31. Nora
NORA
The clubhouse starts feeling almost normal right before everything falls apart.
That thought keeps circling through my head all morning while I stand in the industrial kitchen beside Eva chopping vegetables for lunch.
Around us, the clubhouse hums with the kind of organized chaos I somehow stopped noticing over the last two weeks.
Prospects move through carrying boxes and laundry baskets.
Somebody downstairs is arguing loudly about motorcycle parts.
One of the rescued women laughs unexpectedly hard at something Cami says from the dining area.
Even the constant presence of weapons has started blending into the background in a way that probably should concern me more than it does.
But this place feels lived in now instead of frightening.
Paxton darts through the kitchen doorway at full speed with Lena directly behind him, both of them barefoot despite at least six adults repeatedly telling them to wear socks around the clubhouse because the concrete floors get cold in the mornings.
We are making a fort, Paxton signs excitedly the second he spots me.
Lena jumps in immediately. A giant one. We need blankets and flashlights and snacks because we are camping.
“You’re camping inside a fortified biker compound,” Eva says dryly, while sliding a tray of biscuits into the oven.
Lena shrugs. “Still counts.”
Paxton just looks seriously beside her.
I can’t help smiling a little as I speak and sign, “No forts until after lunch.”
Both children groan dramatically.
“You’ll survive this terrible oppression somehow,” Cami calls from the other room, mostly for Lena to hear and likely translate for Paxton.
The rescued women nearby laugh softly and something in my chest loosens hearing it.
When I first arrived here, the clubhouse felt emotionally heavy all the time.
Too many traumatized people shoved into one building trying to relearn how to breathe normally again.
Now there’s still grief everywhere if I look closely enough, but life has started growing around it too.
One of the younger rescued women walks into the kitchen quietly carrying empty coffee mugs. She hesitates when she notices how crowded the counters are, but Isa immediately waves her over.
“Put them there, sweetheart,” Isa says gently, pointing toward the sink. “Ignore the chaos. Wolves survive exclusively through chaos.”
“That explains a lot,” I mutter.
Eva snorts beside me.
The woman gives a small nervous smile before moving toward the sink. She’s only been here four days. I remember, because she barely spoke the first forty-eight hours after arriving. Now she talks occasionally. Eats full meals. Sleeps more than two hours at a time according to Blade.
Small progress. Still progress.
The kitchen door swings open again and all three men walk in together mid-conversation, immediately changing the atmosphere without trying to. I notice it before I even fully look up. The room shifts sharper somehow. Quieter around the edges.
Stryker sees me first.
His expression doesn’t change much, but I notice the way his eyes move automatically across the room checking exits, windows, people. Blade looks tired again. Viper looks restless.
Something’s wrong. I set the knife down immediately.
“What happened?”
Viper’s gaze flicks toward the children first. “Where’s Reyes?”
“War room,” Eva answers immediately, already noticing the same thing I did.
Stryker nods once. “Need everybody upstairs in ten.”
That’s all he says before all three men disappear back into the hallway. The kitchen goes silent for half a second after they leave.
Then Cami sighs loudly. “Well. That’s never good.”
Isa folds her arms across her chest. “How bad was the look?”
“Bad enough that Stryker forgot to kiss Nora hello,” Eva says calmly.
That makes my stomach tighten immediately because she’s right. The men always acknowledge us first now no matter how busy they are. Paxton especially. The fact Stryker walked straight through the kitchen without stopping means something serious just happened.
Lena notices the shift too. “Are we in trouble?”
“No, baby,” I say automatically, crouching beside her. “Probably just work stuff.”
The lie tastes thin even to me.
Paxton studies my face carefully for a second before signing slower. Is everything okay?
I hate how quickly he understands fear.
I smooth a hand over his curls gently. Yes it’s fine.
Twenty minutes later the entire clubhouse feels different.
The change happens fast enough it’s honestly terrifying.
Men move quicker through hallways. Doors that normally stay propped open shut instead.
Prospects start carrying rifles openly again.
Somebody downstairs wheels crates of ammunition across the concrete floor while radios crackle constantly from different corners of the building.
War mode.
I’m standing near the back staircase holding two mugs of coffee when Blade finds me.
“Hey.”
I look up immediately. “What’s happening?”
He takes one mug from my hands before answering. “Possible opportunity.”
“That sounds vague on purpose.”
“It is.”
I wait.
Blade exhales slowly. “Bishop found movement overlap between Joaquín, Kadyn, and the Vegas Don.”
The names alone make my pulse jump now. All the stories. All the violence. All the years tied back to those men somehow.
“All three together?” I ask quietly.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“We’re still confirming. Calder’s people picked up similar movement from Miami.”
I stare at him for a second while pieces click together slowly. “You’re leaving.”
His silence answers first.
Then, “Yeah.”
The word lands harder than I expect.
Not because I’m surprised. I know what they do now. I know the war surrounding them hasn’t stopped just because we started building routines together inside the clubhouse. But somewhere over the last couple weeks I started pretending normal life could last longer before reality interrupted again.
Apparently not.
Behind Blade, Viper walks down the hallway already dressed in dark tactical gear instead of jeans. The sight makes something cold slide through my stomach because it reminds me too clearly these men were built for violence long before they ever became part of my life.
Viper catches me staring. He immediately changes direction toward us.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
I hate how relieved I feel hearing his voice.
“You’re leaving too,” I say quietly.
“All of us are.”
“Cool,” I answer automatically, even though nothing about this feels cool.
Viper huffs a quiet laugh before touching two fingers briefly against my hip as he passes closer. Casual. Familiar. The small contact steadies me more than it should.
“We’ll be back before you know it.”
“That’s exactly the kind of sentence people say before something terrible happens.”
“Jesus Christ,” Cami mutters from somewhere behind me. “Nora really does fit in here.”
Blade’s mouth twitches slightly.
Viper points at me. “See? She gets us.”
I cross my arms tighter instead of answering, too busy noticing how tense all three of them look underneath the attempted calm. Stryker especially. He’s standing near the far end of the hallway talking quietly with Reyes, but his posture alone tells me everything I need to know.
The next several hours pass in controlled chaos.
Vehicles get loaded. Weapons checked. Route maps spread across tables.
The clubhouse women instinctively shift into support mode around the men without needing discussion.
Eva organizes food containers for the road while Isa coordinates communication backups through mafia contacts.
Tori practically bullies three prospects into taking extra body armor because apparently nobody argues with her successfully anymore.
I mostly stay near the children trying not to let my anxiety bleed onto them. Paxton notices anyway. He always does.
By late afternoon the convoy is almost ready.
The desert heat outside turns the compound hazy while motorcycles line the yard beside armored SUVs and supply trucks. Men move between vehicles carrying rifles and duffel bags while engines rumble steadily beneath conversations.
Lena clings harder than usual to Stryker’s hand.
“When are you coming back?” she asks for maybe the fifth time.
“Soon, sweetie.”
“You said that already.”
“And it’s still true.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously like she inherited every ounce of his stubbornness genetically.
Paxton stands beside me watching all the movement carefully. He doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but he understands enough to know everyone feels wrong today.
Trip? he signs.
I nod slowly. Work trip.
His expression falls immediately.
Viper crouches beside him without hesitation. We’ll try to bring presents back, he signs slowly, clumsy, but understandable.
Paxton brightens slightly. Candy?
Viper grins. “Absolutely candy.”
“Don’t promise him sugar,” I mutter.
“Too late.”
Blade walks over then carrying extra magazines clipped against his vest. The sight still unsettles me sometimes even now. Doctor hands loading ammunition. Calm eyes discussing violence like weather patterns.
He stops in front of me quietly. “You’ll stay inside the compound.”
“That wasn’t phrased like a request.”
“It’s not.”
I sigh softly. “Blade?—”
“Angel.” His voice lowers slightly. “I mean it.”
There’s enough seriousness there that I stop arguing.
“Okay.”
His shoulders loosen by a fraction.
For one strange second none of us move. The yard around us stays loud and busy, but the moment between us feels oddly separate from it. Then Blade reaches up and brushes his thumb briefly beneath my eye like he’s checking for something.
“Get some sleep and try not to worry okay?”
I blink at him. “You’re literally about to drive into a warzone.”
“Yes and I will drive out of it. All three of us will.”
Before I can respond, Stryker calls across the yard. “We move in five.”
Everything sharpens after that.