Chapter 23 Evangeline
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
evangeline
I wake to darkness and the phantom sensation of rope cutting into my wrists.
My body jerks upright before I'm fully conscious, heart hammering against my ribs. The bedroom swims into focus slowly. Not a warehouse. Not cold concrete. Just our room in the house Hades gave us.
Home.
I press trembling fingers to my mouth, trying to catch my breath. The nightmare clings to me like smoke, images bleeding into reality. The knife. The blood. Ethan's voice promising pain.
"Angel." Hades' voice cuts through the panic. His hand finds mine in the darkness, warm and solid. "You're safe. You're home."
"I know." But my voice shakes, betraying the lie.
He sits up beside me, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, steady and strong. Real.
"Same dream?"
"Always the same." I close my eyes, breathing him in. Leather and motor oil and something uniquely him. "I'm back there. In the warehouse. And I can't get free."
His arms tighten around me. "You're free now. You got yourself free. Remember?"
I do remember. The thumb I dislocated while escaping those ropes. The way I fought even when my body screamed to give up. But remembering doesn't stop the dreams.
"How long has it been?" I ask.
"Three weeks."
Three weeks since the warehouse. Since Ethan died. Since everything changed.
Three weeks of living in this beautiful house with Hades and five children who need us. Three weeks of trying to pretend I'm healing when really I'm just barely holding it together.
"I'm sorry I woke you."
"Don't." His lips brush my temple. "Don't ever apologize for this."
But guilt gnaws at me anyway. He already carries so much. The club, the kids, keeping us all safe. He doesn't need my broken pieces on top of everything else.
"Come here," he murmurs, shifting so I'm cradled against him. "Let me help."
His hands move over my back, slow and careful. Not sexual, just soothing. Grounding me in the present, in his touch, in the safety of this moment.
My breathing gradually slows. The trembling eases.
"Better?" he asks after a while.
"Getting there."
"Want to talk about it?"
I shake my head against his chest. Talking about it means reliving it, and I've relived it enough for one night.
"Okay. Then just stay with me. I've got you."
We lie there in the darkness, his heartbeat beneath my ear. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me back under.
When I wake again, morning light streams through the windows and Hades is gone. The space beside me is still warm, which means he hasn't been up long.
I force myself out of bed, every muscle protesting. The physical injuries are healing. Ruin says another few weeks and I'll be back to normal. But the rest of it? The fear that lives under my skin now? I don't know if that ever goes away.
The bathroom mirror shows brutal honesty. The bruises have faded to yellow and green, but they're still visible. The cut on my arm is healing into a scar. My split lip is better, though still tender.
I look like someone who survived something. Because I did.
Shower first. Then face the day.
The hot water helps, washing away the lingering dread from the nightmare. I take my time, letting the steam fill my lungs, grounding myself in simple sensations.
Clean. Safe. Alive.
By the time I make it downstairs, the house is already in chaos. Mason and Jake are arguing about something while Sophie tries to mediate. Emma has Lily on her hip, both of them watching the older kids with identical expressions of exasperation.
Hades stands at the stove, flipping pancakes like he's been doing it his whole life. He catches my eye when I enter and gives me a small smile. Checking in without making a scene.
I nod. I'm okay. Or as okay as I can be.
"Aunt Evangeline!" Lily wiggles free from Emma and runs to me, her small arms wrapping around my legs.
I bend carefully to hug her back, mindful of my still-healing ribs. "Good morning, sweetheart."
"Uncle Hades is making pancakes! The kind with chocolate chips!"
"Is he now?" I meet Hades' eyes over her head. He shrugs, looking pleased with himself.
"They asked nicely."
"You're spoiling them."
"That's the plan."
The domesticity of it hits me sideways. This is our life now. Pancake breakfasts and sibling squabbles and a man who looks at me like I'm everything.
How did we get here?
Mason appears at my elbow, his sixteen-year-old face serious. "You okay, Aunt E? You look tired."
Smart kid. Too smart sometimes.
"I'm fine, honey. Just didn't sleep great."
"Bad dreams?"
I hesitate, not wanting to lie but not wanting to burden him with the truth either. "Sometimes. But I'm working on it."
He nods slowly, like he understands more than he should. Maybe he does. These kids lost their parents violently. They have their own nightmares to contend with.
"If you ever want to talk," he offers. "I'm pretty good at listening."
The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. "Thank you, Mason. That means a lot."
Hades calls everyone to the table. We settle into our seats, the kids chattering over each other, hands reaching for plates. It's loud and messy and perfect.
This is what we're building. This family, this life. And I refuse to let fear steal it from us.
After breakfast, Hades helps me clean up while the kids scatter to various activities. Jake and Mason to video games, the girls to the backyard.
"Social services called," Hades says, his voice carefully neutral. "They're sending someone today. Final home visit before the judge signs off."
My stomach clenches. "Today?"
"Yeah, at two."
I glance at the clock. That gives us four hours to prepare. To make sure everything is perfect, so they have no reason to deny us custody.
"We'll be fine," Hades says, reading my expression. "The house is ready. The kids are happy. We've done everything right."
"And if they decide we're not suitable? That a biker and his girlfriend aren't appropriate guardians?"
"Then we fight. But it won't come to that, Angel. I promise."
I want to believe him. Want to trust that this will work out.
But I've learned the hard way that promises don't always hold.
* * *
By eleven thirty, the house is spotless. The kids are dressed in clean clothes, hair brushed, looking like the well-cared-for children they are.
I've changed three times, finally settling on something that says responsible guardian without trying too hard. Dark jeans and a soft sweater that hides the last of my bruises.
Hades looks good in anything, but he's wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual cut. He’s making an effort.
"You're pacing," he observes.
"I'm nervous."
"I know. But we've got this."
The doorbell rings at exactly two o'clock.
The social worker is a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Grant. She has kind eyes and a clipboard, which somehow makes her both less and more intimidating.
"Thank you for having me," she says as Hades shows her in. "I know these visits can feel invasive, but they're an important part of the process."
"We understand," I say, managing a smile. "Would you like to sit?"
She does, settling into the living room couch and pulling out her notes. "I've reviewed your application thoroughly. Everything seems to be in order. Today, I just want to see how everyone's settling in and make sure the children are adjusting well."
"They're doing great," Hades says. "Better than we hoped, honestly."
Mrs. Grant smiles. "That's wonderful. Are they here? I'd like to speak with them briefly."
"Of course. I'll get them."
Hades disappears upstairs and returns with all five kids. They file in quietly, suddenly shy in front of the stranger.
"Hello," Mrs. Grant says warmly. "I'm Mrs. Grant. I work with the court to make sure children are happy and safe in their homes. Would you mind talking with me for a few minutes?"
The kids exchange glances. Then Mason steps forward, always the brave one.
"What do you want to know?"
"Well, let's start simple. Do you like living here?"
"Yeah," Jake answers immediately. "It's nice. It's our home now."
"And how are your aunt and uncle treating you?"
"Really good," Sophie says softly. "They take care of us. Make us breakfast and help with homework and everything."
Lily toddles forward, less intimidated than her siblings. "Uncle Hades makes pancakes! With chocolate chips!"
Mrs. Grant laughs. "That does sound good. And Evangeline? What about her?"
"Aunt Evangeline reads to us before bed," Emma offers. "And she helps me with my math."
"She's nice," Sophie adds. "She gives the best hugs."
I feel tears prickling at my eyes. These kids. God, these kids.
Mrs. Grant asks a few more questions, gentle and thorough. The children answer honestly, painting a picture of a home filled with care and stability.
Finally, she dismisses them. "Thank you all for talking with me. You can go play now."
They scatter, relief visible in every line of their bodies.
Mrs. Grant turns to us. "They seem happy. Well-adjusted, considering what they've been through."
"We're doing our best," I say.
"I can see that." She makes notes on her clipboard. "Now, I do have to ask about the incident three weeks ago. The kidnapping."
My stomach drops. Of course she knows about that.
"What about it?" Hades asks, his voice carefully controlled.
"I need to know that the children are safe. That whatever danger existed has been eliminated."
"It has," Hades says firmly. "The man responsible is dead. The threat is gone."
"And the motorcycle club? Your affiliation with them?"
"The club protects its own. These children are part of our family now. They're safer with us than they would be anywhere else."
Mrs. Grant studies him for a long moment. "I've read the police reports. Spoken with Detective Isaacs. She vouched for you, said you've been cooperative throughout the investigation."
"We have nothing to hide."
"That's good. Because my job is to ensure these children grow up in a stable, safe environment. Can you provide that?"