Chapter 7
chapter seven
Morgan
Our house welcomes us with warm light, a stark contrast to the sterile hospital environment we've just left. Charlie stirs as Trenton carries her inside, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but wide with wonder.
"It's big," she whispers, taking in our home: the open living room, the staircase leading up to the bedrooms, the photographs lining the walls.
"It's your home now," I tell her, leading the way up the stairs. "At least for a while."
Matthew moves ahead of us, checking each room like he did earlier, a habit born from years of vigilance. "All clear," he confirms quietly.
I lead Charlie to the bathroom, running my hand under the faucet to test the temperature. Steam rises as the tub begins to fill.
"I don't have pajamas," Charlie says, her small voice uncertain.
"That's okay," I assure her, helping her sit on the closed toilet lid. "You can wear one of my t-shirts tonight. Tomorrow, we'll go shopping and get you everything you need."
Her eyes brighten at the mention of shopping, but exhaustion quickly dims the excitement. I add some of Matthew's lavender bath salts to the water, the scent filling the room with calming warmth.
"Can you lift your arms for me?" I ask, reaching for the hem of her shirt.
She hesitates, then complies, her thin arms rising. I carefully work the shirt over her head, trying not to gasp at what I see.
"Did he do this to you?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral.
Charlie shakes her head, her eyes downcast. "I fell when we were running in the woods and got an owie on my arm."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I swallow hard, fighting to keep my expression gentle. "You're safe now," I promise, helping her out of her pants and underwear.
I know kids fall, but it hurts me that she was hurt because of him trying to hide.
The bath water is just right, warm but not hot. I help her into the tub, and she sinks into the bubbles with a small sigh of relief.
"I'll wash your hair," I offer, squeezing shampoo onto my palm.
Charlie tilts her head back, closing her eyes as I work the soap through her tangled dark brown hair. It's the same shade as mine, no wonder Evan had fixated on us both.
"You have pretty hair," she murmurs as I rinse.
"So do you," I tell her, gently working conditioner through the strands. "Like a princess."
She smiles at that, a real smile that reaches her eyes. When she's clean, I help her out of the tub and wrap her in a fluffy towel, drying her with gentle pats.
"Will you brush my hair?" she asks, looking up at me with those big blue eyes.
"Of course." I lead her to her bedroom, where I sit her on the edge of the bed. The hairbrush moves through her damp locks with careful strokes, working out the tangles without hurting her.
"Does that feel okay?" I ask, watching her in the mirror.
She nods, her eyes already growing heavy. "My mom used to brush my hair."
I pause, the brush still in her hair. "You remember her?"
"Sometimes." Her voice grows softer. "She had a pretty laugh. Like bells."
My throat tightens. "That sounds nice."
I finish with her hair, then find one of my softest t-shirts, gray with a faded band logo. It hangs on her small frame like a dress, the hem falling past her knees.
"Perfect," I tell her, helping her roll the sleeves. "You look very grown-up."
A shy smile crosses her face. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"
The question catches me off guard, but I recover quickly. "Of course you can. Trenton and Matthew will be here too, is that okay?"
She nods, yawning widely. "They're nice. They held my hands at the hospital."
I lead her to our bedroom, where Trenton and Matthew have already changed for bed. They've added extra pillows and pulled back the covers on my side, creating a space for Charlie between us.
"All cleaned up?" Trenton asks, his voice gentle as he takes in her small form in my oversized shirt.
"She's all yours," I say, helping Charlie into the bed.
Matthew moves to her other side, smoothing the blanket over her. "Comfy?"
Charlie nods, her eyes growing heavier by the second. "Will you tell me a story?"
Trenton and I exchange a look. "What kind of story would you like?" he asks.
"About a princess who gets rescued," she murmurs, already half asleep.
I lie down beside her, my arm curving protectively around her small body. "Once upon a time, there was a brave princess who was lost in a dark forest…"
My voice is soft as I weave the tale, changing the ending so the princess finds her own way home, with friends who love her. By the time I finish, Charlie's breathing has evened out, her small hand curled around my finger.
"She's asleep," I whisper.
Trenton nods, his eyes never leaving her face. "She trusts us already."
"It won't be easy," Matthew says quietly from her other side. "She's been through trauma."
I brush a strand of hair from Charlie's forehead. "We can handle it. Together."
Outside, the wind picks up, and a branch scrapes the window in short, uneven bursts. I feel Trenton tense beside me, his hand moving to the gun on the nightstand.
"He won't find us tonight," Matthew murmurs, though his eyes scan the window.
"Tomorrow," Trenton agrees, his voice a low rumble. "Tomorrow we make a plan."
I settle deeper into the pillows, Charlie's small body warm against mine. Our family has grown in ways I never expected, and with that growth comes new vulnerabilities. But as I watch her sleep, peaceful, safe between us, I know I'll move mountains to keep this little girl that way.
"We should call Greyson in the morning," I say, keeping my voice low. "The club can help watch the house while we get Charlie settled."
Matthew nods, his hand finding mine across Charlie's sleeping form. "Already on it. Greyson and the others will take shifts."
"Good." I close my eyes, exhaustion finally claiming me. "Because I'm not letting him take her again."
"Never," Trenton promises, his voice fierce. "He'd have to go through all of us first."
The words should be comforting, but they only remind me of the danger still lurking. Evan Harris is out there, believing Charlie belongs to him, believing I should be his next victim. But he's made a fatal mistake, he's threatened people who know how to protect what's theirs.
As I drift toward sleep, Charlie's small hand still clutching mine, I make a silent vow. This child will know safety. She will know love. And if Evan Harris dares to come for her, he'll learn exactly what happens when you threaten the Devil Souls' family.
Trenton
I stare down at the two sleeping figures beside me. Morgan curls protectively around Charlie's small form, moonlight filtering through the curtains bathing them in soft silver. I feel a weight settle over me. Charlie's tiny hand still clutches Morgan's finger even in sleep, as if afraid to let go.
"Let's talk," Matthew whispers, nodding toward the door.
I nod, carefully slipping from the bed without disturbing them, pausing to brush a strand of hair from Morgan's face before following him into the hallway.
We move to the kitchen, where the digital clock on the microwave casts an eerie blue glow across the countertops. Matthew pours two fingers of whiskey, slides a glass across to me, then pours his own.
"She can't give her up. Not after tonight," he says, voice low as he leans against the counter.
I knock back the whiskey, feeling it burn down my throat. "Never gonna happen. You saw the way she looked at her."
"She's already attached," Matthew says, eyes drifting toward the hallway. "And Charlie trusts us. After everything she's been through."
My jaw clenches. "Harris is still out there. He left that note—he thinks Morgan belongs to him, that Charlie's his."
The glass creaks in my hand under the pressure of my grip. Six years of special forces training taught me control, to compartmentalize, to plan. But the thought of that monster touching Morgan or Charlie makes my carefully constructed walls crumble.
"We need to find him first," Matthew says, his voice dropping into the deadly calm I recognize from our missions. "Before he comes for them."
I meet his gaze. We've been brothers in arms too long to need explanations. "We take him out."
Not a question, not a suggestion. It's a statement of intent.
"The club will help," Matthew says. "Greyson already has men watching the house."
"Good." I pour another finger of whiskey, my mind calculating angles, approaches, and contingencies. "We need to be smart. Harris knows we have Charlie now, so he'll be watching for weaknesses."
"Morgan won't leave her side," Matthew says, running a hand through his hair. "We need to make this place a fortress."
"We'll do what we have to," I say, voice hardening. "I didn't come back from six years of that hell just to watch some lunatic take everything I came back for."
Silence hangs between us, heavy with understanding. We've seen enough darkness to recognize it when it comes for what we love.
"You know what this means?" Matthew asks, eyes meeting mine in the dim light. "She's ours now. Both of them."
I nod as the realization settles in my bones like truth. "We protect what's ours."
A creak in the hallway has us both reaching for weapons that aren't there. Morgan pads into the kitchen, soft steps, her hair rumpled.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asks, taking in the tension in our postures.
"Just planning," I say, opening my arms.
She moves into my embrace, resting her head against my chest. "Charlie asked me to stay tonight. She didn't want to be alone."
"She won't be alone again," I promise, hand stroking her back. "Not ever."
Morgan pulls back, blue eyes flashing between fear and determination. "What aren't you telling me?"
Matthew and I exchange a look. We never keep secrets from her, and certainly not the important ones.
"We're not letting Harris take her," I say finally. "We're not letting him come near either of you."
Fear flickers in her eyes, but so does steel. "He won't stop. The police said—"
"The police have procedures," Matthew interrupts, gentle but firm. "We don't."
Morgan's breath catches. "You're talking about killing him."
"Yes," I say, the word stripped of everything but intent.
She stares at us, absorbing the reality. It's not about justice anymore. It's about an ending. Finally, she nods, decisive. "Okay."
"We'll make it clean," I say, watching her face. "No evidence, no questions."
"I don't care about that," she whispers. "I just want Charlie to grow up feeling safe."
I pull her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "She will. I promise."
"And both of you," Matthew adds, standing beside us. "You'll be safe."
Tears glisten in Morgan's eyes. "I didn't want this for you. For either of you."
"It's already done," I say softly. "The moment Harris threatened you, the moment he took Charlie, he made his choice."
"And we've made ours," Matthew finishes.
Morgan wipes at her eyes. "She's sleeping so peacefully right now. Like she hasn't in a long time."
"Let's keep it that way," I say, leading her back toward the bedroom. "We'll figure out the details tomorrow."
In the hallway, I pause with my hand on the doorknob. Through the crack, I see Charlie curled in the center of the bed, breaths even and deep.
"Thank you," Morgan whispers, fingers intertwining with mine. "For understanding."
I look down at her, the woman who waited six years for me to come home, who built a life while I was away, who took a broken child into her heart without hesitation.
"There's nothing to understand," I say. "She's family now."
As we settle around Charlie, forming a silent perimeter with Matthew at the foot of the bed, I watch the moonlight on her face. Even in sleep, there's a faint line of tension between her brows, a shadow of the fear I'd been trained to inflict. Now I've sworn to erase it.
Sleep will be hard tonight with Harris still out there. But when Charlie stirs, her small hand finding Morgan's again, I know one thing with absolute certainty: Harris's days are numbered.