Chapter 5 - Shadow
I watch Luna finish her examination, cataloging every wince Rachel tries to hide, every bruise that colors her skin in shades of purple and yellow. My jaw aches from clenching it so hard, and there's a dark part of me that's glad most of the Iron Eagles are already dead.
Because if they weren't, I'd want to kill them all over again. Slowly this time.
"Nothing broken," Luna announces, sitting back with visible relief. "You've got some deep bruising on your ribs and arms, probably from being manhandled. There's also some minor bruising around your wrists that suggests restraints."
Rachel's face remains expressionless, but I see her hands curl into fists.
"The ribs will hurt for a while, but they'll heal on their own," Luna continues. "I'm going to give you some pain medication and an antibiotic ointment for the abrasions. You should also—"
"I know," Rachel cuts her off. "Rest, stay hydrated, take it easy. I'm not an idiot."
Luna doesn't take offense. She just nods and starts packing up her supplies. "I'll leave the medications on the dresser. If you need anything, anything at all, just ask one of the guys, or you can find me in the main clubhouse."
"Sure."
It's clear Rachel has no intention of asking for anything. She's already rebuilding her walls, brick by brick, shutting out the vulnerability she showed during the examination.
I recognize the defense mechanism because I use it myself.
Luna stands and touches my good shoulder briefly as she passes.
"Make sure she actually takes the medication," she murmurs. "And Shadow? Get some rest yourself. You look like death."
"I'm fine."
"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." She shakes her head but doesn't push it. "Stubborn men. I'm surrounded by stubborn men."
She leaves, pulling the door almost closed behind her but not latching it. Giving Rachel the illusion of privacy while ensuring someone can get in if needed.
Smart woman. King's lucky to have her.
Rachel is already pulling her knees back up to her chest, withdrawing into herself like a turtle into its shell. Her dark hair falls forward, hiding her face, and I should leave. Should let her process everything that happened and get some rest.
Instead, I stay where I am by the door.
"You did good," I say after a moment.
"What?"
"Letting Luna examine you. That took courage."
She laughs, but it's a bitter sound. "Courage. Right. I was just tired of people knocking on the door."
"Bullshit." The word comes out harsher than I intended. "You were terrified. But you let her do it anyway. That's the definition of courage."
Rachel lifts her head, and those brown eyes are blazing with something that might be anger or might be tears she's refusing to shed. "Stop trying to make me feel better about myself. I don't need your pep talks or your psychological insights."
"Not trying to make you feel anything. Just stating facts."
"Yeah, well, your facts suck."
Despite everything, the pain in my shoulder, the exhaustion pulling at my bones, the weight of too many bodies and too much blood, I feel that almost-smile tug at my lips again.
This woman is something else. Prickly and defensive and so fucking damaged it hurts to look at her. But underneath all that armor, there's steel. Strength that hasn't been broken despite everything the world has thrown at her.
"Noted," I say.
We fall into silence, and I can see her struggling with something. Her fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt, that too-small, too-revealing outfit the Eagles forced her to wear.
"I should let you rest," I finally say after a few minutes of pure silence.
"Wait." Rachel's voice stops me before I can move toward the door. She's biting her lip, looking uncomfortable. "Is there... could someone maybe get me something to eat? I don't want to go to the main room with everyone else, but I'm..."
She trails off, embarrassed.
"Hungry," I finish for her. "Yeah, I'll get you something from the kitchen."
Relief flashes across her face. "Thank you."
I nod and step out into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind me. My shoulder is screaming now, the pain medication Luna gave me starting to wear off, but I ignore it as I make my way downstairs.
The clubhouse is quieter than usual. Most of the brothers are in the main room, dealing with cleanup from the raid and checking on the rescued women. I can hear voices carrying down the hallway. Someone talking about securing the perimeter, someone else discussing what to do about the bodies.
Standard post-mission conversation.
The kitchen is empty when I first walk in, which suits me fine. I open the fridge and stare at the contents, trying to figure out what Rachel might want to eat.
Fuck, I don't even know if she has dietary restrictions or allergies. Don't know her last name or where she's from or anything beyond the fact that she's got walls higher than Fort Knox and a mouth that doesn't know when to quit.
I grab some bread, turkey, and cheese, setting them on the counter. Making a sandwich one-handed is going to be a bitch, but I've managed worse.
"Making a late-night snack?" Chaos appears in the doorway, startling me. I didn't hear him approach, which means I'm more exhausted than I thought. "How you feeling, man? That shoulder's gotta be killing you."
"I'm fine," I say, focusing on opening the bread bag with one hand.
"Yeah, you look fine. That's why you're pale as a ghost and moving like you're eighty years old." Chaos leans against the doorframe, watching me struggle with the bread. "Want some help with that?"
"I got it."
"Stubborn asshole." But there's affection in his voice. "So, who's the sandwich for? Because I know you don't eat this late."
"Rachel."
His eyebrows rise. "The feisty one who told everyone to fuck off and locked herself in a room?"
Something hot flares in my chest at the way he says it. "She's not feisty. She's traumatized. There's a difference."
Chaos holds up his hands. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by it. Just saying she's got some fire in her, that's all."
"She's got survival instincts," I correct. "She spent a week being held captive by the Iron Eagles, forced to serve drinks to men who looked at her like she was meat. She has every right to tell people to fuck off."
There's a beat of surprised silence.
"Okay," he says slowly. "You're right. That was insensitive of me. I'm sorry."
I turn back to the sandwich, irritated with myself for snapping. Chaos didn't deserve that. He's a good kid, just younger and sometimes doesn't think before he speaks.
"Forget it," I mutter.
"No, seriously." Chaos pushes off the doorframe and comes closer. "I wasn't trying to be a dick. Those women have been through hell. I just... I noticed she seems to respond to you better than anyone else. Thought maybe that was a good thing."
It probably is a good thing. Doesn't mean I understand why.
"She doesn't trust easily," I say, layering turkey onto the bread. "Can't blame her for that."
"Can't blame her for a lot of things." Chaos grabs the cheese and hands it to me without being asked. "But I’ve heard that she let you stay in the room while Luna examined her. That's something."
"It's not—" I stop, not sure what I was going to say. "She just needed someone there who wasn't going to push her or expect her to be grateful."
"And that's you?"
"Apparently."
Chaos is quiet while I finish making the sandwich, but I can feel him thinking. The kid's too perceptive for his own good sometimes.
"Just be careful," he finally says. "I know you're trying to help, and that's good. But she's vulnerable right now, and you're... well, you're you. You don't exactly do the whole emotional connection thing."
"I'm not trying to connect with her," I say, even though I'm not sure that's true anymore. "I'm just making sure she eats and feels safe enough to rest."
"Right. Sure." Chaos doesn't sound convinced. "Well, if you need anything—backup, someone to talk to, whatever—you know where to find me."
"Thanks."
He leaves, and I'm alone again with a sandwich, a bag of chips, an apple, and a growing sense that I'm in over my head with this woman.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and head back upstairs, balancing everything so I don't drop it. My shoulder throbs with each step, reminding me that I'm injured and should probably be resting instead of playing delivery service.
But the image of Rachel's face when she asked for food, that brief flash of vulnerability before the walls slammed back up, keeps me moving.
I knock softly on her door with my boot.
"It's me. Got your food."
There's a pause, then: "Come in."
I push the door open with my good shoulder and find Rachel exactly where I left her. Curled up on the bed, knees to chest, looking small and lost in a way that makes something ache in my chest.
She looks up when I enter, and her eyes go to the plate in my hands.
"Just a sandwich," I say, setting it down on the dresser next to Luna's medications. "Nothing fancy. Didn't know what you liked, so I kept it simple. Turkey and cheese."
"It's perfect." She unfolds herself and moves to the dresser, picking up the sandwich with hands that shake slightly. "Thank you."
"You already thanked me. Don't need to do it again."
She takes a bite, and I watch her close her eyes like it's the best thing she's ever tasted. Probably because she's been running on nothing but fear and adrenaline for days.
"You should eat too," she says after swallowing. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm fine."
"You keep saying that. I'm starting to think you don't know what 'fine' actually means."
Despite my exhaustion, despite the pain, despite everything, I feel that almost-smile again. "Probably not."
Rachel finishes half the sandwich before setting it down, her appetite apparently catching up with her stomach. She picks up the water bottle and drinks deeply, and I try not to notice the way her throat works as she swallows.
Try not to notice a lot of things about her, actually.
Failing spectacularly.
"You're an odd man, Shadow."
"So, I've been told."
"Not necessarily a bad thing. Just... odd." She picks up the pain medication Luna left and stares at it. "Will you stay? Just for a little while, until I fall asleep. I don't... I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."
Every instinct I have screams at me to say no. To maintain professional distance. To not get any more involved with this damaged, prickly woman who's already gotten under my skin in ways I don't understand.
But I hear myself say, "Yeah. I'll stay."
Relief flashes across her face, quickly hidden. She takes the medication and settles onto the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin. I grab the chair from near the dresser and position it by the door, far enough away to be respectful but close enough that she knows I'm here.
"Shadow?" Her voice is sleepy, already getting drowsy from the medication.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For defending me. For staying. For... everything."
I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod even though her eyes are already closed. I watch as her breathing slowly evens out, her body relaxing as the pain medication pulls her toward sleep. The tension in her shoulders gradually eases, and some of the haunted look fades from her face.
She's even more beautiful like this. Peaceful. Like maybe she's dreaming of something better than the nightmare she's been living.
I should leave now that she's asleep. Should go back to my own room and get some rest before my shoulder gives out completely. But I stay in the chair, watching over her like some kind of fucking guardian angel.
Which is ridiculous because I'm nobody's angel. I'm a weapon. A shadow that moves through the darkness, taking lives and carrying ghosts.
But for this woman, for Rachel with her walls and her pain and her refusal to be anything other than exactly what she is, I can be this. Can be the steady presence in the darkness, the one who stays when everyone else leaves.
Even if I don't understand why.
Even if it scares the shit out of me.
My shoulder throbs, my eyes are heavy, and every muscle in my body is screaming for rest.
But I stay.
Because she asked me to.
And somehow, that's enough.