11. Jade #2
“New identities for me and Mason. Enough money to start over—six months of living expenses, maybe a year. Help getting out of the state, out of the region. Far enough that Tyler’s connections don’t reach.
” I pause. “And I want your word that you’ll keep us safe until we can disappear.
No more talk of elimination orders or club votes. We’re partners until this is done.”
Shadow looks at Hawk. Razor does the same. The decision is Hawk’s.
Hawk’s quiet for a long moment, studying me. I can see him weighing it. The value of my intel against the risk of protecting me. The club’s interests against his own growing attachment.
“What happens if Tyler finds you?” Razor asks suddenly. “Before we can get you out. What then?”
I don’t hesitate. “Then I hope one of you teaches me to shoot.”
The words hang in the air. Cold. Final. A promise that I’m not going down without a fight.
Razor’s mouth curves slightly. Not quite a smile, but close. Approval.
Hawk sets down his coffee cup. Crosses the room. Stands in front of me.
Then extends his hand.
“Partners,” he says.
I look at his hand. Calloused. Scarred. The hand of a man who’s done violence but also bandaged my wounds with surprising gentleness.
I take it.
His grip is firm, warm. He doesn’t let go immediately. Just holds my hand, looking into my eyes like he’s sealing some kind of pact that goes deeper than words.
“Partners,” I echo.
He releases my hand, steps back. Shadow’s next, crossing the room with that easy swagger, grinning like this is the best idea he’s heard all week.
“Partners,” he says, shaking my hand. His grip is lighter than Hawk’s but just as deliberate. “This is going to be fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word I’d use,” I mutter.
“It will be,” he promises, then steps back.
Razor’s last. He doesn’t get up, just extends his hand across the table. I reach out, and he grips my hand once. A single shake. Efficient. No wasted movement.
“Partners,” he says. Then releases me.
The shift is immediate. Palpable. I can feel it in the way they’re looking at me now—not as a hostage, not as a problem, but as someone who brings value. Someone who’s chosen to be here, chosen to work with them.
Hawk looks at me differently. Like he’s seeing me for the first time. Not a victim to protect or a witness to eliminate, but a woman with agency and intelligence and the strength to make hard choices.
Shadow’s smile is genuine. Not the charming mask he wears, but real warmth. Respect.
Razor nods once. Acknowledgment. In his world, that’s as good as a compliment.
“We start this afternoon,” Hawk says. “You give us everything you know. We put together a plan. Figure out how to use your intel to maximum advantage.”
“And in the meantime?” I ask.
“In the meantime, you’re under our protection. Officially. Anyone comes for you, they go through us.”
It’s not safety. Not yet. But it’s more than I had yesterday.
It’s a chance.
“There’s food if you’re hungry,” Shadow says, gesturing to the stove. “Bacon’s probably cold by now, but I can make more.”
“I’m starving, actually.”
He grins. “Coming right up.”
I watch him move to the stove, watch Razor go back to cleaning his gun, watch Hawk return to the window. But it’s different now. The tension’s still there—danger doesn’t disappear because we shook hands—but the dynamic has shifted.
I’m not their captive.
I’m their partner.
The realization settles over me like a weight lifting. For the first time in four years, I’m not waiting for someone else to decide my fate. I’m not hoping Tyler will change or the situation will magically improve or someone will rescue me.
I’m taking control.
I’m fighting back.
Shadow sets a plate in front of me. Fresh bacon, scrambled eggs, toast. I pick up my fork and eat, savoring the simple act of feeding myself, of choosing to stay at this table instead of being forced.
We spend the rest of the day going over everything I know. Razor takes notes in a small notebook, his handwriting surprisingly neat. Hawk asks pointed questions, drilling down into specifics. Shadow occasionally interjects with ideas about how to use the information.
I tell them about Rick Hastings’ house—the address, the security code Tyler made me memorize in case of emergencies, the layout of rooms, where the safe is located.
I tell them about Marcus Stone’s gambling debts—who he owes, how much, the threats that have been made.
I tell them about Carlos Rivera’s skimming operation—the shell companies, the fake invoices, the way he moves money through seemingly legitimate businesses.
I tell them about Tyler’s laptop, the password, where he usually keeps it.
I tell them everything I can remember from four years of being treated like furniture. Every overheard conversation, every casual mention of illegal activity, every detail I filed away because some part of me knew I’d need it someday.
Today is that someday.
By the time we’re done, it’s past eight PM. We took a break to eat dinner, but my throat is still dry from talking. My head hurts from remembering.
But I feel good. Useful. Active instead of passive.
“This is solid intel,” Razor says, reviewing his notes. “We can work with this.”
“Some of it we already suspected,” Hawk adds. “But having confirmation—and details—changes things. Makes our leverage stronger.”
“What’s the play?” Shadow asks. “We use this to force a truce? Or do we burn them down?”
“Depends on what Reaper wants,” Hawk says. “And what keeps Jade safest. Burning them down might feel good, but it could put a bigger target on her back.”
“A truce keeps everyone alive,” I point out. “And gives me a better chance of disappearing quietly.”
“Agreed,” Hawk says. He looks at me. “You did good. This information—it’s valuable. More valuable than I expected.”
“Told you I could help.”
“Yeah. You did.” His expression softens for just a moment before the professional mask returns. “We’ll put together a plan. Figure out how to use this to best advantage. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.”
“What about tonight?” I ask.
“Tonight, you get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
I stand, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that’s been keeping me upright for hours crashes all at once. I can feel it in my bones, the accumulated weight of days without real sleep, without safety, without knowing if I’d survive the next hour.
But before I leave, Shadow speaks up. “Jade?”
I turn back.
“Thank you,” he says. “For trusting us with this. For choosing to work with us instead of against us. It means something.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Then head for the stairs.
Behind me, I hear Razor’s voice, low. “She’s tougher than I thought.”
“Yeah,” Hawk responds. “She is.”
I climb the stairs slowly, feeling their eyes on my back. Feeling the shift that happened tonight.
At the top of the stairs, I pause. Look back down at the three men still gathered around the table, already strategizing, already planning.
They’re not Tyler. They’re not saints either. But they’re listening to me. Treating me like an equal. Respecting my agency in a way Tyler never did.
It’s strange. Uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity.
But also good.
I head to my room, close the door, and sit on the edge of the bed.
Tomorrow we start planning. Tomorrow we figure out how to end this war and get me out. Tomorrow I take another step toward freedom.
But tonight, I let myself feel it—the first real power I’ve had in years.
I’m not just surviving anymore.
I’m fighting back.
And for the first time since Friday night when I ran from Tyler’s clubhouse, I think maybe I can actually win.
Not just escape. Not just survive.
Win.
Get Mason back. Build a new life. Leave Tyler and the Ruthless Saints and all of this violence in the rearview mirror.
The men downstairs aren’t my saviors. They’re not heroes. But they’re willing to be my partners. And right now, that’s enough.
I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, processing everything that’s changed in one conversation. The fear is still there. The danger hasn’t disappeared. Tyler’s still hunting. The club still has questions about what to do with me long-term. The Feds are still circling.
But I’m not powerless anymore.
I made a choice. Took control. Turned myself from victim into partner.
And tomorrow, we start building the plan that gets me out.
I close my eyes, exhaustion finally pulling me under.
Sleep comes easier tonight than it has since this all began. Because for the first time in days—maybe years—I’m not waiting for someone else to decide my fate.
I’m deciding it myself.