27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wrenley
Our safe house feels different now. Softer somehow.
There are warm lights glowing in the hallways.
The sound of water running. Girls wrapped in blankets, some asleep, some wide-eyed and shell-shocked.
Elias found a playlist of soft piano music that hums quietly in the background.
Doc moves from one person to the next like she’s running triage in a war zone made of ghosts.
I’m sitting on the arm of the couch when she finds me, gently pulling me aside near the hallway.
“It’s been a couple of hours,” she says. “I’ve checked everyone except the girl who’s been clinging to Wrecker since they got here.”
My eyes slide across the room to where they’re still seated, her small frame wrapped around his massive arm like it’s a lifeline.
“She won’t let me touch her,” Doc says gently. “Won’t speak. Just keeps holding on to him.”
I nod toward the couch. “Do you see anything wrong from here? Bruises? Pupils?”
Doc shakes her head. “She doesn’t look drugged. If she was, it’s worn off. No obvious injuries, either. But that doesn’t mean there’s nothing.”
I exhale slowly. “Maybe I can get her to take a bath.”
She nods toward the hallway. “Take her to the master bathroom. It’s quieter.”
As if on cue, Margot walks in, her arms overflowing with boxes of clean clothes in every size she could get her hands on.
“I found everything from leggings to oversized sweatshirts,” she says, dropping them onto the hallway bench. “If this isn’t healing, I don’t know what is.”
I cross the room and kneel in front of the girl. She looks so small next to Wrecker, curled into him like she’s trying to disappear inside his shadow.
I give her a soft smile. “Hi. My name’s Wrenley. How about a hot bath, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t answer at first. Just looks up at Wrecker with those huge, haunted eyes.
“Will you stay with me?” she whispers.
Wrecker nods without hesitation. “I’ll be right outside the bathroom door the whole time.”
That seems to be enough. She nods once, barely, and then unpeels herself from his arm. We walk to the master bedroom. I gently nudge the bathroom door open, but before I can close it behind us, she flinches.
“Please don’t shut the door,” she says quietly.
I freeze. “Okay. I won’t.”
I turn to look at Wrecker, and he nods, taking his place outside the door, his back leaning against the frame, a wall of calm. His arms are crossed, but his eyes are scanning the bedroom, watching, guarding. I leave the door open.
Inside, I run the water, letting it fill the tub until steam curls up into the air. I found lavender soap and soft towels.
She undressed slowly, cautiously, as I help her into the bath without looking directly at her, just giving her space. She sinks into the warmth with a soft gasp, and I see her eyes flutter closed for a second, like her body doesn’t know what to do with this kind of comfort.
I kneel beside the tub and gently say, “Can I ask your name?”
She opens her eyes. “Daisy.”
My chest tightens. There’s something about it, so soft and delicate. A flower growing in concrete.
“How old are you, Daisy?”
“I’ll be fifteen soon,” she says. Then she gives a sad smile, so hollow it shatters me. “Yes… I was the youngest one there.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
She nods. Doesn’t cry. Just sits there with the weight of it all.
I reach for the bottle of shampoo. “Would it be okay if I washed your hair?”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then nods. “Yes… that would be okay.”
I help her lean forward gently. The water sloshes as she shifts. I begin to lather the shampoo into her tangled hair, careful not to tug, fingers working through the knots with patience and care no one else gave her.
“You’re safe now,” I say, softly, the words more for her soul than her ears.
In this tiny moment, steam fogging the mirror, the lavender curling through the air, and the slow rise and fall of Daisy’s breath, something in her begins to settle. Just a little. But enough.
Daisy is already dressed, Margot found her something soft and clean, and I’m brushing out her damp hair while she sits at the bathroom counter.
Her eyes keep drifting toward the bathroom door, where Wrecker is standing guard with his back to us.
She hasn’t let go of him since he carried her out, not really. And I don’t think he minds.
“That man who carried me,” she says softly, still watching him. “He’s… nice.”
I smile at her through the mirror. “That’s Wrecker. He’s one of the good ones.”
She nods, thoughtful. Then her gaze shifts to the reflection of my face, to the spot where the stitches are fresh. “The man who fixed your cut. Is he your husband?”
I glance up, brushing her hair a little slower. “Reaper? Yeah. He is.”
“But the other man,” she continues, confusion wrinkling her brow. “With the dark hair. He called you Sparrow. And kissed your head. Who is he?”
I meet her gaze in the mirror and grin. “That’s Max, and yes, he’s my husband too.”
Daisy’s mouth opens slightly. “You have two husbands?”
“I do,” I say, still smiling. “I love them both in my own way. And they love me in theirs.”
She is quiet for a moment, then says softly. “That must be nice. To have that much love.”
Her words hit deeper than I expect. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “It is,” I say gently.
She studies me for a beat longer, then glances back toward Wrecker’s silhouette. “Wrecker and Reaper… those are strange names.”
I laugh, brushing her hair faster now. “They’re nicknames from a long time ago. They just kind of stuck.” I finish braiding her hair into a neat plait and lead her to the bed, “You should try and sleep, you need it.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the bedroom door. Daisy stiffens instinctively. I stand, moving slowly so I don’t startle her. “It’s just Reaper,” I tell her gently.
The door opens slightly, “Little warrior,” Liam calls from the other side, voice low. “Torque’s ready with the SUV. We need to head to the other safehouse.”
“I’ll be right there.”
I tuck a stray piece of hair behind Daisy's ear. “Get some rest, okay?”
She nods, but her eyes go back to Wrecker. He steps closer, crouching near the edge of the bed. “I have to go,” he says softly. “But my friends will be here. They’ll keep you safe. Doc is going to want to check you out, okay?”
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll come back and take you all somewhere better. Somewhere safe.” He tells her.
Daisy hesitates, then gives another small nod. She believes him. I think we all do.
Out in the car, it’s quiet for a while before Wrecker exhales hard, like he’s been holding it for hours.
“Fucking fourteen,” he mutters. “She reminds me of my little sister.”
Torque, in the front seat, glances back. “Yeah. I thought so too.”
“You have a sister?” I ask Wrecker.
“Had,” he says quietly. “She passed away when we were kids. Heart defect. Nothing could’ve saved her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He nods once. “Me too.”
The SUV rolls to a stop outside Matthew’s safehouse. Torque kills the engine, and for a moment, no one moves. We all know what’s coming. Reaper’s quiet. Max’s jaw ticks. Wrecker cracks his knuckles waiting for someone to give him a reason to be unleashed.
As we step inside, the air is colder and emptier than what we left behind.
The other house started to cause a feeling of relief, here it’s more like sinking despair.
Tied to a chair in the middle of the room like some sorry little offering sits Matthew.
My blood surges. I storm across the floor and kick him square in the chest. The chair crashes back with a crack of wood and bone, the breath whooshing out of him as he hits the ground.
“What the hell is going on?” he wheezes.
I’m already on him. I drop down, kneeling on his chest, my knees digging into his ribs. He gasps, struggling against the ropes, but he’s not going anywhere. I slide my dagger free, let the point rest just under his eye. Just enough pressure to make him sweat.
“Matthew,” I murmur, voice low and deceptively calm. “You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
I sigh, glancing around the men standing in a loose circle around us. Reaper. Max. Torque. Wrecker. Silent sentinels.
I click my tongue “I don’t see how you get out of this alive.” I add, looking back at him. “Unless you start talking.”
His breath hitches. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Wrong answer.” I push just enough to nick skin. He flinches, trying to turn his head, but I hold him still with a palm to his forehead. “How long has Sebastian been back?”
“I—I don’t know,” he stammers. “He was supposed to be in Lisbon. I’m supposed to meet him there next week, I swear—”
I laugh. It’s not pretty. I lean closer, bringing the tip of the blade close to his eye. “I wonder how much force it would take to pop one of these out,” I whisper, watching the panic bloom in his face. “Quick little scoop? Or slow twist?”
He squeezes his eyes shut like it’ll help. Coward.
“Help me,” he pleads, head turning toward the others. “You can’t just let her—”
Reaper snorts. “Let her?”
Max crosses his arms. “Clearly, you’ve never seen a woman in control before.”
Matthew’s gaze bounces between them. No help. No mercy. Just four men who know exactly who their queen is. And right now? She’s not feeling generous.