Olivia’s
The infirmary is too quiet.
Not silent. Nothing in this clubhouse is ever silent. There’s always something bleeding through the walls, kids running, a door slamming, Blaze talking too much somewhere down the hall, but in here it’s controlled. Contained. The kind of quiet that makes every small sound matter more.
Her breathing. The slight shift of sheets when she moves. The faint pull of the IV line when her fingers twitch again.
I stand near the wall, not at the bed, not close enough to crowd her, but not far enough to lose sight of anything. Distance matters. Too close and she tenses. Too far and I miss something. I don’t miss things. Not when they matter.
Doc’s already done his pass. Checked her vitals, pushed something into the IV to counter whatever they gave her, muttered about dosage and timing and how I should’ve brought him the syringe faster like I had time to play fucking pharmacist in the street.
She’s stable. That’s what he said. Stable doesn’t mean safe. Not yet.
Olivia shifts again on the bed. Her eyes are open now, clearer than before, tracking the room instead of drifting through it. She’s not thrashing. Not panicking the way some do when they come out of something like that. But she’s not calm either. Her breathing is too fast. Her gaze moves too much.
Door. Window. Me. Brooke. Back to the door.
Exit tracking.
Good. Better than freezing.
Her hand twitches again near the IV, fingers curling like she wants to pull it out but hasn’t decided yet.
I watch the movement. Count the seconds between each twitch. Measure the pattern. I tell myself it’s for medical reasons. I tell myself I’m watching for reaction time, for motor control, for signs the drug is still heavy in her system. That’s not wrong. It’s just not the only reason.
Brooke sits in the chair near the bed, angled toward Olivia but not touching her. She’s good at that. Knows how to be there without closing in. Knows how to give space without making someone feel alone in it.
Olivia’s gaze flicks to her, then back to me again. There it is. Again. She keeps looking at me. Not long. Not staring. Just…checking.
I don’t move. Every time I did earlier, her breathing shifted. Too sharp. Too fast. Like her body expected something from me it wasn’t ready to deal with. So I stay still. Controlled. Contained. Like I’m not a problem in the room.
She swallows, her throat working like it’s still dry from whatever they gave her. Her voice comes out rough when she speaks. “Where am I?”
Brooke answers first, tone steady. “You’re at our clubhouse.”
Olivia’s brow furrows. “Your…what?”
“A place where you’re safe right now,” Brooke says. “That’s the part that matters.”
Olivia’s gaze slides back to me. “You’re not… police,” she says. Not a question. An observation.
“No,” I answer. My voice doesn’t soften. Doesn’t need to.
Her eyes narrow slightly, not in anger, in thought. She’s putting pieces together. The leather. The cuts. The men outside. The structure. “Then why am I here?” she asks.
“Because they were taking you,” I say.
Her breath catches. That lands.
Good. Better she remembers that part.
“Taking me where?” she presses.
“Don’t know yet.”
“Who were they?”
“Don’t know that either.”
Her fingers curl tighter against the sheet. “That’s not helpful.”
“It’s honest.”
She exhales sharply through her nose, frustration edging into the fear. “I don’t even know you.”
I don’t answer that. Don’t need to.
Brooke steps in before the tension sharpens. “You don’t have to know us yet. You just need to know you’re not in danger in this room.”
Olivia’s gaze flicks between us again. She doesn’t fully believe it. But she’s not rejecting it either. That matters. Her eyes land on me again. “Were you there?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“You… stopped them?”
“Yes.”
There’s a pause. A longer one this time. Her breathing slows slightly, like that answer fits somewhere inside her even if she doesn’t understand it fully. “Why?” she asks. The question hangs there. Simple. Direct. Wrong.
I don’t answer immediately. Because there isn’t an answer she’d understand. Because there isn’t one I’m willing to give. “They were taking you,” I repeat.
“That’s not a reason,” she says, her voice quieter now.
“It is for me.”
That ends it.
She looks at me like she wants to push further, like she’s used to getting more out of people when she asks something like that. Her attention drops to the IV again, then to her hand. “Can this come out?” she asks Brooke.
“Not yet,” Brooke says. “Doc wants it in a little longer.”
“I don’t like it.”
“No one does,” Brooke replies gently. “But it’s helping. Flushing everything out and rehydrating you.”
Olivia doesn’t argue further. She just nods once, like she’s filing that away instead of accepting it. Her gaze shifts again. Door. Window. Me. Always back to me.
I stay where I am. Still. Controlled.
She watches me for a second longer this time, something unreadable in her expression. Not fear. Not trust. Something in between.
Doc pushes off the wall where he’s been pretending not to listen to every word. “She’s stable enough to rest,” he says. “Keep her hydrated. No sudden movements. If her breathing changes, call me.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Brooke says.
Doc nods. “Good. Less chance she tries to rip the IV out if someone talks her down.”
Olivia gives him a look. “I heard that.”
“Good,” Doc says. “Means your brain’s working.” He packs up his bag without another word and heads out.
The room shifts slightly when he leaves. Less clinical. More real.
Olivia sinks back into the pillows a little, exhaustion starting to creep in under everything else. The fight it took to wake up is catching up to her. Her eyes drift closed for half a second. Then open again. Like she doesn’t trust it. Like she thinks if she lets herself slip, she won’t come back.
I’ve seen that before. Too many times.
“You can sleep,” Brooke says quietly, not looking at me but knowing I’m listening. “It’s safe.”
Safe.
The word sits wrong in my mouth. But in here, right now, it’s as close as she’s going to get.
Olivia hesitates. Then her eyes close again. This time they stay. Her breathing evens out slowly, not fully calm, but less sharp than before.
I watch it. Count it. Track it. Make sure it doesn’t change. Minutes pass. Maybe more.
Brooke stands after a while, moving quietly so she doesn’t wake Olivia. “Come here,” she says softly. Not a request. Not an order. Something in between.
I look at Olivia once more. Still breathing. Still steady.
Then I follow Brooke into the hall. She closes the infirmary door halfway behind us. Not fully. She doesn’t trap me away from the room.
Smart.
She leans back against the wall, arms crossing loosely over her chest. “What is she to you?” Straight to it. No buildup. No softness.
I don’t hesitate. “She stays.”
Brooke exhales slowly, like she expected that answer but hoped for something else. “That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s the answer you get.”
“She’s not club,” Brooke says. “She’s not property. She’s not going to understand whatever this is, the way you do.”
“She doesn’t have to understand it tonight.”
Brooke studies me for a long second. “You saw her,” she says.
I don’t respond.
“I watched your face when she woke up,” Brooke continues. “You looked like you were going to tear the building down if anyone so much as breathed wrong near her.”
That sits there. I don’t pick it up. I don’t acknowledge it. Instead, I shift the conversation. “They had a folder on her,” I say. “Name. Photos. Routine. Family details.”
Brooke’s expression tightens. “You’re sure?”
“I have it.”
“Which means this wasn’t random.”
“No.”
“That matters,” she says quietly.
“It does.”
“But that’s not what I was talking about.”
I look at her.
She holds my gaze. Not backing down. Not pushing harder. Just…there. “You don’t do this,” she says. “Not like this.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
I don’t answer that. Because I don’t need to. Because the answer doesn’t change anything. Because saying it out loud makes it something it isn’t. “She stays,” I repeat.
Brooke exhales again, slower this time. “She’s going to need choice, Cobra.”
“She’s got it.”
“No,” Brooke says gently. “She has your protection. That’s not the same thing.”
“It is right now.”
“It won’t be later.”
I step away from the wall. Conversation’s done. “She stays,” I say again, final. “You help her wake up without losing her shit. I handle the rest.”
Brooke pushes off the wall as I move past her. “She’s not a problem to solve,” she says quietly.
I don’t stop.
“She’s not a threat to assess.”
I keep walking.
“She’s a person.”
That one lands closer than the others. Not enough to stop me. Enough that I hear it. I don’t turn back. Because if I do, she’ll keep talking. And I don’t need more words.
I’ve got what I need.
Olivia’s in that room. She’s breathing. She’s still here. That’s the only part that matters right now.
Everything else…
I’ll handle.