Chapter 6 - Evelyn
Justice.
The word tastes strange on my tongue, foreign after so long believing it didn't exist for people like me. Yet here I am, standing amid the aftermath of a rescue—a rescue I was part of, not just its object.
Reaper moves with precision, directing his men as they load the girls into vehicles. His face is hard, expressionless, but his hands are gentle when he helps a limping girl into the SUV. The contradiction fascinates me.
"Evelyn." His voice cuts through my thoughts. "We need to move. Now."
I nod, turning back to the frightened girls huddled together.
"It's okay," I tell them in the reassuring tone I wish someone had used with me. "These men are helping us. They won't hurt you."
One of the younger girls—she can't be more than sixteen—clutches my hand. "They are not like the others?" she asks in halting English.
"No," I answer, surprising myself with my certainty. "They're not like the others."
When all the girls are loaded into the SUV with Ghost and Ace, Reaper guides me back to the van where Wilder waits. The woman—Naomi—and two men are forced into the back, zip-tied and gagged. Blade and Viper climb in with them, weapons trained casually but unmistakably on their captives.
"Front again," Reaper tells me, opening the passenger door.
I climb in, sliding to the middle as before. When Reaper joins us, I notice blood on his sleeve.
"You're hurt," I say, unable to keep the concern from my voice.
He glances at his arm dismissively. "Not mine."
The simple statement reminds me of who he is, what he's capable of. I should be horrified, but all I feel is a savage satisfaction. Blood for blood.
Wilder starts the engine, following the SUV down the access road.
"The girls," I say. "Where are you taking them?"
"Same thing as yesterday. Safe house," Reaper answers. "Doc's waiting. They'll get medical attention, food, clean clothes. Then they decide what they want to do."
"What options do they have?"
"Return home if they have one. New identities if they don't. Or..." he pauses. "Or they can work for us."
I turn to face him, searching his expression. "Work how?"
"Legitimate businesses. The club owns a diner, a garage, a couple of other places. We help people disappear when they need to."
"You really would do that for all of them?"
His eyes meet mine, gray and unflinching. "Someone did it for me once."
Before I can ask more, Naomi makes a muffled sound from the back, drawing my attention.
She stares at me with hatred, recognition dawning in her cold eyes. She was always the worst. The one who would slap us for crying, who would describe in vivid detail what awaited us if we didn't cooperate. Who seemed to enjoy our fear more than the men did.
I turn in my seat to face her fully. "Remember me? The one you said was too damaged to be worth much?" I let my lips curve into a smile I don't feel. "Look who's tied up now."
Reaper says nothing, but I feel his attention on me, assessing.
Naomi tries to speak through her gag, her eyes promising retribution. I laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears.
"Save your threats. You're the merchandise now."
"Evelyn," Reaper's voice is low, a warning I don't want to heed.
I turn back around, my heart pounding with emotions I can't name. Anger. Triumph. Fear. A dangerous cocktail that makes me reckless.
"Are you going to kill her?" I ask.
"Questioning first," he answers, his tone neutral. "We need information about their operation, their contacts, their supply chains."
"And after?"
"That depends on what she tells us."
I understand the implication. She'll die if she’s not useful. I should be disturbed by this casual approach to murder, but I'm not. Not after what she has done.
"I want to be there," I say. "When you question her."
Reaper exchanges a glance with Wilder.
"That's not a good idea," he says finally.
"Why? Afraid I'll see the monster behind the rescuer?" The words come out sharper than intended.
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. "No. Afraid you'll become something you'll regret."
The insight stuns me into silence. He's not protecting me from him; he's protecting me from myself. From the darkness he recognizes because he carries it too.
We ride in silence for several minutes, the tension thick enough to touch. Finally, I speak again, my voice quieter.
"I need to face her. To show her she didn't break me."
Reaper considers this, his profile sharp against the afternoon light streaming through the window. "You already showed her that by standing free while she's in chains."
"It's not enough." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth in the van. "You wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't I?" There's something dangerous in his quiet tone. "You think I don't know what it's like to want someone to pay for what they've done? To need them to look you in the eye and know they failed to destroy you?"
I turn to look at him, and can’t help but notice the scars visible on his knuckles, the hard set of his jaw, the shadows behind his eyes that speak of violence both endured and inflicted.
"You can observe," he says finally. "But you don't participate. And if I tell you to leave, you leave. No arguments."
It's more than I expected. "Thank you."
He nods once, turning his attention back to the road ahead. We're approaching the compound, the gate visible in the distance.
"The other girls," I say. "Can I see them again? Help them understand what's happening?"
"If you want."
"I do." I hesitate, then add, "I know what they're feeling. The fear doesn't just disappear because you're physically free."
"No. It doesn't." He says.
The compound comes alive as we arrive, men moving with purpose as the vehicles pull in. The SUV continues through, heading elsewhere, to the safe house with the rescued girls, I assume.
Our van stops in the central courtyard. Blade and Viper drag our captives from the back, none too gently. Naomi stumbles, and I feel a flash of satisfaction that I immediately try to suppress. This isn't me. I'm not cruel. I'm not like them.
But maybe, a small voice whispers, maybe you need to be a little cruel to survive in this world.
Reaper's hand hovers near my elbow as I exit the van, not touching me but ready to steady me if needed. It's a small courtesy that I've noticed repeatedly. He never touches me without warning or necessity.
"They go to the shed," he tells Blade. "Separate them. Start with the suit. Ghost will join you."
Blade nods, dragging the well-dressed man away. Viper follows with the second man, while another club member takes Naomi, who struggles futilely against her restraints.
"Come inside," Reaper says to me. "You need to eat something before we continue."
I follow him into the clubhouse, aware of the stares from other members.
News travels fast. They all seem to know who I am, or at least what I represent.
A complication. An anomaly. The president's.
.. what? Rescue? Responsibility? I'm not sure what I am to him, or what he is to me beyond an unlikely savior.
The main room is quieter than before, most members having gone with the rescue operation or on other business. Reaper leads me to the kitchen area, gesturing for me to sit at a small table while he opens the refrigerator.
"Sandwich okay?" he asks, already pulling out bread and cold cuts.
"Yes. Thank you." The politeness feels absurd given the circumstances, but habits die hard.
He works efficiently, making two sandwiches without asking what I want on mine. When he sets the plate before me, I'm surprised to see it's exactly what I would have chosen—turkey, no cheese, extra tomato.
"How did you know?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Observed what you ate yesterday," he replies with a shrug, taking the seat across from me. "Pay attention to details."
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the events of the day settling over us like a heavy blanket.
"The girls," I say finally. "Will they really be safe?"
"Yes." His tone leaves no room for doubt. "My club has resources. Connections. They'll get whatever they need. Medical care, counseling, new identities if necessary."
"Why? I’m sorry, but I still don’t get it. What do you get out of it?"
He sets down his sandwich, meeting my gaze directly. "Not everything is a transaction, Evelyn."
"In my experience, everything is." I don't mean it to sound bitter, but it does.
"Then your experience has been shit." He says it matter-of-factly, not as judgment or pity. "Some things you do because they're right. End of story."
"Simple as that?"
"Simple as that."
I study him, this contradiction of a man. President of an MC, capable of violence that should terrify me, yet sitting across from me making sure I eat properly.
"What happens now?" I ask. "With me, I mean."
"That's up to you." He leans back, his expression unreadable. "You're not a prisoner here. You can leave whenever you want. Go to the authorities. Start over somewhere new. Whatever you choose."
"And if I want to stay? Just for a while?"
"Then you stay. For as long as you need."
"Why?" The question bursts out before I can stop it. "Why help me? Why let me stay? Why..." I gesture vaguely, encompassing everything—the rescue, the food, the protection.
"Because you're stronger than you should have to be," he says quietly. "Because you watched out for those other girls even when you were being held yourself. Because you deserve a fucking break for once."
His answer disarms me completely. I look down at my half-eaten sandwich, blinking back unexpected tears. When was the last time someone saw me—really saw me—and decided I was worth protecting?
"Thank you," I whisper, the words inadequate but all I have.
He nods once, standing to take his empty plate to the sink. "Finish eating. Then we deal with Naomi."