Trixie
She followed Cyclops out of the main room and into the quieter hallway beyond the compound office.
The hum of voices behind them faded, replaced by the buzzing of the fluorescent lights overhead and the distant sound of Razor shouting orders outside.
She didn’t feel safer. In fact, she felt even more exposed.
Cyclops slowed his stride once they were alone, glancing over his shoulder at her. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” she said. That was the truth because all she seemed to be able to do was think since they got to the compound.
He smirked. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That people who think too much start planning escape routes,” he said.
Heat rose to her face—half irritation, half embarrassment. “You don’t know that.” He had hit the nail on the head, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“Yes, I do,” he countered.
She crossed her arms. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?”
“No,” he said. “But I know the look of someone who’s spent their whole life fighting alone.” He wasn’t wrong. She hated that he wasn’t wrong.
They reached a quieter wing that seemed to be newer construction, with thicker walls and fewer windows. He stopped outside a steel-reinforced door and punched in a code.
“This is where you’ll stay,” he said, pushing it open.
She stepped past him into the room and looked around.
It wasn’t a cell, it wasn’t a bunker, it was nice.
The room was simple and clean. It had all the necessities—a bed, a dresser, and even a bathroom.
A huge window that overlooked the tree line covered the right-hand side of the room.
It even smelled faintly like laundry soap.
“You didn’t have to move me,” she murmured.
Cyclops leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Yeah, I did.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
“Because what happened between us last night changes how people see you,” he breathed.
Her stomach twisted. “Because you and I—”
“Because you’re important to me,” he said sharply, cutting her off.
“And important people need to be guarded.” Her heart stuttered.
She wasn’t used to being called important.
She wasn’t used to being anything but a liability—unless she was convenient to her father’s plans.
But last night, Cyclops looked at her like she was something worth choosing, like something worth fighting for.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles ached.
He watched her like he already knew what storm brewed behind her eyes.
“Say what’s on your mind,” he said.
She shook her head. “You don’t want to hear it.”
“Try me,” he insisted.
She inhaled, her breath shaky. “How long before your brothers start resenting me? Before they think I’m not worth the risk? Before they start wondering why their acting Prez is putting everything on the line for some stranger?”
Cyclops didn’t so much as blink. “You’re not some stranger.”
“Yes, I am,” she whispered.
He pushed off the wall and walked toward her, stopping right in front of where she sat. “Trixie, look at me,” he ordered. She didn’t want to, but she did it anyway.
His eye burned with something fierce. Something absolute. “You’re here because you were hunted,” he said. “You stay because I said you’re under my protection. And nobody in this club is gonna challenge that.”
“And if they do?” she asked.
A dark smile curved his mouth. “Then they’ll regret it.” Her breath hitched. He wasn’t just a man. He was a shield made of violence and loyalty and bone-deep conviction. And somehow, he’d placed himself between her and the world without her asking. She didn’t know what to do with that.
“Cyclops,” she whispered. “What if this ends badly?”
“What if it doesn’t?” he countered.
She closed her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re inviting into your life.”
“I know enough,” he said again, softer now.
“I know you’ve got more fire than fear. I know you’ve survived things that would break most people.
I know you’d go down swinging before you let someone unjustly claim you.
” He crouched, bracing his forearms on his knees so he could look her directly in the eye.
“And I know this for sure—your father is not getting anywhere near you while you’re here. I won’t allow it.”
A thickness rose in her throat. “Cyclops,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to do this. Any of it. I don’t trust easily. Letting someone else decide to fight beside me is something that I’ve never done. I don’t even know how to stay still without feeling like something terrible is about to happen.”
He reached up, slowly, and touched her hand. Just a graze of his fingers against hers. “You don’t have to know how to do any of that, honey,” he said. “You just have to stay—with me.”
Her fingers curled around his—lightly, but just enough for him to feel the tremor there. She braced herself. “I’m not good at staying.”
“That’s fine,” he said, “because I am.” Her breath stumbled. He stood then, giving her space she hadn’t realized she needed until the air rushed in around her again.
“I’ll send someone with breakfast,” he said. “Venom and Ink will take first watch. You need sleep.” She nodded, even though she knew that sleep wouldn’t come.
He stepped into the hall, and right before he closed the door, he paused.
His voice was low and rough. “If you need me, just let one of them know.” It wasn’t an order.
It was a promise. And Cyclops making her a promise terrified her more than the men stalking the woods outside.
Because she already knew—if she called, he’d come back to her.
Every time, even if it ended up killing him.
Trixie didn’t sleep. She tried, God, she tried, but every time she closed her eyes, her muscles locked tight, waiting for footsteps in the hallway, a shadow to appear at the window, or the metallic click of the doorknob to turn.
She was waiting for Cyclops—to know that he was all right, and not seeing him was causing her stomach to knot with anxiety.
The quiet was too loud, too still, and too alien for her to be able to relax enough for sleep to find her.
She wasn’t built for safe places—not anymore.
Not since finding out who her father was and what he really did for a living.
The room that Cyclops had moved her to was secure with its solid walls, a reinforced door, and a window that faced nothing but trees.
She should have felt protected, but she didn’t.
Instead, the silence felt like a trap she didn’t know how to navigate.
After an hour of pacing, she gave up and collapsed onto the bed, hands pressed to her eyes. “Get a grip,” she muttered. “You’re not being hunted in here.”
A knock on the door made her jolt upright, knife already in her hand.
“Easy,” Ink’s voice came through the metal door.
“It’s just me and coffee. Don’t stab me.
I’m too handsome to die.” She cracked the door only after checking the hall through the peephole twice.
Ink leaned against the frame, holding two steaming mugs and a paper bag that smelled like fried dough and cinnamon.
He raised a brow. “You checking for intruders?”
“Always,” she said, stepping back.
Ink handed her a mug. “You need this more than I do.”
She took a cautious sip. It was strong, bitter, and exactly what she needed. “Thanks.”
He set the bag on the dresser and looked around the room. “Cyclops picked a safe one for you. Only two entrances to this wing, both guarded. There are cameras and alarms everywhere back here. It’s pretty much impossible to sneak in.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” she murmured.
Ink shrugged. “That’s fair. But it won’t happen without Venom ripping someone's head off first.”
A ghost of a smile tugged her mouth. “Comforting.”
Ink leaned against the wall. “You holding up?”
She hesitated. “Define holding up.”
He snorted. “That’s a no then.”
Silence settled between them, and it was surprisingly not uncomfortable. Trixie studied Ink—his tattoos, the ever-present smirk, the easy posture. He felt safe in the same way a rattlesnake curled in the sun felt safe—deadly, but predictable.
“You’re thinking loud,” Ink said finally. “Spit it out.”
“Your brothers don’t trust me,” she said.
Ink shrugged. “You think we trust anyone who walks through the gate? You think we trusted Cyclops when he got patched in? Trust is earned. Hell, Cyclops still pisses off half the club on a good day.”
She blinked. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”
Ink grinned. “Look, we’re not scared of you. We’re scared of what’s chasing you. There is a big difference.”
She swallowed. “You should be scared of me.”
Ink’s smile faded. He straightened, looking at her seriously—an expression she hadn’t seen on him before.
“Yeah, we know. But here’s the thing—Cyclops said you’re under his protection, which makes you under ours.
And you being worried about us resenting you being here means that you’re already thinking like you’re part of us. ”
Trixie stiffened. “I didn’t say that I’m worried about you guys resenting me being here.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see when someone’s trying like hell not to care.” Ink stared her down, and she felt as though he could see the actual thoughts in her damn head.
Her jaw clenched. “Caring gets you killed.”
Ink laughed—not cruel, just knowing. “Sweetheart, caring is the only thing that keeps you alive in a place like this.” She didn't have a response for that.
He pushed off the wall and opened the door. Venom stood in the hall, his arms crossed over his massive chest, looking like he’d been carved out of bad intentions and concrete. He nodded at her once—silent, assessing, with something like approval in his eyes.
Ink jerked his chin. “We’ll be outside. Cyclops said you need space. But if you need us—”
Trixie cut him off quietly. “I know.” Then the door shut, leaving her alone again.
She sat on the bed and stared at the mug in her hands.
He said that she was a part of them, but she wasn’t.
She couldn’t be. Yet when she pictured leaving, all she could see was Cyclops’s face when he said I choose you.
Her chest tightened painfully. She stood so fast the coffee sloshed out of the mug.
She needed to move around. She needed fresh air and ground under her feet.
She pulled on a clean pair of jeans and her boots, grabbed her jacket, and cracked the door open.
Venom’s eyes landed on her immediately as Ink’s smirk widened.
“You goin’ somewhere?” Venom rumbled.
Trixie straightened her shoulders. “I need air.”
Ink pointed toward the main yard. “Deck’s clear. Cyclops swept it after the meeting.”
The mention of Cyclops made Trixie’s stomach flip. She braced herself and stepped past them into the hall. Venom fell into step behind her without asking. Ink followed with a lazy saunter, whistling like he wasn’t watching every shadow.
Outside, the morning air was crisp and smelled like pine and diesel.
She breathed deeply for the first time in hours.
And froze when she spotted Cyclops in the yard.
He was barely dressed and sweaty. His calves were planted, his fists wrapped, while he beat the hell out of a hanging sandbag.
Each punch landed with brutal precision, his muscles coiled and released in controlled violence.
He looked like a storm that was given flesh.
He didn’t see her at first. And she should’ve walked away.
Should’ve turned around, but she didn’t—she couldn’t.
When he finally looked up, his good eye locked on her like he’d been searching for her through every breath he took.
Trixie’s heart stuttered. The moment stretched between them—quiet, fragile, and charged.
Then, Cyclops stepped toward her—slow and purposefully, like nothing in the world mattered except closing the distance between them.
“Trixie,” he said. Just her name was enough to make her shiver. It was enough to unravel something she’d been holding together with duct tape and fear for years.
She swallowed hard. “I needed air,” she whispered.
His gaze softened just a fraction. “Then breathe.” She did, for the first time that morning. And as he stepped close enough that the heat of him brushed her skin, she realized with terrifying clarity that she wasn’t just fighting beside Cyclops anymore—she was starting to fight for him.