Chapter 5
BEX - SAFE
The first call comes in just before midnight.
I’m halfway through a trauma intake when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
The ER is running at capacity, fluorescent lights glaring, monitors beeping, stretchers lining the hallway because there aren’t enough rooms left.
A kid with a broken arm is crying three curtains down.
A man with a head wound keeps asking the same question over and over, like his brain is skipping.
I don’t check my phone, I can’t… but that doesn't mean my anxiety doesn’t spike with each buzz. It isn’t until two hours later, when I finally get five minutes alone, and the ER hum settles into something manageable.
Five missed calls.
Dani.
Unknown number.
Dani.
Dani.
Unknown number.
My stomach tightens.
Dani doesn’t call like that unless something is wrong. I take a deep breath and steady myself for whatever I am about to hear when I step into the stairwell. The concrete walls are cool, painted institutional grey, the kind of place that smells faintly like bleach and dust.
She answers on the first ring. “They took him.”
My heart drops. “Who?”
“Four. The… the… Sheriff’s department. The guys say he didn’t even fight it, Bex. He just…” Her voice cracks. “He just let them cuff him. Two of the prospects took off to collect his bike…”
Four doesn’t “let” things happen. That man is controlled violence wrapped in discipline. He doesn’t posture, doesn’t panic and he definitely doesn’t surrender.
Something’s wrong.
“When?” I ask.
“A few hours ago. Angel’s trying to get him out.”
I press my hand to the cool wall, grounding myself. Clutch is on the road and Angel is likely scrambling. Blood Reapers are sniffing around.
Now this…
“Stay in your house,” I tell her quietly. “Lock your doors.”
She laughs weakly. “Angel told me I need to get behind the gates… I don’t know Bex. I thought we were untouchable.”
That line sticks with me long after I hang up.
Untouchable.
Nothing about tonight feels untouchable.
Mara shows up the next morning sneaking in through the staff entrance.
I know it’s her before she lifts her head. But I am not prepared for what I see when she does, her lip is swollen and split. Her collarbone bruised a ugly purple and there are finger-shaped marks just under the sleeve of her sweater when she shifts.
She doesn’t sit this time. When she finds me, she paces. Her energy is chaotic, like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. But she came back, she came for me. So I wait.
Her boots scuff the tile. Her breathing is measured but shallow, like she’s bracing for impact that hasn’t come yet.
“I need you to do it,” she says.
“Do what?” I ask.
“Help me leave.” There’s no fear in her voice this time, no tears in her eyes. She is making this decision to save herself.
“What happened?” I ask knowing that I will help her no matter what.
She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter. He won’t stop. And Gabe… Gabe won’t see it. He is barely hanging on right now… and I… If I tell him… I can’t lay this on him. Not with everything going on at the club.”
Because, her brother Gabe isn’t just family… he is also Angel the club president. The man who is supposed to be her protector in every way… except the one that matters right now.
“I can’t stay.” She whispers, softer now.
The weight of that feels impossibly heavy, because leaving the Dawnbreakers isn’t just leaving a boyfriend. It’s leaving protection, identity, the status she’s had her entire life and the illusion of safety. And for Mara, the only family she has left.
“You understand what that means,” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” Her voice doesn’t waver. “I need a few things first. I have to go back one more time.”
The words hang between us.
I nod and we make a plan to get her out of the clubhouse before my next shift.
We try our best not to make a scene or draw attention. She doesn’t pack all her things, just grabs the few essentials she needs, ID, cash she’s been hiding, a change of clothes stuffed into a gym bag that’s seen better days.
Razor is passed out in his room, drunk and heavy with the kind of rage that should burn itself out by morning. I’ve seen him up close enough to know what that rage looks like.
He’s tall and broad. Muscles built from manual labour and bar fights. With blonde hair buzzed short, cold blue eyes. He is objectively beautiful… but it's his eyes that tell you the truth of who he is. He smiles like a man imagining something breaking.
I go about my routine like it’s just another shift I’m getting ready for. Keys in hand, my work bag over shoulder, hoping I am wearing a neutral expression.
I sit in my car waiting until a tap at my window makes me jump, Mara stands in the shadows hood pulled low.
“Trunk,” she whispers. “In case anyone stops you.”
My pulse spikes, it's way too hot for her to be stuffed in my trunk.
“No one’s stopping me.” I try.
“Just in case.” She pleads.
I hate that she thinks that way, but with the added security since Four’s arrest, it’s the safest option. There’s two prospects at the gate now instead of one. Rotating guard shifts are tighter. More eyes… everywhere.
I pop the trunk and get out looking around to make sure no one is watching us. I parked in a section of the lot where I don't think there are any camera’s.
She climbs in without another word and I close the trunk gently.
My heart is racing when I pull up to the gate, the prospect doesn’t say anything, he just nods at me as I drive out. Like this is all routine, familiar. Safe… The word feels hollow.
Because Mara should have been safe.
Every red light feels like a spotlight.
Every engine rev makes my heart jump.
I imagine someone finding out and calling Angel, imagine Razor waking up early in a rage when he can’t find her… I imagine the trunk being opened before I’m ready…. Before it’s safe.
When we reach the edge of town, I pull into an empty grocery lot. The parking lot is cracked asphalt, and abandoned carts rattling in the wind.
I open the trunk and she sits up slowly. The morning sun hits her face, she looks younger out here. Smaller somehow…
“I’ll find a way to let you know when I’m safe,” she says.
Then she walks away.
No hug or goodbye. Just forward to an uncertain future.
I watch until she disappears around the corner and only then do I breathe.
My shift drags.
I jump every time my phone buzzes. Every patient feels heavier, every hallway feels longer.
At noon, a message comes in from an unknown number.
Mara is safe.
That’s it.
My knees nearly buckle in the supply room.
I take deep breaths knowing she is safe…For now.
I press my hand to my mouth and let the relief hit quietly.
When I drive back through the gates that evening, the compound feels different.
Men are posted at the gate and the front doors. With tense coiled energy feeling like it could explode at any time. They aren’t hiding that they are armed.
Four’s arrest hit harder than I thought.
When I park I notice Razor step away from the clubhouse, like he was watching for me… waiting. His leather cut hangs open, chest exposed, tattoos crawling up his neck like warnings. A faint bruise along his knuckles. His posture is lazy, but there’s nothing relaxed about him.
He stalks towards me as I step out of my car.
“Seen Mara?” he asks casually.
My heartbeat kicks hard. “No.”
He steps closer, but I don’t look away. He is trying to intimidate me and even if he is, I won’t let it show. I won’t give him that power.
He comes close enough that I can smell stale beer and gasoline.
“Her car is still here, so is her bike… but she isn’t.” he says, eyes scanning me for a reaction.
“That sounds like a you problem.” I shrug.
Fuck you.
His jaw ticks. “Where is she, Rebecca? You were with her at the hospital the other day.”
I hate the way my name sounds coming from his lips.
“She’s your woman, Rafe,” I say evenly. “Shouldn’t you know where she is?”
His eyes darken. “Careful.”
I hold his stare. “You think I’m scared of you?”
He studies me longer than he should, like he’s measuring something. Weighing his options.
Then he smirks. “If she ran, she won’t last long out there.”
The way he says it makes my stomach twist.
“Maybe she’s stronger than you think,” I reply.
He steps back, but his eyes don’t leave me. Not when I walk past him. I still feel them on me when I walk through the front door and climb the stairs.
I can feel it, the suspicion. He knows I helped her. He just doesn’t know how.
When I get to our room, I lock the door. Check it over and then lock it all over again.
My hands are steady until they aren’t. The tremor hits all at once, but I am not safe yet. I slide the dresser two inches toward the door, not enough to be obvious, just enough that I’ll hear it if someone tries to push their way in.
Only then do I sit on the edge of the bed and press my shaking hands between my knees, forcing myself to breathe.
Clutch will be back soon. I just need to keep my distance from Razor until he is back and I will be safe.