Chapter Seven
Cora
The compound gates loomed ahead like the entrance to hell itself.
But now, instead of fearing what waited inside, I dreaded bringing danger through those gates myself.
My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how tightly I gripped the steering wheel.
Those devices Detective Reeves gave me sat heavy in my pocket, three tiny betrayals I’d been coerced into carrying.
I blinked hard, trying to clear the burning in my eyes.
Crying wouldn’t help. Nothing would help now except getting through the next hour without falling apart.
So here I sat, red-eyed from crying and sick with guilt, driving straight back into the arms of people whose trust I was actively betraying.
I pulled up to the gate, my car’s engine sputtering as if it, too, were reluctant to enter.
The guards waved me through and I went to my usual spot at the back of the main warehouse.
Marcus stood alone outside the building, his broad frame silhouetted against the afternoon sun.
Even from a distance, I could see the slight tension in his shoulders relax at the sight of my vehicle.
He’d been waiting for me. That realization landed like a punch to my gut.
Given everything that had happened with the detectives, it had completely slipped my mind to call him like usual. And I was late.
He approached as I parked, his pace measured and deliberate in that way that had once intimidated me but now felt like a steadying rhythm in my chaotic world.
I took a shuddering breath, trying to compose myself before stepping out.
The listening devices felt like an albatross in my jacket pocket, weighing me down.
“Cora.” Just my name, but the concern in his voice nearly broke me. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Rough night,” I managed, my voice sounded as raw as my insides felt. My throat tightened with fear. Dread sat in the pit of my stomach.
His silence stretched between us, a quiet demand I elaborate. I couldn’t possibly explain to him I’d been blackmailed and threatened into betraying him and the club. I busied myself with grabbing the first bags from my trunk, but Marcus gently moved me aside, lifting the heavier loads himself.
“You’ve been crying,” he murmured softly, observant in a way that made hiding impossible.
“Allergies,” I lied and immediately winced. I’d told Reeves the truth. I really couldn’t lie worth a damn.
The compound felt different today -- hostile, like it knew I was a traitor.
The camo netting above swayed in the light breeze, casting moving shadows that seemed to follow me accusingly.
The kitchen door swung open under Marcus’ gentle push.
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the stainless-steel surfaces.
Everything always looked so clean and tidy.
No one else loitered in the area. Just my fucking luck.
Marcus didn’t like me to carry much inside, leaving me with nothing to do but wait.
With no one here, I could put the one in the kitchen where they wanted me to without fear of getting caught.
My whole entire being rebelled at the thought and I knew that, if I did this, not only would I be physically ill, but I’d never be able to look myself in the mirror again.
“Water?” Marcus’s voice startled me. He stood at the refrigerator, holding out a bottle.
I nodded, accepting it with a trembling hand.
The cap wouldn’t budge under my weak attempt.
Marcus gently took it back, twisted it open, and returned it without comment on my obvious distress.
“Thank you,” I whispered, the simple kindness making my chest ache.
I took a large gulp of the cool liquid, trying to settle myself.
His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Need to check something. Be right back.” He gave me a pointed look. “Stay here. Please.”
I nodded, my heart pounding. If I went through with this, it was now or never. As soon as the door swung shut behind him, I pulled out one of the small devices. It looked like a black thumbtack. I scanned the kitchen, panic rising as I searched for a spot they wouldn’t find it.
In my panic I dropped the tiny thing. I nearly sobbed in terror. What should I do now? I could leave it and hope it was good enough. Just as the thought entered my mind, the big, industrial refrigerator kicked on. Where the thumb tack rolled too far for me to retrieve. Served me right.
A wave of nausea hit me so suddenly I had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from doubling over. Cold sweat broke out across my forehead and upper lip, and my mouth filled with a metallic taste letting me know I was about to blow chunks.
I lunged for the sink, certain I’d be sick, but nothing came up.
Just dry heaves and shuddering breaths that sounded dangerously close to sobs.
Water. I needed more water, but not to drink.
I fumbled for the faucet, turning on the cold water and splashing my face.
This wasn’t right. These people had been nothing but good to me.
And Marcus? How could I possibly do this to him?
Especially to save myself. That made me the worst kind of person.
The kitchen door swung open, and I straightened so quickly that spots danced before my eyes. Marcus stood there, watching me with an expression I couldn’t bear to interpret. The room tilted slightly, the fluorescent lights suddenly too bright, too harsh.
“You don’t look good, honey,” he said, his voice low and gentle. He approached slowly, as if afraid I might bolt. Or collapse.
“I’m fine,” I managed, though my reflection in the stainless-steel refrigerator door told a different story -- pale face, red-rimmed eyes, a woman coming apart at the seams. “Just haven’t eaten today. Got lightheaded.”
He moved closer, his presence both comforting and excruciating. I wanted to lean into him, to confess everything, to beg for help. Instead, I lowered my gaze to my feet, too ashamed to look him in the eyes.
“Cora.” Just my name again but loaded with questions I couldn’t answer.
“Really,” I insisted, not looking up. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
A moment of silence stretched between us, heavy with his doubt.
Then his hand appeared in my field of vision, large and steady, covering mine where it rested on the counter.
The touch was gentle but insistent. “If someone’s hurting you,” he said, each word slow and deliberate, “I can help. We can help you.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly shattered my fragile composure.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, using the sharp pain to center myself, to hold back the confession that threatened to spill out.
“No one’s hurting me,” I whispered. Another lie, but not entirely.
Reeves wasn’t hurting me physically. He was destroying not only my self-worth, but also any chance I might have had at happiness with Marcus.
He didn’t push, didn’t demand answers. He just stood there, solid and patient, his hand still covering mine.
And that patience was almost worse than any interrogation could have been.
I didn’t deserve his concern, not when I’d just planted a listening device that would capture his private conversations, betray his trust, and potentially harm him and everyone else here.
Marcus didn’t press me with more questions, but his quiet concern was almost worse than an interrogation. He watched me with those dark eyes that seemed to see straight through my walls to the terrified girl underneath.
“I should get going,” I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
“I’ll walk you out.” Not an order, yet not quite a request either.
Outside, the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the compound.
A few club members nodded to Marcus as we passed, their curious gazes sliding over me before looking away.
Did they sense the deception clinging to me like a second skin?
I couldn’t be less cut out for this task, and, I not only resented Reeves and Mercer for putting me in this position, I hated them both.
Mercer more than Reeves because she should have been my advocate.
When we reached my car, I reached for the driver’s door, desperate to escape, to be alone with my shame and fear.
To figure out what the hell I was going to do next.
But before I could open it, Marcus’s hand gently closed around my arm.
Not restraining, just connecting. “Cora.” My name in his mouth always sounded different. Softer. Important. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t. If I looked at him now, with guilt flooding my veins and Reeves’ threats echoing in my mind, I might shatter completely.
But his fingers lightly touched my chin, tilting my face up until I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
The tenderness I found there nearly broke me.
His dark eyes held no accusation, no suspicion.
Only genuine concern that I knew I didn’t deserve.
“Tell me what’s going on so I can fix it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You can trust me with your life, Cora. No one will ever protect you as fiercely as I will. I swear on my life.”
Trust. The word landed like a physical blow.
What did I know about trust? My parents had taught me trust meant nothing.
The streets had taught me trust was dangerous.
And now I violated the trust of perhaps the only person who had ever offered trust freely.
God had a special place in hell just for me, and I fucking deserved it.
“Marcus, I --” My voice caught, the words tangling in my throat on a small sob.
I wanted to tell him. God, how I wanted to unburden myself, to explain about Reeves and the fabricated photos, the blackmail, the impossible choice I faced.
But what if Reeves could hear us right now through the devices I still had on me?
What if confessing put Marcus in danger?
“Whatever it is,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek in a gesture so tender it made my eyes burn, “we can figure it out. Together.”
A tear escaped before I could stop it, trailing down my cheek until it collided with his thumb. His expression shifted subtly, concern deepening into something fiercer, more protective. I wanted to have him hold me tight, to hold me together. Because, I knew I was on the verge of shattering.
“Who made you cry?” he asked softly, but I heard the edge beneath it, the barely contained rage not directed at me but at whoever had caused my distress.
Another tear followed the first, and I didn’t bother wiping it away. Why pretend anymore? I was falling apart, and we both knew it. “I need to think for a while,” I finally whispered, the closest to honesty I could manage. “I have to figure this problem out on my own.”
His hand dropped from my face, but he didn’t step back. “Some problems are too big for that. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve got some pretty fuckin’ big shoulders. I can manage the load for you.”
I let out a broken laugh that sounded dangerously close to another sob. “You have no idea.”
“Try me.” Two simple words, an offer of partnership that pierced straight through my defenses.
I shook my head, blinking back fresh tears. “I can’t. Not yet.” Maybe not ever, a voice whispered in my mind. How could I confess to being the very threat he was trying to protect me from?
He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
Then he nodded once, accepting my answer without pushing further.
The respect in that simple gesture, honoring my boundaries even while offering help, made my heart ache with a longing so intense it frightened me.
“When you’re ready,” he said quietly, “I’ll be here. ”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
I climbed into my car, the familiar creak of the door a small comfort in a world that had become increasingly uncertain. Marcus stepped back, giving me space, but his gaze never left mine.
“Be safe,” he said as I started the engine.
“Be careful, Rancor.” I used his road name, hoping he’d take the subtle hint. I couldn’t tell him what was going on, but I could at least plant the seed he needed to watch himself.
His brows furrowed and he said nothing for the longest time. Then he nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, baby. I will.”
I nodded again, put the car in gear, and pulled away.
My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as I fought to keep the vehicle steady on the road.
What would Reeves do when he realized only one device sat inside the compound and that he probably couldn’t hear a Goddamned thing on it?
Would he make good on his threats? And what would Marcus do when he discovered what I’d done?
The thought of seeing betrayal replace that careful tenderness in his eyes was almost worse than anything Reeves could do to me.
I had two impossible choices. As I drove away from the compound, rain began to fall, gentle drops that quickly became a downpour, matching the storm raging inside me.
I drove away from perhaps the only person who could help me, toward a future I couldn’t predict and choices I didn’t want to make.
And I had absolutely no idea what to do next.