Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Lacey
I follow the Royal Harlots MC into the cabin, two duffle bags slung over my shoulders.
As soon as I step through the door, the smell of must and rot hits me.
It clings to the old wood walls of the cabin.
The place is rustic as hell, wood-planked floors scuffed from boots, mismatched furniture shoved to the edges, a stone fireplace that hasn’t seen flame in years.
The lights buzz dimly, casting long shadows that flicker across tired faces.
My throat tightens. I knew why Quinn had called us but I wasn’t prepared to see it firsthand.
Four women sit in a loose huddle, scattered across the floor and sagging couch cushions, their eyes wide, and hollow, filled with the kind of dread pulled straight from nightmares.
I can’t help but wonder what they went through.
How long were they locked in that shipping container?
How many days and nights did they stay silent, afraid to even breathe?
The thought of it all makes me ache in places I didn’t know I still felt.
Behind me, the door creaks open again. I turn just as Emery steps through the door, flanked by Katana and Orchid carrying more supplies.
A voice explodes across the room like a shotgun blast. “What the hell are you doing here, Em?”
Surge bolts toward her from the back of the room, his eyes raging like a storm, his fists clenched at his sides. The entire room goes still.
Quinn steps between them, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I brought her,” she says flatly. “She wanted to learn what running a women’s shelter really looks like.
What better place to learn than the front lines.
” She barely pauses for a breath. “These women need help, not more damn testosterone breathing down their necks. So I suggest you step the fuck back and let us take it from here.”
Something shifts in Surge’s expression. He exhales, low and rough, it’s not surrender, not really, but maybe acceptance. Then turns toward the door without another word.
I glance past Surge to find Aero standing back, his shoulders heavy under his cut.
His eyes lock on me with that familiar impenetrable stare that ties my stomach in knots.
He doesn’t say a word as he follows Surge back outside.
Not one word. No protest that I’m here. Not even a fucking thank you.
Just silence, and it guts me a little deeper.
Quinn glances at Emery and I and smirks. “Welcome to the shit show.”
I nod. “Glad to be here.”
It’s easier to focus on their pain than the mess of uncertainty rattling around in my chest. I drop the duffel bag on the floor beside her and start pulling out blankets.
Emery’s right beside me, handing off bottled water and clean clothes.
We move quietly, the air too heavy for small talk.
The Royal Harlots slip into motion, triaging wounds and calming nerves with the ease of women who’ve done this too many times before.
A young girl's eyes dart to mine, her lip trembling. I know that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times.
My stomach twists. Not from the chaos or their injuries but from the memories clawing their way up through the cracks I buried them in. Me. My brother. The silence we swore to keep because no one ever came for us. And maybe because part of me still doesn’t know if anyone ever truly will.
I clench my fists until my fingers go white. With a deep inhale, I shove the memories back down where they belong, like I’ve trained myself to do.
Across the room, Emery stands beside Rogue, handing her supplies as she provides first aid.
Emery never ceases to amaze me. Even after surviving this kind of horror herself, she doesn’t miss a beat.
She’s right where she needs to be helping them, healing them, and maybe healing herself more in the process.
I envy her sense of purpose. I used to think I was that strong, but being with Aero has shaken things loose inside me, old wounds I thought I’d sealed shut.
I should follow Emery’s lead and start putting myself back together.
And if Aero can’t give me the honesty I need, then I’ll have to find a way to move forward, even if it hurts.
Because I’ve come too far to fall apart now.
I tuck the thoughts down deep for now, and focus on the moment. On helping these women heal.
I move around the room, handing out blankets and bottles of water, offering soft reassurances that they’re safe now. After a few hours, the tension in the room starts to ease. The women begin to trust us. Especially Quinn and her club.
Eventually, Quinn rises from where she’s crouched, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “We’ve done what we can here,” she says. “They need real beds, running water and food that doesn’t come in wrappers.”
She glances at Rogue, who’s packing up a med kit. “Let’s get them in the vans. Call LC and let her know we're bringing guests home.”
Then she looks back to Emery, and me. “We’ll start making calls once we’re back. Someone out there’s looking for these girls. If not…” She pauses, her eyes hardening. “Then they’ve got us.”
A half hour later the women are safe in the vans. Quinn’s at the wheel of the lead vehicle, Orchid riding shotgun. Katana and Rogue follow, shielding the women from the rear and just like that, they’re gone.
The silence they leave behind feels heavier now that there’s nothing to distract myself with.
Emery murmurs something to me, too low to catch. She walks off toward Surge, who waits near the tree line with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His shoulders are slumped with the same weight we’re all carrying.
When she reaches him, he wraps her in his arms like he’s anchoring himself. Like if he lets go, he’ll fall apart.
I look away. They deserve that moment. That quiet surrender. But all I can think about is Aero.
I stay where I am, leaning into the porch railing, the rough wood digging into my palms. The sky’s black velvet now, not a single star, like the whole damn world’s gone still.
The worn porch planks creak behind me. I don’t have to look to know it’s Aero, I can feel him everywhere. He moves like he’s giving me a chance to walk away. But I don’t. I stay rooted to the ground, my arms crossed tight over my chest.
Aero comes up beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off of him.
“You weren’t there when I woke up,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
“No.” It’s not defensive. Just honest.
“You promised you would be.”
“I know.” He offers no excuses or explanations.
I glance over, catch the edge of his jaw flexing, his fingers twitching at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to pull me in or push me away.
His gaze snaps to mine, “I don’t want to put you in the middle of these things. You shouldn’t have to see this.”
His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to find the part of me that’s scared. But I’m not.
“I’ve seen it before just in different ways.” I confess. He goes still beside me.
“My father used to lock me and my brother in a closet,” I say quietly. “Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days. If we cried, the punishment was worse. If we stayed quiet… it still didn’t matter.”
A muscle jumps in Aero’s jaw, and he turns slightly toward me, like he wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“I used to pretend I was somewhere else,” I continue, “Anywhere else.”
He reaches out, his fingers brushing mine where they grip the railing. It’s not much but it feels like everything.
“I used to do that too,” he says quietly. “When the belt came out, or the fists started flying. I’d stare at the ceiling and count cracks until it stopped.”
The air between us tightens. Heavy with unsaid things.
“You ever stop counting?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says.
I step into him, my fingers brushing his wrist until he lets me take his hand.
He exhales shakily, his free hand sliding around my waist like he needs to feel that I’m real.
His forehead presses to mine, his breath warm on my lips, the weight of the world still heavy on his shoulders but for a second, he lets me carry some of it.
My heart stutters. We stand like that, tangled in silence, the world paused just long enough for this. For him to let himself be soft. For me to show him I won’t break.
“I need you to understand something, Aero.” His hand squeezes mine like he’s afraid what I have to say will sever this connection and it probably will. “I’m not a Princess. I don’t need you to shield me from things like this. I won’t break unless you break me.”
His shoulders slump, “This world is ugly. Violence is all I know. I can’t stand the thought of men like Ricci or the damn Bloody Scorpion bastards coming after you for choices I make in the name of the club.”
The words hit me low in the gut. “The Bloody Scorpions were behind this?”
He nods, his jaw clenched tight. The full weight of his fear finally shows in his eyes.
“Being with me paints a fucking target on your back.” His breath shudders. “They’ll keep coming for you, because of me.”
I think about the bullet tucked in the back of my drawer. I think about telling him about the man who pressed the heavy brass into my palm with his threat. But I don’t. Not with the weight of tonight still clinging to him. He doesn’t need more to carry. Not right now.
Instead, I slide my hand into his, lacing our fingers together.
“I know the danger,” I say. “I still choose you.”
His other hand lifts to cup my cheek, his rough thumb tracing the edge of my jaw like he’s memorizing me in case he loses the chance. “Dammit Lacey, you’re so fucking stubborn.”
“You’re worth the risk. So stop pushing me away before I’m too far gone to come back.”
He doesn’t offer me more promises, he just pulls me into him, his arms folding around me like I’m his anchor and his salvation.
We stay like that, wrapped in the hush of the pines. His heartbeat thundering against my cheek, steady and strong, and maybe it’s the only truth that matters in all this chaos.