Chapter 6
One Roof. One Bed. One Impossible Rule.
The emergency council meeting lasted less than fifteen minutes.
When it ended, every officer of Black Iron wore the same expression.
The rules had changed.
Reaper stood at the head of the room with his hands folded behind his back.
"The bridge attack confirms what we've been suspecting," he said. "They have eyes outside our gates, maybe even inside our supply routes. They knew exactly when she left and exactly where she'd be intercepted."
Hawk looked toward Titan.
"They'll try again."
"They won't stop."
Diesel folded a map shut.
"Then she can't stay in the infirmary."
"No," Reaper agreed. "Too predictable."
Bishop leaned forward.
"So where?"
The answer came from Titan.
"With me."
The room fell silent.
Diesel laughed once.
"That's a terrible idea."
"It's the safest one."
"For who?"
"For everyone."
Reaper studied Titan carefully.
"You understand what that means."
Titan nodded.
"My cabin sits outside the main housing block. Only one approach road. Three elevated sightlines. Easier to defend."
"And easier to isolate."
"Exactly."
Hawk looked unconvinced.
"She's going to hate it."
Titan's expression never changed.
"She already does."
"I absolutely refuse."
I stood in Reaper's office with my arms folded despite the dull ache in my healing shoulder.
"I'm not moving into his cabin."
Reaper remained calm.
"You don't have a choice."
"I thought this wasn't a prison."
"It isn't."
"Then let me leave."
"No."
I laughed bitterly.
"So it is a prison."
"No," Titan said quietly from beside the door. "It's a battlefield."
I turned toward him.
"You don't get to decide my life."
"No."
"Then why am I being treated like property?"
For the first time, something flickered across Titan's face.
Not anger.
Pain.
Reaper noticed it too.
"No one here owns you," the president said. "But if we fail to protect you, people will die."
"I didn't ask for protection."
"You also didn't ask to become the most hunted woman in three states."
The room fell silent.
I hated that they were right.
I hated even more that I had nowhere else to go.
Titan's cabin sat nearly half a mile beyond the main clubhouse, tucked against a pine-covered hillside overlooking the northern valley.
It didn't resemble the rough bunkhouse I had imagined.
It looked like a home.
A large stone fireplace dominated one wall. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the mountains. Bookshelves stretched from one end of the living room to the other, packed with history, engineering, military memoirs, and classic novels.
A battered acoustic guitar rested beside an old leather chair.
The kitchen was spotless.
Everything was orderly.
Everything had a place.
Nothing hinted at the brutal enforcer the world feared.
"You read?" I asked before I could stop myself.
Titan carried my duffel bag down the hallway.
"Sometimes."
I walked toward the shelves.
"'The Count of Monte Cristo.'"
No answer.
"'To Kill a Mockingbird.'"
Silence.
"'Meditations.'"
Titan finally looked at me.
"My mother liked books."
The simplicity of the answer ended the conversation.
I suddenly understood.
He hadn't collected them.
He had kept them.
"There are two bedrooms," he said.
I glanced down the hallway.
The silence lasted several seconds.
Then Titan frowned.
"The roof."
"What?"
"The storm."
Rain began pounding the cabin almost immediately.
A loud crack echoed overhead.
Titan disappeared outside without another word.
Curiosity drew me to the porch.
He climbed onto the roof despite the rain, replacing broken shingles loosened by the wind.
"You couldn't wait until morning?" I shouted.
"The leak reaches the spare room."
"So?"
"If it floods..."
He looked down at me.
"...you'll have nowhere to sleep."
An hour later, soaked from head to toe, Titan stepped back inside carrying a toolbox.
Water dripped from his hair onto the wooden floor.
"The roof's secure."
Doc arrived less than twenty minutes later.
She inspected the damaged bedroom before sighing.
"The ceiling's still unstable."
Titan nodded.
"I figured."
Doc looked toward me.
"You can't sleep in there tonight."
"I'll take the couch."
Titan shook his head.
"It doesn't unfold."
"I've slept on worse."
"No."
I narrowed my eyes.
"No?"
"You'll sleep in my room."
"And you?"
"The chair."
"The giant who owns the bed gets the chair?"
He shrugged.
"It's only one night."
I stared at him.
"This is ridiculous."
"I agree."
"Then why are we doing it?"
"Because the ceiling might collapse."
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I followed him into the bedroom.
The room was surprisingly plain.
One king-sized bed.
One dresser.
One nightstand.
One framed photograph turned face down.
Nothing else.
No trophies.
No decorations.
No luxury.
Just quiet.
Titan handed me a clean T-shirt.
"It's dry."
"I'm not wearing your clothes."
"They're warmer."
"I'll survive."
He met my eyes.
"I know."
The answer somehow irritated me even more.
The storm worsened after midnight.
Lightning flashed across the valley.
Thunder rattled the cabin windows.
Sleep refused to come.
I stepped quietly into the hallway.
The living room glowed softly from the dying fire.
Titan sat in the leather chair exactly where he had promised.
He wasn't sleeping.
He was cleaning an old revolver with slow, practiced movements.
"You don't trust anyone."
He didn't look up.
"I trust the people who've earned it."
"What if I leave again?"
"You won't."
"You sound confident."
"I am."
"You think you've figured me out?"
He finally raised his eyes.
"I think you figured the world out this morning."
The bridge.
The ambush.
The hunters.
The memory tightened my chest.
"I hate this."
"I know."
"I hate needing your protection."
"I know."
"I hate that every decision I make seems to prove you right."
A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.
The first I had ever seen.
It transformed his face so completely that I almost didn't recognize him.
"There she is."
I frowned.
"What?"
"The woman who argues because she's scared."
"I'm not scared."
"You ran toward forty armed men this morning."
"I ran away from you."
"You ran back with me."
Neither of us spoke.
The fire crackled softly.
Outside, rain drummed against the roof.
"I still don't trust you," I whispered.
"I wouldn't."
"You wouldn't?"
"If our positions were reversed..."
He carefully placed the revolver on the table.
"...I'd probably hate me too."
The honesty caught me completely off guard.
No excuses.
No self-defense.
Just truth.
I looked at the enormous man sitting alone beside the fire.
For the first time since meeting him, I didn't see the legend everyone feared.
I saw a man carrying a loneliness far heavier than his size.
And that realization frightened me far more than his reputation ever had.
Because hatred was simple.
Hatred kept people at a safe distance.
Understanding was far more dangerous.
It slipped quietly through the cracks.
And once it found a way inside, it was almost impossible to force back out.