Chapter 3 - Maverick
I feel her eyes on me as I mop up the coffee, tracking every move like a wounded animal ready to bolt. Or swing another bat. Can't blame her - whatever happened to her has left more than just physical scars. I recognize that look. I've seen it before, in women who have learned the hard way that trust can be a double-edged sword.
"You got a name?" I ask, keeping my tone casual as I gather the broken pieces of ceramic.
She doesn't answer.
"I'm Maverick," I offer, straightening up with the mess in hand. "And before you ask - yeah, that's my real name. My old man had a thing for Top Gun."
Something flickers across her face - almost a smile, maybe - before the walls come back up. But it's progress. Better than the bat, anyway.
"You want to tell me why you were stumbling around my territory last night looking like you went ten rounds with a meat grinder?"
I lean against the doorframe, deliberately making myself look relaxed and non-threatening. Well, as non-threatening as a 6'2" biker can look.
She lifts her chin, defiant in spite of everything. "You want to tell me why you brought me here instead of killing me?"
"Already told you. Not in the business of hurting women."
"No?" Her laugh is sharp, bitter. "Just in the business of killing Outlaws."
"Only the ones who deserve it." I meet her gaze steadily. "Like whoever did that to your face."
That hits something. I see it in the way she flinches, in how her fingers curl into fists in her lap. Bingo.
"Was it an inside job?" I press gently, watching her reaction. "Your club's been a mess since we took out most of the leadership. Power vacuum tends to bring out the worst in people."
"Shut up," she hisses, but there's fear beneath the anger. "You don't know anything."
"I know enough." I set the cleaning supplies aside, keeping my movements slow. "I know that dress isn't yours - too flashy, too revealing for someone who keeps trying to cover up. I know those bruises are fresh, probably not more than twelve hours old. And I know you've got the look of someone who just found out their family isn't what they thought it was."
She's trembling now, whether from rage or something else, I can't tell. But I've struck a nerve.
"You want me to keep guessing? Because I'm pretty good at connecting dots. Like how the timing of this lines up perfectly with certain Outlaws trying to consolidate power."
"Stop," she whispers, but I can't. Not when I'm this close to the truth.
"Betrayed by your own, weren't you?" I ask quietly. The way her shoulders tense tells me all I need to know.
"Shut up," she snaps, eyes flashing. "I'm never going to trust an Iron he's one of my best friends, and lying to him feels wrong. But something tells me there's more to Sadie's story than just club politics, and bringing Iron & Blood into this too soon could get her killed.
The shower's still running as I start making coffee to replace what ended up on my floor. My phone buzzes again. Third message in ten minutes. Yeah, time's running out.
"Checking perimeter. Found nothing. Will update later."
I type out the message, hoping it'll buy me a few hours. It's not exactly a lie - I did check the perimeter last night before bringing her in.
The shower stops, and a few minutes later, I hear soft footsteps. I turn to see Sadie standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing my sister's old sweats and oversized hoodie. With the makeup washed off, I can see the full extent of the bruising on her face, and something hot and angry coils in my gut.
"Feeling better?" I ask, sliding a plate of eggs across the counter.
She approaches cautiously, like she's still expecting a trap.
"Yeah." Her voice is rougher now, more vulnerable without the defensive anger. "Listen, about the bat..."
"Already forgotten," I say, pouring her coffee. "Milk? Sugar?"
"Black," she mumbles, then takes a bite of eggs. "These are good."
I lean against the counter, giving her space while she eats.
"Sadie," I say carefully, "I meant what I said about protecting you. But I need to know what I'm protecting you from. My club's going to come looking soon, and I need to know what to tell them."
She freezes mid-bite, fear flashing across her face before she can hide it.
"Your club can't know I'm here."
"Then help me understand why."
She sets her fork down, staring into her coffee like it holds all the answers. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sound of traffic outside.
"Jake," she finally says, his name coming out like poison. "He's one of the two who escaped when you hit our leadership last month. He's trying to take control of what's left of the Outlaws, and he thought..." she shudders slightly. "He thought making me his old lady would cement his position."
The pieces start falling into place. "The white dress."
She nods, fingers tightening around the mug until her knuckles turn white. "Said it was time to 'make an honest woman out of me.' Like there's anything honest about him." Her laugh is hollow. "When I refused, he decided to show me what happens to women who don't know their place. Said if I played nice at the ceremony today, he'd let me live. If not..." her voice trails off. "I ran first chance I got."
"But he'll be looking for you," I say, understanding dawning. "And if my club finds out I'm harboring you..."
"They'll want to use me to get to Jake," she finishes. "And he'll know exactly where to find me. He has people everywhere. If word gets out that I'm alive..."
I straighten up, decision made. "Then word doesn't get out. Not yet."
My phone buzzes again. Butcher's face appears on the screen. I silence it, knowing I'm playing a dangerous game. But looking at Sadie - bruised, terrified, but still fighting - I know I can't turn back now.
"We need a plan," I tell her. "And we need it fast. Jake's not the kind of man who likes losing what he thinks belongs to him."
"No," she whispers, "he's not. And he'll tear this town apart looking for me."
"Let him try," I growl, surprising myself with the intensity of my own response. "He won't be the first Outlaw I've put down."
"You don't understand," she pushes away from the counter, wincing at the movement. "Jake's different. He's not just violent, he's smart. Calculated. There's a reason he survived your attack. He always has a backup plan, always has eyes somewhere. And now..." she gestures to her bruised face, "now it's personal."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from Crow: "Meeting in 30. Mandatory. Where the fuck are you?"
"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Listen, I have to make an appearance at the clubhouse. If I don't show, they'll come looking."
Fear flashes across her face. "I'll be gone before you get back."
"Like hell you will," I step closer, careful not to crowd her. "You're barely standing, you've got no money, no transport, and a psychopath hunting you. You really want to take those odds?"
She lifts her chin defiantly, but I can see the uncertainty in her eyes. "Why do you care? Why risk your club's trust for an Outlaw?"
It's a good question - one I'm not sure I have the answer to yet.
"Because right now, you're not an Outlaw. You're just someone who needs help. Stay here. Rest. Let me figure something out."
"And if you can't?"
"Then we'll figure it out together." I grab my cut from the hook by the door. "But first, I need you to trust me enough to still be here when I get back."
"Wait," she calls out just as I reach for the door. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but take me with you."
I turn back slowly, wondering if I heard her right. "You want to what now?"
"Take me with you," she repeats, her voice stronger despite the tremor in her hands.
"Are you crazy? After everything you just told me about Jake, you want to walk straight into an MC clubhouse?"
"No, I don't want to," she says, taking a shaky step forward. "But I... I don't trust your MC, but there's something about you..." She stops, seeming surprised by her own words. "I know it sounds insane, but I trust you. And right now, I don't want to be alone."
A smile tugs at my lips - a real one, the kind I haven't felt in longer than I care to remember. "You realize you're walking into a den of very pissed-off bikers who've spent the last few months hunting your club, right?"
"Yeah, well," she shrugs, then winces. "Better than sitting here wondering if Jake's found me yet."
"They're going to yell. A lot. Probably won't even let me get a word in before they start demanding answers."
She fumbles with her hands, a nervous gesture that makes her look even younger and more vulnerable. Her nose scrunches up as she considers something, and damn if it isn't almost cute.
"Maybe..." she starts, then takes a deep breath. "Maybe I can give them something they want. If they're willing to help me, I might have some information about the other leader who escaped. The one who's been working with Jake."
I study her face carefully. "You sure about this? Once we walk through those clubhouse doors, there's no taking it back."
"No," she admits. "I'm not sure about anything anymore. But I'm tired of running, tired of being afraid." She looks up at me, determination replacing the fear in her eyes. "And something tells me you're my best shot at surviving this."
"Alright," I nod, grabbing my sister's leather jacket from the closet and holding it out to her. "But stay close to me. And remember - I've got your back."
She takes the jacket, her fingers brushing against mine.
"I hope so," she says quietly. "Because I'm done trusting the wrong people." She pulls the leather around her shoulders, looking smaller somehow. "I still can't believe I'm about to hand over Outlaws' secrets. If my father was alive..." she shakes her head, voice catching. "He'd be so disappointed."
"No," I say firmly, surprising both of us with my conviction. "If your father was alive, he'd probably be proud as hell that his daughter is doing whatever it takes to survive. That's what good fathers want - their kids alive and fighting."
She looks up at me, something vulnerable flickering in her eyes. "You sound pretty sure about that for someone who never met him."
"I know enough about fathers and daughters," I say, checking my gun before tucking it into my waistband. "And I know that any father worth his salt would choose his kid's life over club loyalty every time."
A small smile ghosts across her lips - the first real one I've seen from her.
"You're different than I expected," she admits.
"Yeah, well," I open the door, gesturing for her to go first, "don't spread it around. Got a reputation to maintain."
As we head down to my bike, I can feel the weight of what we're about to do settling on my shoulders. Taking an Outlaw's daughter into Iron & Blood territory - it's either the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever done.
But watching her straighten her spine as she walks, fighting through the pain with every step, I know I've made my choice. Now we just have to hope the club will understand.