Chapter Five
THE HALLWAY OUTSIDE the back rooms felt longer than any road I’d ever ridden.
I stood there, back to the wall, arms crossed over my chest while Elara and Jewel guided her inside. The bedroom door shut with a soft click, leaving me with the hum of pipes and the faint thrum of voices from the common room.
Every instinct screamed to stay close. To guard the door. To make damn sure nobody so much as breathed wrong in her direction.
She’d followed them, that was the only reason I’d let her out of my sight. The trust it must’ve taken, for someone who’d spent God knew how long behind a locked door, to walk away with strangers. My chest tightened thinking of it.
“Ashen,” Warden said as he came down the hall. He stopped beside me, running a hand through his hair, worry etched deep into his face. “She’s in good hands. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my thumb over the scar in my palm. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
He huffed, low and dry. “Never pegged you for a mother hen.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered, but there wasn’t much bite in it.
We stood in silence after that, listening to the pipes groan as water rushed through them, the faint clink of Jewel moving around, Elara’s voice muffled. My gut twisted anyway. I hated walls between me and danger. Too many times, walls had meant failure.
Not again.
Time stretched. My boots tapped restless against the floor. I counted my own breaths, forced myself to stay put when every muscle in me wanted to rip the door off its hinges.
At last, the handle turned.
Jewel stepped out first, towel slung over her shoulder, her cutting eyes flicking to me before softening a fraction. Elara followed, one hand pressed against her back, moving slower with her belly.
And then—her.
She hesitated in the doorway, hands tugging at the hem of her borrowed shirt. Damp hair framed her face, dark strands clinging to her skin. Clean, she looked like someone entirely new and yet unbearably the same—fragile, marked, but so achingly alive it made my chest ache.
Jewel touched her shoulder lightly, guiding her forward. Wren moved like every step was a decision she had to remake, but she followed.
The common room went still the second she stepped in.
Pool cues froze mid-shot. Cigarettes burned low between fingers. Conversations cut off like a blade had sliced them in half.
Every man looked.
But this time it wasn’t shock at the dirt and silence.
It was her.
Clean, she was impossible not to see. Long dark hair damp and shining, ocean-blue eyes startling under the glow of the neon signs.
The bruises stood out sharper now, but they didn’t dim her.
If anything, they made her seem more real.
Fragile, yes. But beautiful. So beautiful it knocked the air out of the room.
And every bastard noticed.
My chest went tight, jaw clenching until my teeth ached.
Maul’s brows lifted. “I get it now,” he smirked.
Scyth muttered to Rex, his eyes not leaving her. “Holy shit.”
Rex gave a short, humorless laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Her silence stretched, and even Rex shifted under the weight of it.
Throttle leaned back further, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Ashen,” he drawled, his smirk tugging slow. “She’s different. You can feel it.” His eyes flicked to her. “Question is, are you ready for what comes with different?”
Heat prickled down my spine. I moved before I thought about it, stepping in close, my body blocking half their view. Her shoulder brushed mine, light as a whisper, but it grounded me. Reminded me she was more than what they saw.
“Eyes off,” Warden growled once more from behind the bar. His voice carried steel. “She’s not here for your entertainment.”
The weight of his words shifted the room, but not enough. The sweet butts whispered near the wall anyway, Holly’s eyes wide, Truly biting her lip, Tabby smirking like she’d already decided the story she’d tell later.
Jewel cut them a glare hard enough to send them scattering like chickens.
Elara stayed close to her other side, murmuring soft words only she could hear. She didn’t answer, still locked in her silence, but her eyes flicked once to Elara, then to Jewel, then finally back to me.
I caught it, the way her chin tilted just slightly, like she was bracing herself beneath the weight of every stare.
Even mine.
Because Christ help me, I was staring too.
Noticing the way her damp hair clung to her cheek, the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the quiet strength in her silence. My pulse pounded, hot and jagged, the urge to reach out—to touch, to shield, to claim—clawing hard under my skin.
I forced my fists to stay clenched, my stance firm.
She wasn’t mine.
But she was under my patch now.
And if any of them looked at her like she wasn’t, I’ll beat them ten feet in the ground.