Chapter 7 - Amy
I wake up with my own scream trapped in my throat, sheets twisted around my body like ropes. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead and neck.
In my nightmare, Mike wasn't dead. He was standing over me, gun pressed against my temple, laughing as he pulled the trigger. Only instead of dying, I kept feeling the pain, over and over, unable to escape.
"Fuck," I whisper to the dark room, my heart still racing like I've run a marathon.
I ease myself out of bed, wincing as my ribs protest. The pain pills wore off hours ago, but I'm hesitant to take more. I've never liked the fuzzy feeling of medication, the sense of not being fully in control.
The bathroom is also surprisingly nice for a biker clubhouse.
Clean white tiles, a large shower, plush towels.
I strip off my sweat-soaked t-shirt and underwear, catching sight of myself in the mirror.
Jesus. The bruises look even worse than yesterday, a watercolor of purples, blues, and sickly yellows spreading across my torso.
My face isn't much better, though the swelling around my eye has gone down slightly.
I step under the hot shower spray, letting the water beat down on my sore muscles.
It hurts and feels amazing at the same time, like pressing on a bruise.
I stand there longer than necessary, trying to wash away not just the sweat but the lingering feel of Mike's hands, the smell of the compound, the fear that's become so familiar I barely recognize it as fear anymore.
When I finally emerge, pink-skinned and wrapped in a towel, I feel marginally more human.
I find clean clothes laid out on a chair.
Not mine, but close enough to my size. Someone must have brought them in while I slept.
The thought of a stranger entering my room should disturb me, but oddly, it doesn't. Maybe I'm too exhausted to care, or maybe this place already feels safer than anywhere I've been in years.
I dress slowly, careful of my ribs. Jeans that are a bit loose but wearable with a belt, a soft gray t-shirt, and a blue flannel button-up that I leave open. No bra, but honestly, with these ribs, that's a blessing. I run a brush through my damp hair and stare at myself in the mirror again.
I look like shit, but a more put-together version of shit than yesterday. Progress, I guess.
The clubhouse is buzzing with activity when I venture out of my room. Voices carry from the main area—laughing, talking, the occasional shout. It sounds almost... festive. Not what I expected from a group of hardened bikers the day after a deadly raid.
I follow the noise, pausing at the entrance to the main room.
It's packed. All the bikers from yesterday plus several women I haven't met.
Kelly sits perched on Blade's lap by the pool table, looking more relaxed than I've seen her in years.
Evelyn stands near Reaper, his arm casually draped around her shoulders.
There's a young woman, maybe 19 or 20, next to Wilder, and a pretty pregnant girl leaning against Ace.
Most surprising is Ghost, the intimidating VP, sitting on a couch with a young boy climbing all over him while a pretty woman watches fondly.
The conversation lulls as I enter, and Kelly immediately untangles herself from Blade and rushes over.
"Amy! You're finally up!" She hugs me gently, mindful of my injuries. "How are you feeling? Any better?"
"I'm okay," I lie automatically. "Better."
"Good, because we're going on an adventure," she says, linking her arm through mine and leading me further into the room. "Evelyn and Emma had this amazing idea for a picnic at the lake today. Everyone's going!"
"A picnic?" I repeat, bewildered. These people just finished a war yesterday and now they're planning a day at the lake?
"To celebrate," Kelly explains. "The end of the Vultures MC, our freedom... life in general."
"Come sit," she says, leading me to an empty chair at the table. "Evelyn's making enough pancakes to feed an army."
"More like feeding a bunch of men with the appetites of teenage boys," Evelyn calls over her shoulder with a smile.
"Don't let her fool you," Reaper says, pressing a kiss to the top of Evelyn's head. "She's made three batches already and eaten half of one herself."
"I'm a growing girl," she retorts, elbowing him playfully.
The intimacy between them is so at odds with the dangerous aura Reaper projects that it throws me for a loop. The same goes for the rest of the room. Deadly men and the women who clearly adore them, all acting like one big, rowdy family.
"You must be Amy," the young woman next to Wilder says. "I'm Emma. Reaper's daughter." She reaches across the table to offer her hand, which I shake automatically. "Sorry I wasn't around yesterday when you arrived. I was at Wilder's place, waiting for everything with the Vultures MC to be over."
"Nice to meet you," I manage, still trying to process the fact that the MC president has a daughter who looks like she could be in a college brochure.
"Emma's studying to be an FBI agent," Kelly adds, clearly enjoying my surprise.
Emma laughs at my expression. "Criminal forensics, actually. I'm at school in Boston, just home for a bit. I go back in a few days for exams."
"FBI," I repeat, looking between her and Reaper across the room. "And your dad's okay with that?"
"He's warming up to it," Emma says with a grin. "The irony isn't lost on any of us."
My head is spinning trying to reconcile all of this. The president's daughter studying to be a federal agent. The terrifying VP playing with a child. Everyone acting like we're just a normal group planning a normal outing.
"Here, eat something," Kelly says, placing a plate of pancakes in front of me. "You must be starving."
I pick up a fork, suddenly realizing how hungry I actually am. "So, everyone's going to this picnic? All the... girlfriends too?"
"Partners, kids," Kelly confirms, sitting next to me. "It's like a whole family thing. Isn't it great?"
I glance at her as I eat, noting the brightness in her eyes, the ease in her posture. She looks happy, genuinely happy, in a way I haven't seen since we were kids.
"You really like it here," I say. It's not a question.
"I do." She glances toward Blade, who's talking with Reaper by the door. "I know it's fast, Amy. I know it probably seems crazy to you. But..."
"But when you know, you know?" I finish for her.
She looks surprised, then smiles. "Yeah, exactly. There's just something about him. About all of them, really. They might look scary and do some questionable things, but they're good people where it counts."
I'm not convinced, but I can't deny the evidence in front of me. These men rescued us, killed our captors, and are now including us in what appears to be a family gathering without hesitation.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Viper walks in, and my stomach does a strange little flip at the sight of him, which I immediately blame on hunger.
"Morning," he says, those green eyes taking in my appearance. "You look better."
"Amazing what a shower and clean clothes can do," I reply, aiming for lightness.
"Viper's riding with us to the lake," Kelly informs me. "Well, you're riding with him. You okay on a motorcycle with your ribs?"
The memory of yesterday's ride flashes through my mind. The vibration of the engine, the wind in my face, the solid warmth of Viper's body against mine. It had hurt, yes, but it had also made me feel alive in a way I'd forgotten was possible.
"I'll manage," I say, finishing the last of my pancakes.
"We can take one of the cars if it's too much," Viper offers, leaning against the doorframe. "Your call."
"The bike is fine," I insist. I'm not sure why it matters to me, but it does.
He nods, a hint of approval in his eyes. "We're heading out in about twenty minutes. Anything you need before then?"
"I'm good," I say, though "good" is relative these days. Better than yesterday, at least.
Kelly gives me a look I can't quite decipher, her eyes darting between Viper and me.
"I'll go make sure Blade packed the sunscreen," she says, standing up. "He told me he burns like crazy." She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. "See you outside."
Once she's gone, Viper takes her seat across from me. "You don't have to go if you're not up for it," he says quietly. "No one would think less of you for needing time."
The consideration catches me off guard. "I want to go," I say, surprised to find it's true. "I've been locked inside for days. Fresh air sounds... nice."
"If it gets to be too much… The people, the noise, whatever, just say the word and I'll bring you back. No questions asked."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Viper doesn't flinch from it. "Because you've had enough shit to deal with. Because you stood up to a gun at your head without breaking. Because you deserve something good after what you've been through."
His directness is disarming. No platitudes, no evasion. Just simple truth as he sees it.
"Thank you," I say, meaning it.
He shrugs like it's nothing, but I can tell it's not nothing to him. "Better get ready. Reaper gets grumpy if we're late to his precious schedule."
Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting on the back of Viper's motorcycle, arms wrapped around his waist as we follow a small convoy of bikes and a car down a winding road away from Pine Haven.
The day is perfect. Bright blue sky, puffy white clouds, warm sun on my face.
I close my eyes and let myself feel the freedom of the open road, the promise of a day without fear.
It won't last, I know. The nightmares will return tonight. The pain in my ribs won't magically disappear. The trauma of what I've survived won't vanish because I spent an afternoon at a lake with bikers and their families.