Chapter 21
chapter twenty-one
Morgan
The house is quiet when we return. The porch light is on, a warm yellow glow welcoming us home. My mother meets us at the door, her face pale but relieved.
"She's been asleep for two hours," she whispers, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I told her you had to help Trixie with an emergency. She didn't ask any questions."
I nod, unable to find words. My mother studies my face, her eyes lingering on the bruise forming along my cheekbone where Evan struck me. She doesn't ask what happened. She doesn't need to.
"Thank you," I manage.
Trenton and Matthew follow me inside, their presence a solid wall at my back. My father arrives shortly after, his hands freshly washed, his expression carefully blank.
"We should clean up," Matthew says quietly, his hand finding my back.
I look down at myself: the torn dress, the bloodstains, the dirt from the barn floor. I smell of fear and smoke.
"The shower," I agree.
We move through the house in silence, past Charlie's bedroom door.
I pause, unable to resist. I crack the door open just enough to see her small form curled beneath her purple comforter, Princess Sparklehoof tucked against her chest. Her face is peaceful in sleep, completely unaware of the horrors that transpired tonight.
My chest tightens. I close the door and follow Trenton and Matthew to our bedroom.
The bathroom is warm when we enter. Matthew turns on the shower, steam quickly filling the small space. I stand motionless as Trenton's fingers work at the buttons of my ruined dress. The fabric falls away, revealing the bruises already forming on my arms, my ribs, my throat.
"Jesus," Matthew murmurs, his hand hovering over the red marks where Evan's fingers dug into my skin.
I step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. Trenton and Matthew follow, their large bodies filling the small space. The water turns pink at our feet. Blood from Trenton's knuckles, Evan's wounds, and the violence we've carried home with us.
Matthew's hands are gentle as he works shampoo through my hair. Trenton stands behind me, his chest pressed against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. We don't speak. We don't need to.
Then the tears come.
They start without warning, a sob that tears from my chest with such force I double over. Matthew catches me, his strong arms holding me up as the water washes over us all.
"He's gone," I gasp between sobs. "He's really gone."
Trenton's hand strokes my back, his touch grounding me. "He'll never hurt anyone again."
The realization crashes over me in waves, the horror of what happened tonight, the relief that it's over, the guilt that I don't feel guilty for wanting Harris dead. My body shakes with the force of my tears.
"We're safe now," Matthew whispers against my hair. "Charlie's safe."
I think of Evan in the barn, of what they did to him. I should be horrified. I should be sickened. Instead, I feel only a dark, cold satisfaction.
"You killed him," I say, the words barely audible over the shower.
Trenton's arms tighten around me. "Yes."
I turn to face them both, water streaming down my face, tears mixing with the shower spray. "Thank you."
Matthew cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. "You don't have to thank us. We would burn the world down for you."
"I know." And I do. I've always known.
We stand there for a long time, the three of us under the hot water, washing away the night. Trenton's lips find the bruise on my cheek, a gentle kiss that makes me wince. Matthew's hands massage the tension from my shoulders.
When the water begins to cool, we step out together. Matthew wraps me in a soft towel, his movements tender despite the violence we've just witnessed, just participated in.
"We should check on Charlie," I say, pulling on clean pajamas.
Trenton nods, already dressed in sweatpants and nothing else. "She might have woken up."
We move down the hallway, a silent procession.
I push Charlie's door open wider this time, stepping into her room.
She's still asleep, her breaths deep and even.
I sit on the edge of her bed, unable to resist touching her.
My fingers brush a strand of hair from her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin.
She stirs but doesn't wake. In sleep, she looks so small, so vulnerable. The events of tonight could have ended so differently. The thought makes my throat close up.
"He won't hurt you," I whisper, though I know she can't hear me. "No one will ever hurt you again."
Trenton and Matthew stand in the doorway, watching us. Their faces are soft in the dim light from the hallway. These are the same men who just flayed a man alive, now gentle as they gaze at the little girl sleeping in the purple bedroom.
We are monsters who love. Killers who protect. The contradiction should tear me apart, but it doesn't. It feels like the only truth that matters.
I kiss Charlie's forehead and stand. "Let her sleep."
Back in our bedroom, we collapse onto the bed together. I lie between them, my head on Trenton's chest, Matthew's arm draped across my waist. The adrenaline is fading, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
"What happens now?" I ask, my voice small in the darkness.
"Now we live," Trenton says simply.
Matthew's fingers trace patterns on my hip. "Now we raise our daughter. Now we build our life."
I think about tomorrow's breakfast with Charlie, the conversation we'll need to have about why we came home so late, the normal rhythms of our days resuming. It seems impossible that normal life can continue after what happened tonight, but it will. It must.
"We'll have to be careful," I say. "About what we tell people."
Matthew's hand stills. "No one will connect us to what happened at the barn. The fire will destroy everything."
"And Evan's body?" I can't quite keep the tremor from my voice.
"Gone," Trenton says. "Nothing left to find."
I nod against his chest. The club has experience with making people disappear. This isn't their first time.
"Are you okay?" Matthew asks, his voice gentle. "With what we did?"
I'm quiet for a long moment, considering the question. Am I okay with torture? With murder? The Morgan who existed before tonight would have said no. But that Morgan didn't know what it meant to have someone threaten everything she loved.
"Yes," I say finally. "I'm okay with it."
Trenton's hand strokes my hair. "We protect what's ours."
"Always," Matthew agrees.
The three of us lie in silence, our breathing synchronizing in the darkness. Tomorrow, we'll wake up and make breakfast. We'll help Charlie with her homework. We'll live our lives as if tonight never happened.
But we'll know. We'll always know what we're capable of when pushed to the edge.
I think of Charlie, sleeping peacefully down the hall. I think of the future stretching before us: birthdays, holidays, first days of school. A life built on the ashes of what we destroyed tonight.
It's worth it. She's worth it.
"We should sleep," Matthew murmurs against my shoulder.
I nod, though I know sleep will be hard to find. My mind keeps replaying the night, of Harris's face in the headlights, the gun against my head, the barn, and finally the flames.
But beneath the horror is something else.
We are together. We are safe. We are family.
And nothing will ever tear us apart.
The small weight settles between us without warning. I stir from a light sleep, the kind that's more exhaustion than rest, to find Charlie's serious face inches from mine.
"I had a dream," she whispers.
Trenton shifts beside me, instantly alert despite the hour. Matthew's arm tightens around my waist from the other side, his breathing changing as he surfaces from slumber.
"What kind of dream, sweetheart?" I ask, brushing hair from her face.
Charlie sits up, cross-legged on the bed, Princess Sparklehoof clutched to her chest. The night-light from her room casts just enough glow through our open door to illuminate her features, the furrowed brow and the determined set of her mouth.
"I was thinking about something," she says, her voice small but certain. "About the judge lady and the papers and how you're all officially my family now."
Trenton props himself up on one elbow. Matthew sits up more slowly, his hand finding my back, a steady presence.
"What were you thinking about?" I ask.
Charlie looks between the three of us, her gaze moving from face to face with the intense focus she reserves for her most important questions.
"Can I call you Mommy?" she asks me, then turns to Trenton. "And you Daddy?" Her eyes find Matthew. "And you Papa?"
The words hang in the quiet bedroom. The request is so simple, so profound, that for a moment I can't speak. The official adoption papers sit in a folder in my office, signed and stamped and legally binding. But this, this is different. This is Charlie choosing us.
"Of course you can," I manage, my voice thick. "If that's what you want."
Charlie nods, her expression still serious. "I've been thinking about it since the judge said yes. Dr. Elaine said I should talk about important feelings, and this is my most important feeling."
Matthew reaches out, his large hand engulfing her small one. "Papa," he repeats, testing the word. "I like that."
"Me too," Trenton says, his voice rougher than usual. He extends his arm, and Charlie crawls into the space between us, settling against his chest. "Daddy. I think I can get used to that."
I watch them, my two men and our daughter, and feel a shift in my chest. The horror of the barn recedes, if only slightly. This moment, this simple question in the middle of the night, is what we fought for. What we killed for.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" Charlie asks, already settling deeper into the covers. "Just tonight? Because I'm a little scared."
"Of course, baby," I tell her, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. "You can stay as long as you need."
Matthew lies back down, his hand finding mine over Charlie's small body. "We're all here," he says. "We're not going anywhere."