Chapter 3 - Claire
"I'm going to touch you now," Rage warns. "Just to wrap the bandage."
I steel myself as his large, tattooed hands approach my exposed skin. I hate how I flinch when his fingers first make contact—a learned response that I can't seem to control anymore.
But his touch is nothing like Tommy's. Where Tommy was rough and careless, Rage is surprisingly gentle, his rugged fingertips barely skimming my bruised flesh as he positions the elastic bandage.
"Deep breath in," he instructs.
I inhale as deeply as my battered ribs allow.
"Now exhale slowly while I wrap."
As I breathe out, he winds the bandage around my torso, applying just enough tension to support without restricting. The pressure immediately provides relief, taking some of the strain off my abused muscles.
"Again," he says.
We repeat the process as he works his way up my ribcage.
I keep my eyes fixed on the wall beyond his shoulder, trying to ignore the intimacy of the moment…
A stranger's hands on my bare skin, his face close enough that I can smell the faint scent of leather and something spicy, like cloves or cinnamon.
"Tommy liked to make it hurt," I find myself saying, the words spilling out unbidden. "Even when he was just touching me. Like he needed to remind me how strong he was, how easily he could break me if he wanted to."
Rage's hands pause for a fraction of a second before continuing their work. "Tommy. That's your ex?"
I nod. "Tommy Reeves."
"And he did all this?" Rage gestures to my multi-colored torso.
"The fresh ones," I confirm. "After his friend Vincent died, he just... changed. Or maybe the mask came off. I don't know."
Rage secures the bandage with metal clips, his movements still gentle but his jaw visibly tighter. "Vincent," he repeats. "Vincent Kemp?"
I realize my mistake immediately. I've said too much. The room suddenly feels colder, and I pull the edges of the robe closer together, covering the bandages and my exposed skin.
"You know that name," Rage says. It's not a question.
I swallow hard. There's no point denying it. "Yes."
His green eyes harden, the muscles in his shoulders tensing beneath his T-shirt. "Your ex is Iron Eagles."
Again, not a question. I nod anyway, my heart hammering against my newly-wrapped ribs.
"Fuck," he mutters, standing up and pacing across the small room. "Of all the goddamn—" He cuts himself off, running a hand over his short hair.
"I didn't lie to you," I say quickly. "I just didn't—"
"Didn't mention that your ex is part of the MC that's currently planning to rain hell down on our town?" Rage's voice is controlled but tight with anger. "That's a pretty fucking big omission, Claire."
"I was afraid," I admit. "Afraid you'd just throw me to the wolves if you knew."
He stops pacing and turns to face me. "Is that why you came to Blackwater Falls? To get away from the Eagles?"
I shake my head. "I was already here. Tommy brought me to Blackwater Falls three days ago, right after Vincent died. Said they were setting up in town for something big."
Rage's expression changes, alert now. "Setting up where?"
"I don't know exactly. A house somewhere on the east side of town. Tommy didn't tell me much, just that they were establishing a forward position for what's coming."
"And what exactly is coming?" he demands.
I meet his gaze directly. "War. All-out war. Vincent was Vulture's right-hand man, and your club killed him. Tommy said there won't be a single Savage Rider left alive when they're done."
"Jesus Christ," Rage mutters again, pulling out his phone. "I need to call Tank."
"Wait," I say, suddenly desperate. "Will you still help me? Now that you know?"
Rage pauses, phone in hand, and looks at me. His face is unreadable, but there's a calculation happening behind those green eyes.
"You're sure he doesn't know where you went? That you came here?"
I shake my head. "I didn't even know where I was going until I got to the park. I just ran."
He's silent for a moment longer, then asks, "What else do you know? About their plans, their numbers, anything."
"I overheard things," I say. "Tommy and some others talking. I know they've called in members from other chapters. I know they're planning something for tomorrow night."
His eyebrows raise. "What kind of something?"
"An attack on your clubhouse. They think you'll be gathered for Vincent's wake, celebrating his death." I clutch the edges of my robe tighter. "Tommy said it would be a slaughter."
Rage's eyes widen. He hits a button on his phone and holds it to his ear. After a few seconds, he speaks urgently: "Tank, we have a situation. Need you back at the room. Now." He hangs up without waiting for a response.
"He's going to hate me," I whisper, suddenly terrified of the club's VP and his cold, assessing eyes.
"Tank doesn't waste energy on hate," Rage says, slipping the phone back in his pocket. "But he's going to have questions. A lot of them."
I nod, forcing myself to breathe slowly despite the panic building in my chest. I've just gone from potential charity case to potential asset, or liability, depending on how the Savage Riders decide to play this, and I've seen how MCs deal with liabilities.
Tommy made sure I understood exactly what happened to people who crossed the Iron Eagles.
There's a sharp knock at the door. Rage moves to answer it, positioning himself so his body blocks the entrance. I catch a glimpse of Tank's imposing figure in the hallway, his face set in hard lines.
"Inside," Rage says quietly. "Information you need to hear."
Tank steps into the room, his gaze immediately finding me on the bed, still clutching my robe closed. His eyes narrow as he takes in the scene.
"Talk," he says simply.
Rage closes the door and leans against it, arms crossed. "Her ex is Tommy Reeves. Iron Eagles."
Tank's expression doesn't change, but the temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees.
"Is that right," he says flatly.
I nod, fighting the urge to shrink back from his intense stare.
"And she says they're planning to hit the clubhouse tomorrow night," Rage continues. "During what they think will be Vincent's wake."
Now Tank's eyebrows raise slightly. He turns his full attention to me. "How do they know about the wake?"
"I don't know," I admit. "Tommy just said you'd all be celebrating Vincent's death, and they'd turn it into a funeral for the entire club."
"How many?" Tank asks.
"At least twenty that I've seen. But Tommy said more were coming from other chapters."
Tank and Rage exchange a loaded glance.
"She also says they've set up a forward position on the east side of town," Rage adds.
Tank's jaw tightens. "Address?"
I shake my head. "I don't know exactly. Tommy kept me at a motel on the west side. But I heard him mention Cherry Street."
"There's a foreclosed property on Cherry," Tank says to Rage. "Two-story with good sightlines to the road leading here."
Rage nods grimly. "Perfect sniper position."
The casual way they discuss tactical advantages makes my stomach twist. This is real. The war, the violence, all of it. These men live in a world where planning for ambushes and snipers is as routine as discussing the weather.
"Why are you telling us this?" Tank asks suddenly, his eyes boring into mine. "Your old man is Eagles. Why turn on them?"
I touch my bruised face unconsciously. "You've seen what he did to me."
"So, it's revenge," Tank states.
"No," I say firmly. "It's survival. The Eagles aren't just a club anymore. After Vincent died, something changed. Tommy changed. He wasn't just rough or controlling. He became cruel. Sadistic. He said owning me wasn't enough anymore. He needed to break me."
I let the robe slip just enough to reveal the boot print on my ribs again. "He did this while explaining what would happen if I ever tried to leave. Said he'd hunt me down and make this look like a love tap."
Tank's expression doesn't soften, but something changes in his eyes. "And you still ran."
"I had to," I say simply. "Next time he might have killed me. He was getting... worse. More unpredictable."
"When did you leave?" Tank presses.
"Last night. After he passed out drunk. I took what I could carry and ran. Been hiding all day, trying to figure out how to get out of town."
"But the buses aren't running," Rage says.
I nod. "I was desperate. That's how I ended up in the park."
"Running might not be so easy now," Tank says. "If they're staging for an attack, they'll have all exit points watched."
Fuck. I'm trapped. Not just in Blackwater Falls, but in this increasingly dangerous situation. My breath comes faster, my newly-wrapped ribs protesting the strain.
"Hey," Rage says, stepping closer. "We're not hanging you out to dry. This information helps us, which means helping you is in our interest."
"Really?" I look to the VP, knowing his word likely carries more weight.
He considers for a moment, then nods. "We'll take this to King. Until then, you stay here, out of sight."
Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a new worry. "What if Tommy comes looking for me here? What if he already knows where I am?"
"No one gets into this compound without us knowing," Rage assures me. "You're safer here than anywhere else in town."
"We're doubling security tonight," Tank adds, already pulling out his phone. "Beast and Shadow are already on perimeter, I'll add Steel and Torch to the rotation."
"I'll stay too," Rage says. "Extra eyes can't hurt."
Tank gives him a measured look. "Your call. But your kid—"
"Mrs. Winters will keep him safe."
Tank nods and steps out into the hallway, phone to his ear. I hear him speaking in low, urgent tones, though I can't make out the words.
Rage turns his attention back to me. "You should ice those ribs now. Twenty minutes on, like Tank said."
I take the wrapped ice pack he offers, pressing it gently against my side. The cold seeps through the bandages, numbing the persistent ache.