Cyclops
Now she stood in his arms, breathing hard, trembling just enough that anyone else would’ve missed it.
But he didn’t. He noticed everything about her, even the smallest flinch.
The subtle shift of her fingers curling into his shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to something that wouldn’t disappear. He held her tighter.
She was halfway his already, and that terrified him in a way nothing else ever had. “Come on,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Let’s get you out of the hallway.”
She nodded, eyes still bright with leftover panic. He took her hand and guided her into her room—not locking her inside, not closing her off, just making sure she sat on the edge of the bed before he crouched in front of her.
“You’re safe,” he said. “Nobody got in.”
“You still ran out there alone,” she whispered.
“I never run alone,” he corrected. “Venom was with me. And so was Ink and half the damn club.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
He exhaled slowly. “I know.”
She stared at him with those dark, wounded eyes that made him want to burn down the whole world in her name. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This.” She gestured vaguely between them. “Feel things when I’m not supposed to. Care about someone who could—”
“Don’t say it,” he warned gently. Her mouth snapped shut. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re allowed to care, Trixie.”
“No, I’m not.” Her fists clenched. “People leave. People die. People get taken. Caring about someone means giving them something they can use to hurt you. It was one of the first lessons that my father taught me.”
He didn’t move, didn’t push. Just held her gaze. “Your father taught you that?” he asked quietly. She nodded, and he stood slowly, extending a hand to her. “Come on.”
Her brows furrowed. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you should’ve been brought the moment you set foot in this compound,” he said.
“And somewhere I should’ve shown you last night.
” She hesitated, but took his hand. He pulled her to her feet and led her out into the hallway—Venom and Ink were still stationed like two massive tattooed statues at the intersection.
Ink raised a brow. “Everything good?” Cyclops gave him a look that said don’t push it. Ink pretended not to see it, which was a small miracle.
Venom scanned Trixie from head to toe, like he was checking for injuries. “You all right, girl?”
“Yes,” she said automatically.
“No,” Cyclops corrected. “But she will be.” He guided her past them, down the stairs, through the common room, and into the back garage where the club kept their most secure equipment.
Trixie looked confused. “What are we doing here?” Cyclops let go of her hand long enough to punch a code into a steel door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing a reinforced room with maps, radios, encrypted tablets, and enough surveillance gear to track a small army.
“This,” he said, “is the panic room.”
Her breath hitched. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Because,” he said, turning to face her fully, “if anything ever goes wrong—anything at all—you come here.” She stared at him, stunned.
He continued, his voice steady and low. “This is where you stay safe until we finish the fight. It’s reinforced, locked from the inside, and has a direct line to my radio channel.
You don’t run into the woods. You don’t hide in a closet.
You don’t try to fight alone.” He stepped closer, invading her space with intention, not intimidation. “You. Come. Here.”
Trixie swallowed. “Cyclops,” she breathed.
“I’m not giving you an out,” he said. “I’m giving you a damn lifeline.”
She sank against the metal table behind her, bracing herself with both hands. “Do you do this for every woman you bring here?”
He huffed a laugh. “I’ve never brought a woman here.”
“Why me then?” she whispered.
He met her eyes and didn’t look away. “Because I want you to live.” Her breath trembled. “Because I care,” he added.
Her eyes softened, disbelief and longing warring inside her. “And,” he said, reaching out and laying a hand over hers on the table, “because whether you accept it or not, you’re with us now. With me.”
Her fingers curled slightly under his touch, and he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a gravel-soft murmur. “And I’m not letting your father or anyone else take you from me.”
She closed her eyes tightly, emotions flickering across her face like something too big to hide. “Cyclops,” she breathed, his name sounding like a whispered prayer.
He stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching. “You don’t have to say it back. Not yet. Not ever if you’re not ready. But I’m going to tell you the truth every time.”
“And what’s the truth?” she whispered.
He brushed his thumb across her knuckles. “That I’m in this. For real. For good.”
Her breath hitched. He felt it. And for a second—for one suspended heartbeat, he thought she might say something that would change everything. But before she could, the intercom crackled.
Ink’s voice shouted through the other end of his comms. “Cyclops, we’ve got something. You’re gonna want to see this—now.”
Cyclops swore under his breath, and Trixie stiffened. He squeezed her hand once—firm and grounding. “Stay here.”
“No,” she said instantly. “I’m coming.” He stared at her, torn between fury and admiration.
She lifted her chin, stubborn and brave. “If it’s about me, I’m not hiding in your safe room.”
He growled under his breath. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But not today.”
He exhaled sharply, then nodded. “Fine. Stay right beside me.” As they headed toward the door, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn’t scared. In fact, she seemed to be ready. And that scared him more than anything else.
Ink met them outside the surveillance room, his face grim.
Cyclops braced himself for bad news. “What did you find?” Ink handed him a tablet.
Cyclops stared at the screen and felt his blood turn to ice.
Trixie leaned in to take a peek and gasped, because on the screen was a photo taken from the woods minutes earlier.
“Who’s the guy?” Cyclops asked her.
“He’s my father’s second-in-command.” He looked more closely at the photo and saw that the guy was holding a phone in his hand and showing a picture—of Trixie.
“That is a picture of me,” she breathed. “And it was taken in the hallway upstairs.”
“Shit,” Cyclops breathed. That was impossible. How had someone gotten a photo of her inside the compound?
She spun to Cyclops, voice barely a whisper.
“There’s someone in your club working for my father.
” The thought of her being right made him physically ill.
How could one of his brothers betray him that way?
How could they betray her? He had no idea who it was, or why a club member would want to hurt him and the Road Reapers, but he was going to find out—one way or another.
There was no way that he’d let anyone get close enough to Trixie to hurt her—not again.