Chapter Six
Jet
Rest is impossible after facing Justice. His words loop in my head, sharp as broken glass. ‘Hawk mattered. And so do you.’
No one’s said something like that in a long time. Maybe ever.
The blanket does nothing against the chill that’s seeped into my skin. Every sound becomes a trigger, a reminder that this isn’t freedom. It’s just another kind of cage.
Only this cage has warmth.
Morning creeps in slowly, a pale light cutting through the curtains. Coffee and bacon filter through the air, making my stomach twist with hunger.
Devil appears in the doorway, dressed in denim and attitude, her presence filling the room. “Up, love. We’re heading out.”
“Out?” The word sticks in the throat.
“Shopping. You and the girls need clothes. And Creed’s brothers need food before they eat each other.” She grins. “You coming or not?”
No threat hides in her voice, just confidence. The kind that says she’s used to being obeyed without ever demanding it.
A slow nod forms before my brain catches up. “Guess I’m coming.”
By the time we hit the compound yard, the bikes are rumbling and are brothers gearing up for whatever business comes next. The sound crawls down my spine, half fear, half nostalgia. Hawk used to love that sound, said it was the heartbeat of freedom.
The SUV waits near the gate. Devil’s already sliding into the driver’s seat, Justice taking shotgun like it’s his natural place. Lyric climbs in beside me, radiating calm. Behind us, two of the MC follow on the bikes.
The Walmart parking lot is a concrete battlefield full of noise, motion, and people everywhere. Too open, too many escape routes, too many threats.
Justice opens my door with a smirk that’s equal parts charm and challenge. “Ma’am.”
A frown forms before thought can catch it. “You’re all about chivalry now?”
“Sometimes. Depends on who’s watching.”
“I’m not impressed.”
“That’s all right.” His grin widens. “You’re not supposed to be.”
Devil’s voice cracks through the tension like a whip. “Eyes up, Justice. We’re not here for a bloody date.”
Inside, the noise hits like a physical force. Too many faces. Too much normal.
Lyric keeps close, her voice soft in my ear. “Stay with us, okay? We’ll get what you need and get out.”
Every aisle feels like enemy territory. Every sound, a laugh, a cart squeal, the distant beep of a scanner makes my body brace for pain that never comes.
“Thought this was supposed to be safe,” slips out of me before I can stop it.
“Safe’s relative,” Lyric answers, eyes scanning the crowd.
Devil laughs, tossing a pack of cookies into the cart. “Relax, love. These boys are just making sure no one messes with our discount deals.”
The absurdity almost pulls a laugh. Almost.
Bit by bit, tension eases as Devil works her magic. She makes jokes about date night, jeans, and how Creed prefers skinny ones. Lyric teases her about it, and the two of them banter like sisters. For a moment, the world stops spinning.
Then comes the question that slips out without permission. “You’re not owned?”
Devil’s laughter fades, replaced with quiet conviction. “Creed doesn’t own me. He loves me. Big difference, yeah?”
That simple statement shatters something inside. Love, freedom, choice, these things used to exist before they were stripped away.
“Wait, you can leave?”
“Anytime,” she says. “And when it’s safe, so can you.”
A heartbeat passes before the next question. “Could I have boots?”
“Of course, if they’ve got your size.” Devil grins, grabbing a pair off the shelf.
The words shouldn’t mean much, but they do. Boots. Something that fits. Something that’s mine.
By the time we load the cart with food and clothes, the edges of the panic start to dull. Maybe it’s Devil’s laughter. Maybe it’s the way the brother’s nod respectfully when she passes. Maybe it’s the warmth in Lyric’s voice. Whatever it is, these women make it easier to be around the MC men.
Back at the clubhouse, the noise of bikes growling, bottles clinking, and music somewhere deep in the belly of the building greets us.
Devil rounds the SUV, holding out a phone. “Call your mum, love.”
The words knock the air clean out of the lungs. Fingers shake when they take the phone. Tears spill before my mind can stop them.
“Wh-why?” my voice breaks.
“Because family’s everything,” Devil says softly, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
Justice steps in close, his hand landing lightly on my shoulder. “Let it out. It’s okay.” His tone’s low and steady.
My question comes out small. “But you… you’re one of them.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m not human and we aren’t the Crimson Wheelers.”
A watery laugh escapes me, half sob, half disbelief.
Devil nudges me. “Go on, before your tears short-circuit the bloody thing.”
With shaking hands, I dial a number that hasn’t been called in a year. The sound of the ring feels like a heartbeat.
“Mom? It’s me… Jet.”