my arms around him, careful of his ribs, and pull him closer. He groans softly against my mouth.
“You deserve so much better than what I can offer you,” he says. “But I’m a selfish bastard. I want to make you mine so nothing can take you away from me.”
“Then, let’s go,” I say. “We can run away and get married.”
For a moment, the world outside his room doesn’t exist.
Then, a heavy footstep echoes down the hall. Samuel stiffens instantly. Someone stops outside his door.
“Wolf,” Mouse says. “Church. Now.”
My blood runs cold. “Don’t go,” I whisper.
Samuel brushes a trembling hand through my hair. “I have to.”
“Sam, Knox will—”
“Sweetheart, if I don’t face them now, this will only get worse.”
“What if they.” Terror slams into my ribs like a fist. “What if they vote you out? What if they—”
He kisses me again, soft and firm, the kind of kiss that says remember me.
“I’ll come back to you,” he murmurs. “No matter what they decide.”
“Sam—”
“Go home. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
My throat burns. “What if you don’t come back?”
His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing a tear I didn’t feel fall. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”
He stands, painfully, slowly, and pulls on his cut. Blood stains the collar. His ribs are a disaster. His jaw’s already swelling. But when he steps through the remains of his door, his shoulders square and his chin lifts.
Mouse meets his eyes. “You ready?”
Samuel glances back at me. His eyes hold a vow and a goodbye stitched together.
“Make sure she gets home safe,” he says to Mouse and then walks away.