18. Cara
Cara
By the time Falcon disappears into Church, the box of Emily's books is still sitting in my trunk, and I've forgotten entirely why I came outside in the first place.
A minimum of three women, possibly more.
The words sit like stones in my stomach.
I stand there staring at the clubhouse door long after it shuts, listening for something I can't possibly hear from here, plans being made, routes assigned, brothers deciding what comes next while I'm stuck out here with a car full of somebody else's lamp.
Falcon's deciding this with the club now, not for it. That should reassure me, it does, but I'm still terrified.
"Cara?"
Sarah walks toward me carrying another bag. Her expression changes the second she sees my face.
“What happened?” she asks.
I could tell her nothing. I’ve done it before, deciding for her what she can handle.
I’m supposed to be past that.
“They found women at the warehouse,” I tell her.
Sarah stops. “What warehouse?”
“The one connected to Merrick.”
Her grip tightens around the bag. “How many?”
“At least three.”
She looks toward the clubhouse. “Are they going to get them out?”
“Yes.”
“How?” she asks.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit. “Falcon and the others are working it out now.”
She nods slowly. "Can we help?"
The question catches me off guard. My first instinct is no, keep her away from it, protect her, and I know immediately that's the wrong answer.
"Maybe," I say, and open the trunk again to give my hands something to do while I think. "Falcon asked me what women need right after they're brought somewhere safe."
Sarah goes very still. “He asked you?”
“Yes,” I tell her.
“What did you say?”
“Women first. Privacy. Clothes and food they aren’t forced to accept. Medical care explained before anyone touches them. Don’t automatically separate them from each other.”
Sarah nods at each point. “No men behind closed doors.”
“Even doctors?” I ask.
“Unless she specifically asks for one.”
“Yes.” I commit it to memory. “I’ll tell him.”
Sarah places Emily’s bag in the trunk. “And don’t take their clothes without explaining why.”
“For evidence?”
“Yeah.” She closes the trunk. “If the police need them, they should explain that first. Don’t just strip someone and leave her in a hospital gown wondering what happened.”
I don’t ask whether that happened to her.
I don’t need to.
"I'll add it," I say, and pull my phone out to type a note.
Immediate support after recovery. Women available. Privacy. No closed-door contact with men unless requested. Explain every medical procedure. Don't automatically separate survivors. Food and water offered, not forced. Clean clothes. Explain evidence collection before removing possessions.
“Shoes,” Sarah says, watching me type.
I look up from the screen. “What?”
“Give them shoes. People remember to bring clothes, but they usually forget shoes.”
She’s right. I add it to the list.
“Phones,” she says next.
“I already have that.”
“Not their old ones,” Sarah explains. “If whoever held them had access to those phones, they could use them to track the women.”
“New phones,” I say as I type. “Or none until someone checks the old ones.”
I add the note, then look at her. “Anything else?”
Sarah thinks for a moment. “Don’t ask why they didn’t leave.”
My fingers stop over the screen. “I don’t think anyone here would.”
“Someone always does,” she says quietly.
The certainty in her voice hurts more than the words themselves. I add it anyway, moving that instruction to the top of the list instead of leaving it at the bottom.
“Are they bringing the women here?” Sarah asks.
“I don’t know.”
She looks toward the clubhouse. “I don’t think they should. There are too many men.”
She's right, and I hadn't fully let myself think it through until she says it. Even at their best, the Saints are a lot, big men, leather, weapons, motorcycles, noise. For someone straight out of captivity, this compound could look exactly like another place run by men who decide things for you.
“What about the transition house?” Sarah asks.
“Emily’s moving there,” I remind her.
“She might be fine with sharing it.”
“Might,” I say. “But that isn’t our decision to make for her.”
“We can ask Maggie,” Sarah suggests.
A familiar voice comes from behind us. “Ask me what?”
Maggie is climbing out of Ice Pick’s SUV, and I have no idea why she’s here.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing her,” I say as Ice Pick gets out of the driver’s side.
“She told me,” he replies. “Her exact words were, ‘You’re going to the compound. I’m coming.’”
“That was me asking,” Maggie says.
Ice Pick shuts the door. “That was you getting into my truck.”
“Semantics.” Maggie turns to us. “What are we asking?”
I glance at Ice Pick. His expression tells me he already understands.
“Church found something,” I tell Maggie. “Rook confirmed there are women inside Merrick’s warehouse.”
Her face changes instantly. “How many?”
“At least three.”
Ice Pick swears under his breath.
Maggie looks between us. “You’re trying to find somewhere to take them.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“My place is probably being watched,” she says before I can ask.
Sarah nods. “It might already be compromised.”
“Bloody bastards,” Maggie mutters.
“The transition house is another option,” I explain. “But Emily chose it, and we’re not turning her new home into an emergency shelter without asking her first.”
“Correct,” Maggie says firmly.
Ice Pick folds his arms. “There’s another club property. A small house west of here. It belonged to a brother’s mother, and we kept it after she died.”
We all turn to look at him.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because bikers are hoarders,” he says.
Maggie laughs. “Is it secure?”
“There’s a basic alarm, it’s a fenced property, with no club markings, and a quiet road.”
“How many bedrooms?” Sarah asks.
“Four,” Ice Pick answers.
Sarah and I exchange a look. It could be perfect.
“Can we see it?” I ask.
Ice Pick is already reaching for his phone. “Now?”
“I mean, can we assess it and decide whether it works?”
He looks at me. “That’s what I just said.”
“Without the club deciding first?” I clarify.
"Cara." He looks almost offended. "Falcon will have my ass if I put rescued women anywhere without you lot checking it first."
Something warm moves through my chest at his name, and Maggie notices, older women notice everything, and thankfully she says nothing.
"I want to see it," Sarah says.
"So do I."
"Then what are we waiting for," Maggie says, and Ice Pick gestures at the SUV, muttering about his peaceful afternoon disappearing.
We’re halfway across the yard when the clubhouse door opens. Falcon comes out first, with Vulture and Sterling behind him. He spots us immediately and changes direction, the other two following.
“What happened?” I ask as they reach us.
“We’ve confirmed four women,” Falcon says.
My stomach drops. “Four?”
“At least.” His jaw tightens. “Rook saw another woman through the loading section.”
“Are they being guarded?”
“Yes,” Falcon confirms.
Beside me, Sarah wraps both arms around herself.
“We haven’t seen anyone hurt them,” Falcon tells her gently.
There’s no false reassurance in his voice. He’s only giving her what he knows to be true.
“That doesn’t mean they haven’t,” Sarah says.
“No,” Falcon agrees. “It doesn’t.”
Vulture turns to Ice Pick. “Where are you going?”
“The west house,” Ice Pick answers.
“Why?”
“We need somewhere to take the women if they come out tonight.”
Vulture glances at me. “You think it’ll work?”
“We don’t know yet,” I tell him. “We’re going to assess it.”
“Fine,” Vulture says.
Falcon turns his attention back to me. “Have you started the protocol?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it when you’re ready?”
“Of course,” I tell him.
“We need women at the recovery point before they arrive,” Sarah says.
Sterling nods. “We can arrange that.”
“Not strangers,” Sarah adds.
Maggie steps forward. “I’ll be there.”
“So will I,” I say.
Falcon’s expression changes immediately. I see the old instinct rise before he even opens his mouth.
“No.”
My spine straightens.
His eyes close. "Fuck. Let me try that differently." He rubs a hand over his jaw. "I don't know what the recovery location's going to look like yet, and I don't know if Merrick's got a second team watching potential sites. Before you decide you're going, can we secure it first?"
Better. "Yes."
Relief crosses his face.
"But if it's secure, I'm going," I tell him.
His jaw tightens. "Figured you'd say that."
"Can you live with it?"
"Yes." He says it fast enough that I believe him.
Maggie pats his arm. "You'll survive."
"Everyone keeps saying that."
"Didn't say you'd enjoy it," she says, and I bite back a laugh, and he gives me a look that says he's noticed I'm failing to hide it.
Vulture's phone rings. His expression changes when he sees the screen. "Rook." He answers on speaker.
"Talk."
"A black van arrived two minutes ago, it backed into the loading bay, then two men went inside."
"Anything come out?" Sterling asks.
"Not yet."
Falcon's whole posture shifts, and I watch every instinct in him wake up at once, and he doesn't move.
"What do you think?" Vulture asks him.
"They could be moving the women," he replies.
"Agreed." Vulture doesn't look away from him. "Run it. I want to see if the last few weeks stuck."
Something moves across Falcon's face, it’s too fast for me to name, before he nods once and turns back to the group.
"We don't have ten hours anymore," he says.
"No." Vulture looks at Sterling. "Your contact?"
"Ready. Haven't given the address yet."
"Give it," Falcon says.
Sterling's already dialing. Falcon turns to Vulture. "Police need probable cause fast. Rook's got visual, not confirmation of holding, we need something stronger."
Sarah steps forward. "What if they move them before that?"
"We won't let them disappear," Falcon says. "We’ve got three vehicles watching them, and if the van leaves, one follows. Nobody engages unless the women are in immediate danger."
He looks at Ice Pick. "West house. Check it. If Cara, Sarah, and Maggie approve it, lock it down."