Chapter 7 #2
Another silence, longer this time.
When she speaks again, her voice is different.
Harder. The voice of a woman who grew up tough in a tough city.
"What did he do to you?"
"Mom—"
"What did he do?"
I tell her. Not everything—not the worst of it—but enough.
Enough that she understands why I stayed, why I was afraid, why I couldn't tell her before.
By the time I finish, I'm crying silently, tears dripping off my chin onto my borrowed jeans.
"That son of a bitch," she breathes. "That goddamn son of a bitch. I'll kill him. I'll find him and I'll—"
"You don't have to." My voice is quiet. Steady. "He's already gone."
"What do you mean, gone?"
"I mean he's not going to hurt anyone ever again."
Silence.
I can hear her processing, putting the pieces together.
She's a smart woman, my mother.
She reads between the lines.
"Where are you, sweetheart?" she asks finally.
"I'm safe. I'm with people who are taking care of me."
"What people? Ripley, I need to know you're okay—"
"I am okay. I promise." I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. "I'll come see you soon. I just... I need a little more time. To figure things out."
She's quiet for a long moment. I can hear her struggling with herself, wanting to push, wanting to demand answers.
But she doesn't.
She trusts me. Even after everything, she trusts me.
"I love you," she says. "You know that, right? No matter what. I love you, and I'm here whenever you need me."
"I know, Mom." Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "I love you too."
We talk for a few more minutes—lighter stuff, her complaints about the neighbors, her excitement about the upcoming Steelers game, normal mother-daughter conversation. By the time I hang up, I feel wrung out but lighter.
Like I've set down a weight I didn't know I was carrying.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, letting the tears dry on my face.
That evening, I venture out to the main room again.
The clubhouse has come alive as the sun went down—brothers trickling in, music starting up, the smell of beer and barbecue drifting through the air.
It's not a full party, just a normal night, but after days of isolation, it feels overwhelming.
I find a spot at the end of the bar, nursing a soda and watching the room.
Tawny waves at me from across the space, where she's sitting on some brother's lap.
Paige is playing pool with a guy I don't recognize, laughing at something he said.
Normal. Easy. Like this is just another night.
I'm starting to relax, starting to let myself breathe, when someone slides onto the barstool beside me.
"Hey there."
I turn.
He's a good-looking guy—dark hair, easy smile, tattoos covering his forearms.
His cut says "Stark" on the front, and I remember Cain mentioning him.
One of the full patch members.
"Hi," I say cautiously.
"Ripley, right?" His smile widens. "I've seen you around. Heard you're staying with us for a while."
"That's right."
"Must be boring, cooped up in that room all day." He leans closer, close enough that I can smell the beer on his breath. "If you ever want some company, I'd be happy to—"
His hand lands on my knee.
I freeze.
The touch is casual, friendly even, but my body reacts like it's a threat.
Every muscle locks up.
My heart starts pounding.
For one horrible second, I'm back in the apartment, back with Cain, back in that nightmare of flinching and cowering and trying to make myself small enough that he won't notice me.
"I—" My voice won't work. "Please don't—"
"She said no."
Leviathan's voice cuts through the noise like a blade.
I didn't see him approach, didn't hear him coming, but suddenly he's there—standing behind Stark, one hand on the back of the man's barstool.
His face is calm. Expressionless. But his eyes are cold enough to freeze the blood in my veins.
Stark's hand jerks off my knee like he's been burned. "Prez. I was just—"
"You were just leaving."
It's not a suggestion.
Stark seems to realize it, because he slides off the barstool and backs away with his hands raised.
"Didn't mean anything by it," he says. "Just being friendly."
Leviathan doesn't respond.
He just stands there, that cold gaze fixed on Stark, until the other man turns and walks away.
Only then does he look at me.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine." My voice comes out sharper than I intended. "I could have handled it."
Something flickers in his eyes. "I know."
"Then why did you—" I stop, take a breath, try to calm the adrenaline still flooding my system. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."
"It matters." He sits down on the stool Stark vacated, angling his body toward mine. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Ripley."
I look away, focusing on the condensation dripping down my glass. "You scared him off."
"That was the point."
"No, I mean—" I struggle to find the words. "He was just talking to me. And you came over and... and scared him off. Like I'm not allowed to talk to anyone."
Silence.
When I finally look back at Leviathan, his expression has shifted. Harder now. More guarded.
"No one touches you," he says quietly. "That's the rule."
"I'm not your property." The words burst out before I can stop them.
Cain's voice echoes in my head—You're mine. You're fucking mine—and suddenly I can't breathe. "I'm not—I spent three years being owned. Being controlled. Having every interaction monitored and catalogued and punished. I can't do that again. I won't."
Leviathan's jaw tightens. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything.
"You're not my property," he finally says. "I never said you were."
"Then what was that?"
"That was me making sure you're safe."
"By chasing off every man who talks to me?"
"By making it clear that you're under my protection." His voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it. "You've been through hell, Ripley. You're still recovering. And some of these guys—they're not bad men, but they're not gentle either. I was looking out for you."
"I don't need you to look out for me."
"Maybe not, but I'm going to anyway."
We stare at each other—tension crackling in the space between us.
I'm breathing hard, my hands clenched around my glass.
He's completely still, that controlled calm that never seems to break.
"I'm not Cain," he says quietly. "I'm never going to hurt you. I'm never going to try to own you or control you. But I'm also not going to apologize for wanting to protect you."
The words hit me somewhere deep. Somewhere Cain's voice still whispers its poison.
"I know you're not Cain," I say. The fight drains out of me, leaving me exhausted. "I know that. It's just... hard. To tell the difference between protection and control. They felt like the same thing for so long."
"They're not."
"I'm starting to understand that."
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away.
I don't.
His fingers brush my jaw, feather-light, and I lean into the touch despite myself.
"I want you, Ripley," he says. "I want you in a way I've never wanted anyone. And part of that—a big part—is wanting to keep you safe. To make sure no one ever hurts you again. But that doesn't mean I own you. It means I care about you."
"I care about you too." The admission feels dangerous. Exposing. "That's what scares me."
"Why?"
"Because the last time I cared about someone, he destroyed me." I blink back tears. "What if this destroys me too?"
Leviathan's hand cups my face, thumb brushing away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "It won't. I won't let it."
"How can you promise that?"
"Because I'm not him." His eyes hold mine, steady and sure. "And I never will be."
I want to believe him.
Want to trust that this is different, that he's different, that I'm different.
The old Ripley would have pulled away, would have retreated into her shell and locked the door behind her.
But I'm trying to be a new Ripley now.
One who doesn't let fear make all her decisions.
"Okay," I say softly. "I believe you."
The tension in his shoulders eases, just slightly.
He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
"Come on," he says. "Let's get out of here."
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere quiet. Just the two of us."
I take his hand and let him lead me away from the bar, away from the noise and the people and the echoes of the past.
Somewhere behind me, I can feel Cain's voice trying to whisper its poison.
I don't listen.