Chapter 20
The room is starting to feel like a cage.
Not because it’s locked. Not because anyone is forcing me to stay in it. The door is right there. I could open it. I could walk out.
I know that now. That’s the problem. Because I also know what’s on the other side of leaving.
I sit on the edge of Cobra’s bed, fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket like it’s the only thing holding me still.
The shower helped. The water washed away some of the fear that clung to my skin, some of the memory of hands that weren’t supposed to be there.
But it didn’t fix the rest. It didn’t quiet my mind. It didn’t make this make sense.
A knock sounds at the door. Soft. Measured. Not demanding.
“It’s me,” Brooke calls.
I push myself up, moving toward the door before I can second guess it. I unlock it, pull it open just enough to see her standing there with that same steady expression she always seems to have.
“How are you holding up?” she asks.
“Better,” I say, and it’s not a lie. “I think.”
She nods like that’s enough. “You don’t have to stay in here,” she says gently. “If you feel steady enough, we can go out for a bit. Just the main room. Nothing overwhelming.”
My stomach tightens immediately. Out there. With them. With all of it. I glance back into the room for half a second, like it might pull me back in if I let it. “I don’t know,” I admit.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “We’ll go slow. And if you want to come back in here, we come right back. No pressure.” That word again.
No pressure. It’s strange how much that matters in a place like this. I nod slowly. “Okay.”
She steps back, giving me space instead of guiding me forward, and I appreciate that more than I can explain.
When I step into the hallway, I feel it immediately.
Him.
I don’t even have to look.
Cobra is there. Not close. Not crowding. But there. Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes already on me like he knew the exact second I would step out of that room.
My breath shifts slightly. Not panic. Not fear. Just… awareness.
He pushes off the wall, straightening, and for a second I think he’s going to come toward me. He doesn’t. He stays where he is.
But I notice something. The distance. It changes. Not dramatically. Just enough. Like he’s adjusting based on something I’m not consciously doing. I take a step forward. My breathing stays steady.
He doesn’t move.
I take another. Still steady.
He shifts slightly, not closer, just… present. Tracking. Matching. That matters. More than it should.
Brooke glances between us, sees it, and doesn’t comment. She starts walking, and I follow her.
Cobra follows too. Not beside me. Not behind me. Offset. Watching.
The hallway opens into the main room, and everything hits at once. Sound. Movement. Life.
Men in leather vests sit at the bar, talking low, their voices rough and easy like this is just another day.
One of them laughs, deep and unbothered, while another shakes his head like he’s heard the story too many times to find it funny anymore.
Women move through the space like they belong there. Because they do.
One of them is stirring something on the stove in the open kitchen, another is folding laundry on the couch like this isn’t a place built on violence and power but a home. It doesn’t make sense. And that’s what throws me.
Brooke leads me further in, slow enough that I can take it in without being overwhelmed.
The room shifts. Not silent. But attention turns. Not all at once. Not aggressively. Just enough that I feel it.
“Olivia, this is Emma,” Brooke says, nodding toward a woman standing near the kitchen.
Emma smiles, warm and calm in a way that immediately settles something in my chest. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
The word doesn’t feel condescending. It feels… safe.
“This is Mac,” Brooke continues.
Mac is holding a toddler on her hip, her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun like she hasn’t had a second to fix it all day. The little boy in her arms is squirming like he’s got somewhere important to be.
“This is Knox,” Mac adds, bouncing him slightly. “And he thinks he runs this place.”
“I do,” Knox announces loudly, like that’s not even up for debate.
I blink. Then I laugh. It slips out before I can stop it. Real. Unexpected. The room shifts again. Warmer this time.
“I’m Kya and that one’s Remy,” Kya says from the couch, pointing at another toddler currently trying to climb onto the coffee table like gravity doesn’t apply to him. “He gets that from Dom,” she adds dryly.
“Bullshit,” a voice calls from somewhere behind me. “That kid’s all you.”
Kya doesn’t even look back. “Keep talking, Dom. See what happens.”
A third toddler barrels through the space like a tiny tornado, clutching a toy car and yelling like it’s a weapon.
“And that’s Mason, he’s mine.” Brooke mutters. “Carter’s quiet intensity apparently turned into toddler crimes.”
I laugh again. I can’t help it. It’s chaos. Absolute chaos. But it’s… normal. In a way I didn’t expect.
Brooke nods. “Amy and Casey are over there.”
Amy and Casey are across the room, arguing over something that feels like the end of the world to them. I can’t even tell what it is, something about a phone and a message and someone who apparently looked at someone else the wrong way.
“It’s not even about that,” Amy snaps.
“It literally is,” Casey fires back.
“You don’t even know—”
“I know more than you think—”
I stare at them for a second. This is what teenagers look like anywhere. Frustrated. Emotional. Loud. Normal.
My chest tightens. Because this place… it’s not what I thought it would be. It is dangerous. I know that. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. But it’s also…
This.
Kids running. Women laughing. Men arguing over nothing important. Structure. Routine. Life. I glance over my shoulder.
Cobra is still there. Exactly where he was. At the edge. Not part of the group. Not engaging. Just watching. His eyes are on me. Not scanning the room. Not distracted.
Me.
It should make me uncomfortable. It does. But not in the way I expect. It feels like being… anchored. That thought shouldn’t make sense. It doesn’t. But it’s there anyway.
One of the prospects moves too fast, cutting across the room toward the kitchen. His path brings him too close to me, too quickly, and my body reacts before my brain catches up.
I tense. Just slightly.
But Cobra sees it. He shifts. Barely. A step. A look. That’s it. The prospect stops. Redirects immediately. Doesn’t even question it. Doesn’t look annoyed. Just adjusts like it was always the plan.
My breath catches.
He didn’t touch me. Didn’t say anything. But he controlled the space around me like it was his to control. Like I was his to protect. The realization hits hard. I don’t know how to feel about that.
A small weight bumps into my leg.
I look down.
One of the toddlers, Mason, has dropped his toy car at my feet. He looks up at me with complete seriousness, like this is the most important interaction of his day. “Car,” he says.
I blink. Then bend down slowly, picking it up and handing it back to him.
“Thanks,” he says, like I just did him a favor instead of the other way around.
I smile without thinking. Behind him, the women are watching. Not judging. Not analyzing. Just… watching. And smiling. Soft. Welcoming. Like I’ve passed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking.
I straighten slowly. My gaze lifts. Finds Cobra again. He’s still watching me. But something in his expression has shifted. Not softer. Not less intense.
Just… settled.
Like something he was waiting for just happened.
For one second, I feel it. Not safety. Not completely. But something close. Something structured. Something that holds instead of threatens. And before I can stop it, before I can question it, a part of me leans into it. Just a little.
Not enough to admit it. Not enough to accept it. But enough that I don’t pull away.
Not from the room. Not from the people. Not from him.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.