Chapter Three
Kane
“Talk to me,” I said. “Tell me what hurts.”
Her mouth opened, then closed. She swallowed hard, fighting something down. “I’m fine.”
“No,” I said quietly. “You’re alive. Not the same thing.”
A breath dragged out of her, shaky and tight. She stared at the glass with the intensity of someone expecting it to vanish. When she finally moved, her fingers curled around it. She drank in slow, cautious sips, her body refusing to trust anything.
I gave her space. My own nerves had nowhere to land, so I cleaned.
I grabbed the pizza box, folded it shut, and shoved it in the trash.
I wiped the counter, then wiped it again, even though it didn’t need it.
The motion kept me from punching something.
Kept me from marching out of the compound and hunting a man whose name kept burning the back of my throat.
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I said, nodding toward the short hallway. “First door on the right. Towels are under the sink. Hot water runs a little temperamental, but it works.”
Her gaze slid toward the hallway and froze. “You want me to shower?”
“I want you to breathe,” I said. “Sometimes hot water helps. Reminds your body it isn’t still in danger.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she offered the smallest nod. When she took a step, a wince crossed her face. She attempted to mask the pain, but I noticed anyway. “You hurt your ribs?”
Her lips tightened. “Maybe. He shoved me hard.”
Rage flared so hot it made my vision sharpen. I forced it down. I didn’t need anger right now. I needed control. “I’ll find you clothes you can sleep in and put together something to eat while you shower.”
“I don’t want to be a problem,” she said, voice rough.
“You’re not a problem,” I said. “You’re a person who got cornered. That’s different.”
She held my gaze for a long second, then looked away first. She moved down the hall with careful steps, like her body kept trying to anticipate impact. When the bathroom door shut, the lock clicked a heartbeat later.
Good.
Water started running. Steam curled under the door and seeped into the hallway. I stood there listening longer than I should have, not because I wanted to invade her space, but because the sound told me she stayed upright. She hadn’t curled up on the tile floor. She hadn’t stopped moving.
Her presence transformed my house. Made it feel foreign, yet demanded protection.
The bedroom light flickered on with a click.
Four walls held only the essentials -- a queen bed, oak dresser, scratched nightstand, narrow closet.
Clean sheets covered the mattress. No stench of alcohol or body odor lingered in the air.
I maintained everything with brutal simplicity. Control came easier this way.
I yanked open the top drawer and dug out the softest shirt I owned, worn thin from too many washes.
A pair of sweats came next, then drawstring shorts in case she hated heavy fabric.
I set it all at the foot of the bed and stared for a moment.
My brain flashed an unwanted image -- her body in my shirt, bare legs beneath my blanket, hair falling damp around her shoulders.
Heat kicked low in my gut. I slammed the thought away with such force it rattled my skull.
Not now. Not here. The fact I’d claimed her made her mine, technically, but only for protection.
No document or ruling in Church granted me permission to want her.
None of that could erase her trauma or fear or the violence another man had inflicted when he’d treated her as property.
I refused to become one more predator reaching for her when she couldn’t fight back -- a man who deserved every bullet this world could fire.
I left the clothes for her and turned down the covers, then shut the bedroom door halfway, enough for privacy later.
Back in the kitchen, I opened the fridge and took inventory with the seriousness of a diner owner, not a bachelor.
Eggs. Bread. Deli meat. Cheap cheese. Butter.
Leftover chili in a pot sufficient to feed a small army if reheated.
Peanut butter and milk. Nothing gourmet, but food served a purpose beyond impressing. It kept someone upright.
The eggs went into a bowl first. Then I assembled a grilled ham and cheese. Simple. Warm. Protein-rich enough to stop her body from shaking itself apart. Heat rose from the pan while my mind spun forward to consequences.
Atilla had permitted her into the compound.
General had studied her face and movements, deciding she was telling the truth.
Spade had begun digging into Jason Fairmont, eager for a reason to sharpen his blade.
All their assessments meant nothing if we weren’t prepared for Roth appearing at the gate with friends and weapons.
Would he chase her immediately? Or wait, watch, plan? Men such as him craved power. They stretched fear to its limits. They made people beg. Roth had already moved from threats to breaking doors and grabbing her with his hands.
Escalation didn’t stop unless someone stopped it.
My phone sat on the counter. I glanced at it too often. No new messages. No calls. Quiet didn’t mean safe. Quiet meant the storm waited.
I flipped the sandwich and whisked the eggs. The smell filled the small space -- toast, butter, warm meat, cheap cheddar melting. It made my kitchen feel almost normal, which only sharpened how not normal this night was.
The bathroom door opened. Steam rolled into the hall. Jade stepped out with damp hair and a tighter grip on her coat. She looked cleaner, even if the water hadn’t been enough to wash away her fear. She’d scrubbed her face hard enough to leave it pink.
Her gaze landed on the table. “You cooked.”
“Yeah. It’s not much,” I said. “Sit.”
She moved to the chair slowly and eased down with each bend causing visible pain. The coat remained wrapped around her shoulders -- armor she couldn’t surrender yet. I placed a plate before her: scrambled eggs, grilled ham and cheese, two glasses of water. “Eat as much as you can.”
For a moment she studied the food with suspicion, then took a bite of sandwich. Her eyes closed. A faint sound escaped her -- half sigh, half something else. “That good?” I asked.
When she opened her eyes again they looked glossy, but more present. “I forgot food could taste different from fear.”
My grip tightened on my fork. “You’re here now.”
She nodded, attempting to absorb this fact. The sandwich disappeared first, then she started on her eggs. After drinking half the water, she set down the glass with careful precision. Her fingers traced the condensation on the outside. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “You haven’t heard me snore.”
A weak laugh slipped out of her. The sound pierced the room with warmth, sunlight breaking through a cracked door.
We ate in silence after that. Comfortable enough.
My nerves stayed alive, but her breathing steadied.
Color returned to her face in small increments.
Less ghost, more woman. I slid half my eggs onto her plate without asking.
Her gaze flicked up, surprise evident, then she ate those too. “You were hungry,” I said.
“Haven’t had much appetite lately. Food loses appeal when someone watches you all the time.”
The statement hit me as a quiet confession. No drama. No exaggeration. Only truth. Months of her life reduced to survival mode. “You don’t have to watch your back here.”
She gave a tiny shake of her head. “My brain doesn’t know that yet.”
“I know,” I said. “We’ll teach it.”
Her gaze met mine briefly, caught somewhere between hope and doubt. She broke contact first, glancing down at her plate before she spoke again. “How long have you lived here?”
I shrugged. “In this house? Couple years.”
“With the club?”
“A while,” I said. “Long enough to want that patch more than anything I’ve wanted in a long time.”
“Why?” Her question held curiosity, not judgment.
There were stock answers men gave. Brotherhood.
Bikes. Freedom. Family. None of those covered the full truth.
Not for me. “Because they don’t pretend.
Because I know where I stand. World has plenty of men who smile and lie and call themselves respectable while they crush people.
These guys don’t hide what they are. They’ve got a code. Not perfect. Real.”
Jade studied me like she weighed the words. “You needed a code.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Needed something steady.”
She didn’t push, but her eyes asked anyway.
Family. Past. Damage. I could see it. She didn’t pry, which made me want to tell her more.
“My old man drank,” I said. “He hit things when he got bored. He hit people when he got angry. My mother learned to disappear inside her own head. Responsibility fell through the cracks. I left as soon as I could. Spent a few years in the military, then drifted, pretending I didn’t care about anything because caring gets you hurt. ”
She listened without flinching. No pity. No sympathy with the taste of weakness.
“I ran into a Raptor at a bar,” I said. “Outside, a fight broke out when some asshole cornered a woman behind the dumpster. My body moved before my brain caught up. The bottle shattered against my face. Next thing I remember -- waking up in their clubhouse, bandaged, hot coffee waiting for me. For the first time in years, my gut reactions made sense.”
Her fingers clenched around her glass. “You stepped in to save a woman you’d never met.”
“Not a hero,” I said.
“Seems heroic to me,” she countered softly.
“A man sees wrong and refuses to watch isn’t a hero,” I said. “Just doing the right thing. Big difference.”
A quiet settled again. Jade looked tired in a deeper way now, like food had pulled her body down from adrenaline and now it wanted collapse. Her shoulders sagged. Her gaze softened. The coat still stayed on, but she didn’t clutch it as tight.