Chapter 12 #2
The host is warm but professional, putting me at ease during the pre-interview chat. Then the cameras are rolling and we're live, and everything else fades away except the story I need to tell.
"Ava Langley, thank you for joining us this morning. Your article about the Castellano trafficking network has sparked national conversation about how these operations hide in plain sight. Can you walk us through how you first became aware of this story?"
I take a breath and begin, walking through the investigation chronologically. The missing women I noticed, the patterns I tracked, the connections to the Reapers MC. The host asks smart questions, digging into the methodology without being intrusive, and I find my rhythm.
"You mentioned in your article that you received protection from the Saints Outlaws MC during your investigation. That's an unusual source of help for a journalist. How did that come about?"
Here's the question I've been preparing for. "I was being targeted by people who wanted to silence the investigation. The Saints became aware of the situation and offered protection. They have their own reasons for opposing human trafficking, and our interests aligned."
"There's been speculation about whether this represents a new relationship between outlaw motorcycle clubs and law enforcement. What's your response to that?"
"I think it's important to distinguish between cooperation and parallel interests. The Saints weren't working for law enforcement. They were protecting someone who needed help and taking action against an operation that violated their principles. That's different from being informants or assets."
"But they did coordinate with the FBI during the final operation."
"They provided tactical support and intelligence, yes.
But that was specific to this case, not indicative of a broader relationship.
" I choose my words carefully. "The reality is that not all MCs are criminal enterprises, and not all criminals wear leather cuts.
Sometimes the lines are more complicated than we'd like them to be. "
The interview continues for another twenty minutes, covering Castellano's arrest, the rescued girls, the ongoing prosecution. By the time it wraps, I'm exhausted but satisfied. I told the story I needed to tell, protected the club's interests, and hopefully made a difference.
The producer's thrilled, already talking about followup segments and ongoing coverage. I smile and nod but my mind's already racing ahead to getting back to the compound, back to Mason.
The car drops me off three hours later, and I'm barely through the gate before Mason's there, pulling me into his arms.
"Saw the interview. You were perfect." He kisses me hard. "Proud of you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He walks me inside where brothers are gathering around the TV for the replay. "Come on. Let's watch it together."
We settle on the couch, me tucked against his side, and I watch myself on screen telling the story that's consumed the last year of my life. It's surreal seeing it play out, hearing my own voice explain the investigation, the danger, the ultimate takedown.
When it's over, Vulture mutes the TV and looks at me. "You did good. You protected the club while telling your truth. That's not easy."
"Thank you for letting me tell it at all." I glance around the room at the brothers who've become family over the past weeks. "I know this hasn't been easy for any of you."
"Worth it though," Zip says, raising his beer. "Twenty girls safe, monster in custody, and we didn't even have to kill anyone. Well, not many people anyway."
That gets a laugh from the room, dark humor that's characteristic of these men.
"To Ava," Vulture says, raising his own beer. "For having the guts to see this through."
"To Ava," the brothers echo, and I feel emotion clogging my throat.
These men, these dangerous outlaws, they've accepted me. Protected me. Become something I never expected to find.
Mason's arm tightens around me. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Just overwhelmed." I look up at him. "Can we go upstairs? I need some quiet."
"Of course."
In his room, away from the noise and the brothers and the weight of everything that's happened, I finally let myself fall apart. The tears come fast and hard, weeks of stress and fear and adrenaline releasing all at once.
Mason holds me through it, not trying to fix it or make it stop, just being there. When I'm finally cried out, he wipes my face gently.
"Better?"
"Yeah. Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize. You've earned the right to fall apart." He guides me to the bed. "Lie down. Rest."
"I'm not tired."
"Liar. You've been running on fumes for days." He pulls off my shoes, then my jacket. "Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
I want to argue, but exhaustion pulls at me with irresistible force. I curl up on his bed, and he stretches out beside me, solid and warm and safe.
"Mason?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you. Even when everything's crazy and complicated, I love you."
"Love you too, sweetheart. Now sleep."
I do, falling into darkness with his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. And for the first time in months, I sleep without nightmares.
When I wake, it's late afternoon and Mason's still beside me, reading something on his phone. He notices I'm awake and sets it aside.
"How're you feeling?"
"Better. More human." I stretch, feeling the tension that's been living in my shoulders for weeks finally releasing. "What time is it?"
"Almost four. You slept for six hours."
"Jesus. Why didn't you wake me?"
"Because you needed the rest." He pulls me close. "Plus, you're cute when you're sleeping. Didn't want to disturb the view."
"Flirt."
"Only for you." His hand slides under my shirt, palm warm against my skin. "You hungry?"
"Starving. But not for food."
His eyes darken. "Yeah? What are you hungry for?"
"You. Always you." I straddle him, feeling him already hard beneath me. "Think you can handle that?"
"Think I can handle you? Sweetheart, I'm the only one who can handle you." He grips my hips, grinding me against him. "Question is whether you can handle what I'm about to do to you."
"Try me."
He does, flipping us so I'm beneath him, and proceeds to prove exactly how well he can handle me. By the time we're done, I'm satisfied and boneless and completely certain that whatever comes next, we'll figure it out together.
Because this, us, it's worth fighting for.
Worth everything.