Chapter 6 - Kelly
I'm back in the basement room where they kept us. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the sour stench of unwashed bodies. Men's voices echo around me, speaking low, but their meaning is clear in their leering smiles and wandering hands.
"Such a pretty bride," Mike says, his thick fingers gripping my chin. "My friends are eager to see if you're worth what I paid for you."
I try to pull away, but my wrists are bound to the chair. The wedding dress they forced me into is already torn at the shoulder, exposing skin that burns where they've touched me.
"Please," I whisper, hating the weakness in my voice. "Don't do this."
He laughs, the sound like broken glass. "But darling, this is your wedding night. A time for celebration."
Someone sets up a camera on a tripod. Another man approaches with a syringe.
"Just a little something to help you relax," Mike says, stroking my hair as I struggle against my restraints. "Soon you won't care what happens to you."
Beyond him, I see Amy watching with glassy eyes, her once-bright smile now a vacant imitation. They've already broken her. Now it's my turn.
"Amy, help me!" I scream, but she just stares, unseeing.
The needle comes closer. I thrash wildly, the chair tipping over. As I fall, the scene shifts. I'm running through the woods, wedding dress catching on branches, tearing my skin, but the footsteps behind me are getting closer...
"Kelly. Wake up."
A hand on my shoulder jolts me from the nightmare. I lash out instinctively, my fist connecting with something solid.
"Fuck!" A deep voice curses as I scramble backward across the bed, disoriented and terrified.
"Stay away from me!" I gasp, before reality begins to filter back.
Not the basement. Not the woods. I'm in a bedroom—Blade's bedroom. And the dark figure I just punched is Blade himself, rubbing his jaw where my knuckles caught him.
"Jesus," he mutters, stepping back to give me space. "That's some right hook you've got."
Shame floods through me as the nightmare recedes, leaving me trembling and damp with sweat. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I thought—I was dreaming—"
"I know." His voice is gruff, almost annoyed. "You were screaming."
I pull my knees to my chest, trying to get my breathing under control. The t-shirt he gave me is twisted around my torso, and I tug it back into place, suddenly aware of how exposed I am.
"Sorry," I say again, unable to meet his eyes. "Did I wake everyone up?"
"No. Just me." He moves to the small desk across the room and flips on a lamp, casting the space in a soft glow that's less jarring than overhead lights would be.
Now that I can see him properly, I realize he's been sitting in the chair across from the bed. Has he been there the whole time? Watching me sleep?
The thought should creep me out, but strangely, it doesn't. Maybe because nothing about this night has been normal, or maybe because after what I've seen him do, Blade watching me sleep seems like the least threatening thing about him.
"What time is it?" I ask, running a hand through my tangled hair.
"Almost five." He leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He's removed his cut but still wears the same clothes from earlier, though his boots are off.
He doesn't ask about my nightmare. Doesn't offer comfort or platitudes. Just watches me with those dark, unreadable eyes. Maybe that's why I start talking. The silence needs filling, and the nightmare still feels too real, too close.
"I was back there," I say abruptly. "In the basement room where they kept us before.
.. before the wedding." I twist the loose thread on his boxers around my finger until it cuts off circulation.
"They had me tied to a chair. Mike was there with his friends, setting up the camera like he told me they would. For my 'wedding night.'"
Blade doesn't react beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes. He already knows this part. But saying it again, in the darkness after the nightmare, somehow makes it more real.
"Amy was there too," I continue, my voice dropping. "Just watching. They've done something to her mind with the drugs and whatever else they've put her through. She wouldn't help me. Couldn't help me."
My hands start shaking, and I clench them into fists to make them stop. "They were going to inject me with something. Make me compliant. Then they'd..." I can't finish the sentence.
"They didn't," Blade says flatly. It's not comfort. His tone is too hard for that, but it's grounding. A reminder of reality. "You got away. And I killed the ones who came after you."
I nod, taking a deep breath. "But Amy's still there. And after what I did… Running away, getting those men killed… They'll make her pay for it."
Blade is silent for a moment, his jaw working as if he's grinding his teeth. Then he pushes off from the desk and moves to the bed, sitting on the edge but leaving plenty of space between us. It's the closest he's been since he bandaged my legs.
"How long has she been with them?" he asks finally.
"Almost two years now. Like I told you, she met them at a club when she was eighteen.
Thought they were just rich businessmen who liked to party.
" I laugh bitterly. "We both did, at first. They gave her drugs, expensive gifts.
Made her feel special. By the time I realized what they really were, she was already addicted to whatever they were giving her. And to the lifestyle, I think."
"And you stayed because of her," he says. It's not a question.
I nod. "She's all I have. Our parents dumped us at a group home when I was nine, Amy was eleven. They just... left. Never came back. We promised we'd always look out for each other." My throat tightens. "Some job I did. I left her behind."
"You tried to get her out. She wouldn't come." His tone is blunt, matter-of-fact. "You can't save someone who doesn't want saving."
"So, I just abandon her? After everything we've been through?" Anger flares, hot and sudden. "She's my sister."
"I didn't say abandon her." His voice remains level despite my outburst. "But rushing back in half-cocked will just get you both killed."
He's right, and I hate it. "So, what am I supposed to do?"
"Right now? Sleep. Tomorrow, tell Reaper everything you know about Charles's operation. If your sister is at their compound, we'll find a way to get her out."
"Just like that? You'll help me rescue my sister from another MC Club because I asked?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.
Blade's mouth twists in what might be the ghost of a smile. "No. We'll help you because we're already at war with Charles, and any chance to hit him where it hurts is worth taking."
At least he's honest. There's no pretense of heroism or selfless rescue. It's refreshing after months of lies.
"Fair enough," I concede. "A mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Exactly."
We fall into silence, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something about Blade that makes silence feel natural rather than awkward. Maybe because he doesn't seem to feel the need to fill it with meaningless talk.
"How did you end up here?" I find myself asking. "With the Outlaw Order?"
He gives me a long look, as if deciding whether to answer. For a moment, I think he won't. His expression is closed off, defensive. But then he sighs, a barely audible sound.
"Military first. Marines. Did three tours in Afghanistan. Met Reaper there. He was my commanding officer. When we got out, civilian life didn't fit right. Too many rules, too much bullshit. Reaper started the club, asked me to join."
"And the name? Blade?"
His expression shutters slightly. "I'm good with knives."
There's more to it than that, I can tell, but I don't push. Everyone has their secrets.
"Did you always..." I hesitate, not sure how to phrase it. "Were you always comfortable with violence? With killing?"
It's a question I shouldn't ask, especially not to a man who killed four people just hours ago. But I need to know if the cold emptiness I saw in him during those moments is natural or learned. If violence can become normal, or if some people are just born with it in their blood.
To my surprise, he doesn't shut down the question.
"No," he says finally. "Not always. The first time I killed someone, I puked my guts out after. Couldn't sleep for days." He looks down at his hands, flexing them slowly. "But it gets easier. Especially when you're good at it. And I was very good at it."
"In the military?"
"Before that. Foster care wasn't exactly summer camp."
"I had a foster father who liked to use his fists," I say quietly. "Especially when he'd been drinking. Amy tried to protect me, but she was just a kid herself."
"What happened to him?" he asks.
"We ran away. Lived on the streets for a while until the cops found us and put us in the group home." I wrap my arms tighter around my knees. "What about yours?"
A muscle ticks in his jaw. "He won't hurt anyone else."
The implication is clear, and I should be horrified. Instead, I feel a twisted sense of justice. Some people deserve whatever they get.
"Good," I say, and mean it.
Something changes between us then. An acknowledgment of shared darkness, of understanding that goes beyond words. Two survivors of systems that failed us, of adults who should have protected us but didn't.
"You should try to sleep," Blade says after a moment. "Tomorrow will be a long day."
I nod but make no move to lie back down. The nightmare still feels too close, the basement room with its camera and needle waiting for me if I close my eyes.
"I can't," I admit. "Not yet."
He stands. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Kitchen. If you're going to be awake, might as well eat something."
The unexpected suggestion catches me off guard. This hardened killer is offering me a midnight snack like it's the most normal thing in the world. But my stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding me that I haven't eaten much in over twenty-four hours.
"Okay," I agree, sliding off the bed.
He hands me a pair of sweatpants from his dresser. "These will be huge, but better than walking around the clubhouse in just a t-shirt and boxers."
I pull them on, having to roll the waistband several times to keep them from dragging on the floor. He watches with what might almost be amusement in his eyes before opening the door and checking the hallway.
"Clear," he says, motioning for me to follow.