Chapter 2 #2
"He threatened Bjorn," she continues after a moment. "Tuesday at his physical therapy appointment. Dylan has someone on the inside, someone who could..." She trails off, wrapping her arms around herself.
"We can protect Bjorn," I say immediately. "Post guards, change his appointment time, whatever it takes."
"And then Dylan escalates. Goes after someone else. Florencia, maybe, or one of the other kids. I can't risk it."
"So you'll what? Let him keep hurting you until he finally goes too far?" The thought makes me sick. "You know where this ends, Everly. You're too smart not to see it."
"I'm handling it," she insists, but even she doesn't sound convinced.
"Like you handled it today?" I gesture at her carefully. "Whatever he did, however he hurt you, that's handling it?"
She flinches, and I immediately regret the harsh words.
But someone needs to give her a reality check before it's too late.
"You don't know what you're talking about," she says, but the fight's gone out of her voice.
"Then tell me." I lean against the counter, giving her space. "Help me understand why you're protecting him."
"I'm not protecting him!" The words explode out of her. "I'm protecting everyone else! You think I don't know what he is? You think I don't see where this is going? But what choice do I have?"
"You have me," I say simply. "You have the club. You have people who would burn the fucking world down to keep you safe if you'd just let them."
She shakes her head, tears flowing freely now. "You don't understand what he's capable of."
"Then tell me." I move closer, slowly, like I'm approaching a wounded animal. "Tell me what he's got on you. Tell me why you're so scared. Let me help."
For a moment, I think she might.
Her mouth opens, and I can see the words crowding behind her teeth, desperate to escape.
But then she closes it, shakes her head.
"I can't," she whispers. "Not yet. I just... I need time to figure things out."
"How much time?" I ask, even though every instinct screams to throw her over my shoulder and take her somewhere safe right now. "How many more beatings? How much more pain before you say enough is enough?"
"I don't know." She meets my eyes then, and the despair there nearly brings me to my knees. "Maybe soon. Maybe... maybe something will change."
The coffee maker beeps, finished.
She turns to pour two cups, hands shaking slightly.
I take the one she offers, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
She doesn't pull away.
We stand there in her tiny kitchen, drinking coffee in silence.
I can see her mind working, processing, planning.
She's not as beaten down as she wants everyone to think.
There's still fight in her.
She just needs the right push.
"I should go," I say eventually, even though it's the last thing I want. "But Everly?"
She looks up at me.
"My offer stands. What I said on Thanksgiving. Say the word, and I'll make him disappear. No questions asked."
"You can't just?—"
"Watch me." I set down my cup, move toward the door. "I've done worse for less reason. Protecting you? That's worth whatever consequences come."
She follows me to the door, still holding her coffee like a lifeline. "Why?" she asks again. "Why do you care so much?"
I turn back, let her see the truth in my eyes. "Because I've been watching you for years. Because you're the only good thing in this shit town worth protecting. Because the thought of him putting his hands on you makes me want to tear the world apart."
"Regnor..."
"I'm not asking for anything," I clarify. "This isn't about wanting something from you. This is about keeping you alive long enough to remember who you were before he broke you down."
She sucks in a sharp breath at that.
"I haven't broken?—"
"Haven't you?" I challenge gently. "The Everly I knew wouldn't miss work. Wouldn't lie to her family. Wouldn't let some asshole dictate her life."
"That Everly was naive," she says bitterly. "She didn't understand how the world really works."
"That Everly was free," I correct. "And she can be again, if you let me help you."
She stares at me for a long moment, and I see it—a spark of the woman she used to be, fighting to surface through all the trauma and fear.
"I'll think about it," she says finally.
It's not yes, but it's not no either.
That’s progress if you ask me.
"That's all I ask." I reach out, slow enough that she can pull back if she wants.
She doesn't.
My fingers brush her cheek, gentle as I know how to be. "But don't think too long, princess. Men like him don't get better. They only get worse."
She leans into my touch for just a moment before catching herself and pulling back.
"I know," she whispers.
I leave then, while I still can.
While I can still respect her wishes and not throw her over my shoulder and take her somewhere Dylan Mitchell will never find her.
The drive home is torture.
Every instinct screams to turn around, to camp outside her door, to stand guard against the monster who thinks he owns her.
But I force myself to keep driving.
She needs time to come to the decision herself.
To realize she's worth saving, to understand that there are people who'll fight for her if she lets them.
But I make myself a promise as I pull into the clubhouse parking lot.
I'm keeping tabs on Dylan Mitchell starting now.
I’ll learn his routines, his weaknesses, his connections, because when Everly finally says the word—and she will—I'll be ready.
And if she waits too long, if he hurts her worse than he already has?
Then I'll make the decision for her.
Because some promises are worth breaking, but the one I made to my dying mother isn't one of them.
Protect the ones who can't protect themselves.
Even if they don't know they need protecting yet.
Even if they're too scared to ask for help.
Even if it means crossing lines that can't be uncrossed.
She’s worth the risk, worth the consequences, worth whatever comes next.
I just hope she figures that out before it's too late.
My phone buzzes as I'm walking inside.
It’s a text from an unknown number.
Thank you for checking on me.
I save the number immediately and text back:
Anytime.
Three dots appear, like she's typing something else.
They disappear. Reappear. Disappear again.
Finally:
I mean it. Thank you.
Get some rest, I send back. And ice those ribs.
A long pause, then:
How did you know?
The way you're moving. Been in enough fights to recognize the signs.
Of course you have.
I can almost hear the wry tone, picture the slight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Lock your door, I type. Use the chain. And call me if you need anything.
I will.
We both know she won't, at least not yet.
She's not ready to admit she needs help, needs saving, needs someone to stand between her and the monster who's slowly killing her.
But she's thinking about it, and I'm happy with that for the time being.
I pour myself a whiskey, knock it back in one burning swallow.
Tomorrow I'll start gathering intel on Dylan Mitchell, learn everything there is to know about him.
I’ll find his weaknesses, his secrets, his soft spots.
Because when the time comes—and it will come—I'll be ready to destroy him completely.