Chapter Four
Jet
Sleep doesn’t come easy, not in a place filled with sounds that remind me of what I’ve been through. Engines rumbling, men laughing, boots on wooden floorboards. Every noise sends a jolt through my body, trained to expect pain, not peace.
The small room they’ve given me smells of soap and fresh sheets. Too clean. Too kind. The contrast messes with my head. Monsters shouldn’t live in a place that smells this good.
Shadows shift outside the window. Two men pass by, their cuts marked with a skull wearing a crown, its grin twisted and knowing, like death itself is amused.
The Royal Bastards. The name alone should terrify me, yet something about this place feels different.
Not safe, but not dangerous either. Just… watchful.
A soft knock lands on the door. “Jet?” The voice belongs to Devil, the President’s ol’ lady. Calm and steady with a trace of an accent. Australian or English? “Brought you some breakfast.”
She enters with a tray before permission’s given, placing it on the bedside table. Eggs, toast, coffee. Real food. Not the half-rotten scraps they used to throw at us.
“Thanks” comes out rough, more a scrape than a word.
Devil’s gaze holds steady. “You don’t have to eat it if you’re not ready. Just means I’ll feed it to Feral, he needs the extra calories.” The faintest smile tugs at her lips before she sits on the edge of a chair.
Her calm radiates outside of her, it’s unshakable, motherly, and feels genuine. The kind of woman who’s seen more than she’ll ever admit.
Silence stretches, thick but not uncomfortable. She doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for details or names. Just sits there, sipping her coffee while the rest of the compound comes alive beyond the door.
With trembling fingers, I lift the toast. The first bite tastes good.
Devil leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You don’t have to trust anyone yet. But you should know, you’re under Creed’s protection now. That means nobody touches you, nobody questions you. You do what you need to heal, and the rest can wait.”
Her words hit deeper than expected. Protection and healing. Two things that feel like fantasies.
I nod, small but real. “I don’t plan on being anyone’s problem.”
“Good,” she says, standing. “Then we understand each other.” Before leaving, she glances back. “When you’re ready to step outside, come find me. The club girls are setting up in the rec room. Might help to be around someone who doesn’t carry a gun.”
The door shuts quietly behind her, leaving the air thick with the smell of coffee and the faint trace of Devil’s perfume.
Outside, engines roar to life as men head out to whatever business they do when they’re not saving broken women. Curiosity prickles where fear used to live. A dangerous feeling, but it’s there all the same.
Trust is a luxury, and it’s one I can’t afford. Still, something in this place makes the walls around my heart shift just enough to let the light in.