Chapter 3 - Hawk
I pace the cracked concrete outside the motel room, phone pressed to my ear as Reaper's voice comes through, low and measured.
"You've got eyes on the girl now?" he asks.
"Yes. She's safe." I glance through the window where I can see Olivia sitting on the edge of the bed, her posture screaming vulnerability. "Situation's about what I expected. Boyfriend's been beating her regularly. It's bad, Reap."
"You need backup yet?"
I consider the question. Devin doesn't sound like the type to have serious protection or connections, but that doesn't mean he's not dangerous. A cornered animal can still do damage.
"Not yet. Let me handle the initial contact. I'll call if things escalate."
"Alright." Reaper pauses. "Knight and Dice are on standby if you need them. Just say the word."
The offer means more than he probably realizes. The club's resources being made available for my personal business shows their commitment to me, even though I'm still technically a prospect.
"Appreciate that."
"This girl..." Reaper's voice takes on a knowing edge. "She the reason you were so messed up when you first came to us?"
I tense, stopping my pacing. "That obvious?"
"Only took about two bottles of whiskey before you started talking about the girl back home. The one who never knew."
Heat rises up my neck. I barely remember that night. One of my lowest after leaving Hope Peak. Drowning in nightmares from the war and heartache from walking away from Olivia.
"Yeah," I admit finally. "She's the one."
"Then handle it," Reaper says simply. "But remember what I told you when you first asked for your cut."
"Club comes first," I recite. The first rule of brotherhood.
"Club comes first," he confirms. "But family is why we fight. If she's your family, even if she doesn't know it yet, then you take care of business. Just don't bring heat back on us."
"Understood. Clean and contained."
"Good. Check in by midnight."
The call ends, and I slip the phone back into my pocket, taking a moment to clear my head. Talking to Reaper always centers me. The man has a way of cutting through the noise and focusing on what matters.
Through the window, I see Olivia watching me. Her blue eyes track my movements, filled with a mixture of worry and something else. Fear, maybe. Not of Devin this time, but of me. Of what I might do.
That cuts deeper than I want to admit.
I head back inside, finding Olivia exactly where I left her, perched on the edge of the bed like she's ready to bolt at any second.
"Everything okay?" she asks cautiously.
"Fine. Just checking in." I move to the mini-fridge, grab a bottle of water to give my hands something to do. "My president wanted an update."
"President." She tests the word. "Like a club president? Not exactly how I pictured motorcycle gangs working."
"It's not a gang," I correct automatically, though I know how it must look to her. "It's organized. Structured. There's a hierarchy, responsibilities."
"What's your responsibility?" Her question is direct, her eyes searching my face for the truth.
I consider how much to tell her. The club walks both sides of the legal line, but my specific duties aren't something I can discuss openly. Not even with her.
"I handle security," I say finally. It's not a lie, just not the whole truth. "Risk assessment. Threat neutralization."
Her eyebrows rise slightly. "That sounds... military. And vague."
"It's what I'm good at." I shrug, taking a seat at the small table, keeping my posture relaxed despite the tension building on my shoulders. "The skills transferred."
"And what does that mean for Devin?" she presses. "Are you handling his 'security risk'? Neutralizing the threat?"
I meet her gaze directly. "If that's what it takes."
She looks away first, her fingers worrying the hem of her sweater. "I just wanted to get away from him. I didn't think through what happens next."
"I know." My voice softens despite myself. "But getting away is only half the solution. You live in Hope Peak. This is your home. Your job is here. You can't spend your life looking over your shoulder, afraid of running into him at the grocery store."
"So, what's your solution? Violence?"
"If necessary."
"Tyler—"
"When's the last time he hit you, Liv?" I interrupt, needing her to face reality. "Before the eye."
She swallows hard. "Last weekend. He didn't like how I was dressed for dinner with his friends. Said I looked like I was trying to get attention."
"And the time before that?"
She stares at her hands. "Thursday before last. I was on the phone with a coworker too long."
"And before that?"
"I don't know, Tyler," she says, voice rising. "I don't keep a log. It just happens. It's just my life now."
"It's not your life anymore." I lean forward, catching her gaze and holding it. "That ended the moment you called me. But we need to make sure he understands that too."
I can see her mind working behind those blue eyes that have haunted me for years. "You've changed so much," she says finally. "The Tyler I knew would never talk about hurting someone so... calmly."
"The Tyler you knew hadn't watched his unit get blown apart by an IED," I say before I can stop myself. "Hadn't spent months learning to walk again. Hadn't come home to find the only thing that mattered to him was with someone else."
I regret the words immediately. They reveal too much, expose nerves I've spent two years trying to cauterize.
Olivia's expression shifts from wariness to something softer. "Is that why you left? Because of me and Devin?"
I look away, unwilling to lie but unable to confirm the truth. "I left because I needed to figure out who I was after the military. What I was supposed to do with the rest of my life."
"And did you? Figure it out?"
I think about the past two years. The lost months after leaving Hope Peak, drifting aimlessly until I found the Outlaw Order. The sense of purpose that came with brotherhood. The clarity that comes from knowing your place in a chain of command.
"I'm working on it." I stand, needing to move. My bad leg protests after too long sitting, and I hide the wince as I stretch it out. "Look, we need to talk about what happens next."
She sighs, clearly recognizing the deflection but letting it go. "Okay. What's your plan?"
"First, I need to make sure this place is secure. I trust my friend at the front desk, but motels have thin walls and too many access points. I'll do a perimeter check; make sure we've got clear sightlines and exit routes."
Olivia blinks at me. "You really are still in soldier mode, aren't you?"
"Old habits," I mutter, though it's more than that. The hypervigilance never really leaves you after combat. The constant assessment of threats, exits, cover positions. It becomes as natural as breathing.
"And after you make sure we're not under siege?" There's a hint of sarcasm in her tone, but it's gentle. Almost like the old Olivia, the one who used to tease me about my seriousness.
"Then I pay Devin a visit."
Her face falls. "Tyler, please—"
"Just to talk," I clarify, though we both know it might be more than that. "I need to establish boundaries. Make sure he understands the situation has changed."
"And if he doesn't listen to reason?" She hugs herself, the gesture making her look smaller. "Devin has a temper. He doesn't like being challenged."
"Then he'll learn a valuable lesson about consequences." I keep my voice even, matter-of-fact. "But I'm hoping it doesn't come to that."
It's a lie. Part of me—a dark, angry part that's grown since my days in combat—wants him to resist. Wants an excuse to make him feel a fraction of the pain he's inflicted on Olivia. But I keep that thought to myself.
"When?" she asks quietly.
"Tomorrow. Sunday. You said he'll be at Brady's Bar watching sports?"
She nods. "He always goes around noon, stays until the late games finish."
"Perfect. Public enough to discourage extreme reactions, private enough for a serious conversation." I've already started planning the approach in my head. Entry points, exit strategy, contingencies if things go sideways.
"I should come with you," Olivia says suddenly.
"Absolutely not." The words come out sharper than intended.
"It's about me, Tyler. I should be there."
"That's exactly why you shouldn't be." I move closer, needing her to understand. "Your presence would complicate things. Make him more volatile, more unpredictable."
"Or it might help him see reason," she counters. "Show him I'm serious about leaving."
I shake my head. "He's had plenty of chances to see reason, Liv. All those times he apologized after hitting you? Those were moments he recognized what he was doing was wrong. And he did it anyway."
She flinches at the bluntness of my words.
"I'm sorry," I say, gentling my tone. "But I need you to understand. Men like Devin don't respond to reason when it comes to control. They only understand strength. Consequences."
"And you're going to show him both?" Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I told you. Only if necessary." I hold her gaze steadily. "But you need to trust me on this. Stay here, where it's safe."
She's quiet for a long moment, her internal struggle visible in the set of her shoulders, the way she chews her bottom lip, a nervous habit I remember from years ago.
"Fine," she says finally. "But promise me you won't..." She trails off, unable to finish the thought.
"I promise I'll only do what's necessary to ensure your safety," I say. It's not exactly what she's asking for, but it's the most honest answer I can give.
She studies my face, searching for reassurance. Whatever she sees there seems to satisfy her, for now at least, because she nods slowly.
"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "So, what do we do until tomorrow? Just sit in this motel room and wait?"