Chapter Seven
Nova
The clubhouse reeked of blood and antiseptic, a harsh reminder of yesterday’s violence.
I flexed my fingers. They felt raw after I’d scrubbed them multiple times to remove the dried blood.
The sounds of the Blood Pagans’ attack echoed in my head -- gunshots, breaking glass, men’s screams. I’d slept maybe two hours, curled up on a cot in Doc’s medical room, jumping at every creak and shadow.
But morning brought clarity, if not peace.
They wanted me gone. And after what happened, I couldn’t blame them.
At first, I thought I’d earned my spot here and would stay.
Then I’d thought about everything all night long.
I understood why Savior worried about my presence here.
My actions had injured people, had nearly killed them.
If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t dug into my mother’s last investigation, none of this would have happened.
I picked my way through the devastated main room.
Overturned tables created a makeshift battlefield, bloodstained bandages littered the floor, and the sharp smell of gunpowder lingered beneath the bleach someone had used to mop up the worst of the blood.
A Prospect swept broken glass into a neat pile, his movements mechanical, eyes hollow from the night’s horrors.
Another patched member sat at the bar, arm freshly bandaged, draining a whiskey glass despite the early hour.
His gaze followed me, not hostile but wary, like I was a loaded gun that might go off again at any moment.
Honestly, I couldn’t even feel offended. He had every right to see me that way.
Doc emerged from his medical room, dark circles under his eyes making the blue even more striking.
He’d changed his blood-soaked shirt for a clean one, but exhaustion hung on him like a physical weight.
Our gazes met across the room, and something passed between us -- a current of understanding, of shared trauma.
He’d been up all night treating the wounded, and I’d stayed by his side, handing him instruments, holding pressure on wounds, doing whatever I could to help.
“President wants us,” he said quietly as he reached me. “Church.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. This was it, then. The reckoning I’d known was coming.
We walked side by side down the hallway toward the chapel, close enough that our arms nearly touched but not quite.
Doc’s presence beside me felt like both armor and vulnerability -- his support gave me strength, but my feelings for him had created a complication neither of us had expected when I’d first walked into this clubhouse.
The heavy wooden door stood open. Inside, Savior sat at the head of the table, his weathered face grim beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.
Saint occupied the VP chair to his right, while Tempest, the Sergeant-at-Arms whose confrontation with Doc I’d overheard yesterday, cracked his knuckles at Savior’s left.
The sound echoed in the quiet room like small bones breaking.
“Come in.” Savior’s voice remained neutral but carried the weight of authority that made my spine straighten automatically. “Close the door.”
Doc pulled it shut behind us. I stood before them, refusing to let my hands tremble or my gaze drop. I’d faced down corrupt cops and killers; I could face these men and whatever verdict they’d reached.
“Last night was a clusterfuck,” Savior began without preamble. “Four brothers shot, clubhouse shot to hell, and the Blood Pagans getting bold enough to hit us on our own territory.”
I nodded, accepting the unspoken accusation. This violence had followed me here.
“You held your own,” he continued, surprising me. “Most women would’ve been hiding under a table, but you were out there, helping Doc save lives.”
“It was the right thing to do,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
Tempest snorted. “Right thing nearly got more brothers killed.”
Doc shifted beside me, his posture tensing. I placed a hand lightly on his arm -- a silent request to let me handle this.
“I know what you’re going to say.” My gaze locked with Savior’s. “I need to leave. And you’re right.”
A flash of surprise crossed his face. He clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so readily.
“It’s the smart move,” Savior said. “For your safety and to reduce heat on the club. We’ve arranged a safe house three towns over. Doc will take you there today.”
I felt Doc’s muscles tighten beneath my fingers. He hadn’t known this part of the plan. I let my hand fall back to my side, fingers curling into fists as I chose my next words carefully.
“I’ll go.” I watched their expressions. “But I have conditions.”
Tempest’s eyebrows shot up. “Conditions?” he repeated, like the word tasted bad in his mouth.
“The club doesn’t just deal with the human trafficking.
I want people to know my parents were murdered and why.
I didn’t come this far to walk away with nothing.
” My voice didn’t waver, though my hands trembled slightly at my sides.
I clasped them behind my back, standing tall despite feeling small in this room full of dangerous men.
“The trafficking ring, the corrupt officials, the missing girls -- all of it. My mother died trying to expose these people. I won’t let that be for nothing. ”
Saint leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table. “And if we say no?”
I lifted my chin. “Then I’ll keep digging on my own. I’ll find other allies. Even if the FBI hadn’t listened before, maybe I can make them hear me now. Whatever it takes.”
The threat hung in the air between us. Bringing in feds was the nuclear option in their world -- one that could destroy the club entirely.
It was one thing for me to have gone to the FBI before, but to bring them in now?
Not the best idea, at least not for the Dixie Reapers.
I might not know a lot about this place, but I’d picked up enough hints from Uncle Bats to know these men were outlaws.
I doubted they did everything the legal way.
Feds sniffing around would bring trouble.
“You got your uncle’s spine,” Savior said after a long silence. “And his ability to be a pain in the ass.”
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch toward a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Savior exchanged glances with Saint and Tempest, some silent communication passing between them. Doc remained a solid presence at my back, quiet but watchful.
“Fine.” Savior gave a slight nod. “We’ll handle the investigation, and make sure people know what really happened to your parents, but you stay at the safe house, keep your head down, and don’t contact anyone without our say-so. Clear?”
Relief flooded through me so strongly I nearly swayed on my feet. “Clear.”
“Doc will escort you,” he continued. “Get your things. You leave in an hour.”
I nodded, recognizing the dismissal. Doc opened the door, and I stepped into the hallway with his presence closing in behind me as the door shut again. The dim corridor held only us, the weight of the decision pressing between us.
“You knew they’d want me gone,” I mumbled, not turning to face him.
“It’s the right call.”
I nodded, even if I didn’t want to agree with him. The Blood Pagans had brought war to the club’s doorstep because of me. My actions had hurt people -- could have killed them -- because I stirred up a hornet’s nest.
“I’m sorry.” I turned to face him. “For all of this.”
Doc’s expression softened, those piercing blue eyes warming as they met mine. “Don’t be.” He reached out to brush his fingers against mine, the brief contact sending electricity up my arm. “You’re doing what your mother would have done. What’s right.”
In that moment, standing in the dim hallway with the scent of blood and gunpowder still clinging to our clothes, I realized just how much I relied on this man I barely knew. How much I felt for him.
“We should go.” I pulled away before I could do something stupid like throw myself into his arms. “I need to pack.”
Doc nodded, his expression returning to the professional mask I’d first encountered. But now I knew what lay beneath it -- a man as determined to find justice as I was. A man who’d stood between me and danger more than once.
A man I was increasingly afraid of losing.
* * *
The apartment looked exactly as it had yesterday, but everything felt different.
Mom’s files still covered the desk, my half-empty coffee mug from yesterday morning sat abandoned on the nightstand, and the sweater I’d draped over the chair waited as if I’d be back to reclaim it tomorrow.
But the suitcase open on the bed changed everything.
I was leaving, running away from the danger I’d brought to people who’d only tried to help me.
I folded a T-shirt with mechanical precision, avoiding Doc’s gaze as he leaned against the doorframe, his presence filling the small room even in silence.
“You don’t need to watch me pack.” I didn’t look up as I placed the shirt in the suitcase. “I won’t make a run for it.”
“I know.” Doc didn’t move from the doorway.
I grabbed another shirt from the dresser, focusing on the simple task to keep my hands from shaking. The reality of leaving -- of abandoning my investigation, of putting distance between myself and Doc -- sat like a stone in my stomach.
“How are the wounded?” I asked, needing to fill the silence.
“Stable. Thanks in part to you.”
I finally looked up at him, allowing myself to really see him for the first time since we’d left the chapel.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a day’s worth of stubble roughened his jaw.
His clothes were fresh, but exhaustion hung on him like a physical weight.
Despite this, he watched me with an intensity that made my skin warm.