Chapter 7 - Shadow
The pain in my shoulder has gone from manageable to fucking excruciating. Every movement sends fire radiating down my arm and up into my neck.
My left arm is basically useless now, hanging at my side like dead weight, and I'm pretty sure the stitches are bleeding again based on the warm wetness I can feel seeping through the bandage.
I should go back to Luna. Should let her check the wound and give me more pain medication.
But all I can think about is Rachel.
The way she looked when she told me about her ex-boyfriend. The pain in her voice when she described being grabbed by the Eagles. The vulnerability in her eyes when she asked me to check on her in the morning.
She trusted me with her story. With her fear. With the truth of why she's built those walls so high.
And I stayed. Promised I'd be there in the morning. Made a commitment to this damaged, prickly woman who's gotten under my skin in ways I don't understand.
What the fuck am I doing?
I'm so lost in my thoughts, replaying our conversation, analyzing every word and expression, that I don't see King until I almost slam into him as I turn the corner.
"Shit," I mutter, stepping back. "Sorry."
King's eyebrows rise. "Shadow? You alright, brother?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're distracted. And you're never distracted. That's kind of your whole thing, being aware of everything around you at all times."
Fuck. He's right. I pride myself on situational awareness, on never being caught off guard. And here I am, so wrapped up in thoughts of Rachel that I didn't even register King's presence until I nearly walked into him.
"Just thinking," I say, leaning against the wall because standing upright is taking more effort than it should. "About Vulture. About how his death felt... anticlimactic after everything."
It's not a lie, even if it's not the whole truth. Vulture's execution has been bothering me. The quick shot to the head, the way he went down without fanfare or drawn-out suffering.
"Anticlimactic," King repeats.
"Yeah. After all the shit he put us through… The attacks, the kidnappings, the blood feud, he died in seconds. Didn't feel like enough. Didn't feel like justice for what he did."
King is quiet for a moment, then he gestures down the hallway. "Walk with me."
It's not a request, so I push off the wall and fall into step beside him, ignoring the way my shoulder screams in protest. We walk in silence until we reach his office, where he closes the door behind us and moves to the small bar on the corner.
"Drink?" he offers, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey.
"Probably shouldn't mix it with the pain meds."
"Probably not." He takes a sip, looking at me over the rim of his glass. "You want to know what I've learned after all these years running a motorcycle club?"
"What's that?"
"Sometimes it's better to just finish the job than to let it consume you.
" He sets the glass down, his expression serious.
"I could have made Vulture suffer. Could have tortured him for days, made him pay for every drop of blood spilled, every life lost in this fucking war.
And part of me wanted to. God knows the bastard deserved it. "
"But?"
"But revenge is a poison, Shadow. It eats at you from the inside out, makes you into something you don't recognize.
I've seen good men destroy themselves chasing vengeance, turning into monsters worse than the ones they were hunting.
" He meets my eyes. "Vulture needed to die.
For the safety of the club, for the women he hurt, for all of it.
But making him suffer wouldn't have brought back the dead or healed the wounded. It would have just fed the darkness."
I process this, turning it over in my mind. "So, you chose the quick death. Clean and efficient."
"Exactly. Now Vulture's dead and we don't have to worry about the Iron Eagles attacking us or our families. The threat is neutralized, the war is over, and we can move forward instead of looking back."
It makes sense. Cold, pragmatic sense. But there's still a part of me that wishes Vulture had suffered more, that his death had been slower and more painful.
Maybe King's right. Maybe that darkness is already eating at me more than I realized.
"Speaking of moving forward," King says, his tone shifting slightly. "Luna mentioned something interesting. Said you and Rachel seem to have developed some sort of... trauma attachment."
"I'm just making sure she feels safe," I say. "She's been through hell. Needs someone who understands."
"And that someone is you?"
"She responds to me. Doesn't trust anyone else."
"Shadow." King's voice is gentle but firm. "I'm not questioning your intentions. You did good tonight. Taking that bullet, getting her to let Luna examine her, staying with her when she needed someone. That's exactly the kind of protection this club stands for."
"But?"
"But Luna's concerned. She says trauma bonding can be intense and fast-moving. Two damaged people finding each other in crisis, clinging to each other as a lifeline." He pauses. "It doesn't always end well."
"I'm not clinging to anyone," I say, even though I'm not sure that's true anymore. "And I'm not damaged."
King gives me a look that says he sees right through that bullshit.
"Brother, we're all damaged. Every single one of us in this club is carrying ghosts and scars and shit we can't forget.
That's why we found each other, because civilians don't understand what it's like to survive things that should have destroyed you. "
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is that Rachel is vulnerable right now.
Traumatized, displaced, dealing with both her recent kidnapping and whatever brought her to Blackwater Falls in the first place.
" King leans against his desk. "And you're injured, exhausted, and clearly invested in her wellbeing in a way you're not used to. That's a volatile combination."
He's not wrong. Everything about this situation is volatile. Rachel with her walls and her pain and her refusal to trust. Me with my ghosts and my guilt and my complete lack of relationship experience. The two of us circling each other like wounded animals, drawn together by shared damage.
"I'm not trying to start something with her," I say, but the words feel hollow even to my own ears.
"Maybe not intentionally. But Shadow, I've known you for a while now.
You keep everyone at arm's length, never let anyone close, never show emotion beyond cold efficiency.
" His blue eyes are sharp. "But tonight, Chaos said you defended Rachel when he called her feisty.
Said you snapped at him for being insensitive about her trauma. "
Fuck. I did do that.
"She deserved defending."
"I agree. But you defending her? That's new.
That's personal." King crosses his arms. "Just be careful, brother.
For both your sakes. Trauma bonding can feel real and intense, but it's built on crisis and survival instincts.
When things calm down, when she's healed and feeling safe again, those feelings might change. "
"I know that."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man who's starting to care about someone. And caring makes you vulnerable. Makes you want things you've spent years convincing yourself you don't need."
His words hit too close to home. Because he's right. I am starting to care about Rachel. About whether she eats, whether she feels safe, whether the nightmares leave her alone. About the way her eyes flash when she's angry and the way her voice softens when she's being honest.
I'm starting to care, and it fucking terrifies me.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask. "Stop checking on her? Hand her off to someone else?"
"No. She trusts you, and that's valuable.
Just... be aware of what's happening. Don't let the intensity of the situation make you confuse protection with something deeper.
" King's expression softens slightly. "And for fuck's sake, go see Luna about that shoulder.
You're bleeding through your shirt and you look like you're about to pass out. "
I glance down and he's right again. There's a dark stain spreading across my shirt where the bandage has soaked through.
"Fine. I'll go see her."
"Good. And Shadow?" I pause at the door. "I'm not trying to tell you how to feel or what to do. Just want you to think about it. Really think about whether you're ready for what getting involved with Rachel might mean."
I nod and leave his office, King's words in my head.
Trauma attachment. Two damaged people clinging to each other in crisis. Feelings built on survival instincts that might disappear when things calm down.
Is that what this is? Just adrenaline and shared trauma making me feel things I wouldn't normally feel? Or is it something more? Something real and terrifying and completely outside my experience?
I don't have answers. I don’t know how to untangle what I'm feeling from what I should be feeling.
All I know is that I promised Rachel I'd check on her in the morning.
And I keep my promises.
Even when they scare the shit out of me.
Luna is waiting in the medical room when I get there, her expression somewhere between concerned and exasperated.
"Sit," she orders, pointing to the exam table. "And take your shirt off. Slowly."
I comply, peeling the blood-soaked fabric away from my shoulder. The movement pulls at the stitches and I taste copper as I bite down on the inside of my cheek.
Luna examines the wound, her touch gentle but thorough. "You tore three of the stitches. Probably when you were sitting in that uncomfortable chair for hours instead of resting like I told you to."
"Rachel needed—"
"I know what Rachel needed. And I'm glad you were there for her." Luna starts cleaning the wound, and fuck, it hurts. "But you can't help anyone if you destroy yourself in the process."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding, exhausted, and running on fumes. That's not fine." She starts restitching the torn areas, and I focus on the ceiling to avoid watching. "King talked to you about the trauma bonding."
It's not a question.
"Yeah. He thinks I'm getting too attached."
"Are you?"
"I don't know. Maybe." I close my eyes. "All I know is that she trusts me. And I don't want to let her down."
"Shadow." Luna pauses her work, waiting until I look at her. "Caring about someone isn't weakness. Neither is wanting to protect them or making sure they're okay. Those are good instincts."
"But?"
"But you need to take care of yourself too. Rachel needs you healthy and functional, not running yourself into the ground trying to be her savior." She goes back to stitching. "And you need to be honest with yourself about what you're feeling and why."
"Everyone keeps saying that. Like I have some secret knowledge about my own emotions that I'm hiding."
"Do you?"
Maybe. Probably. I've spent so long not feeling anything beyond coldness that I don't know how to recognize or name what's happening in my chest when I think about Rachel.
Is it just protective instinct? Or something more?
"I promised I'd check on her in the morning," I say instead of answering.
"Then you will. But first you're going to sleep. Doctor's orders." Luna finishes the stitching and starts bandaging. "I'll set an alarm for six hours from now. That'll give you time to rest and still check on Rachel before she wakes up."
"I'm fine to—"
"Shadow." Her voice is firm. "You're no good to Rachel or anyone else if you collapse from exhaustion or infection. Sleep. Now."
She's right, even if I don't want to admit it. My body is screaming for rest, and my mind is too fuzzy to be useful.
"Fine. Six hours."
"Good." She finishes bandaging and steps back. "There's a free room down the hall. Third door on the right. Clean bed, dark and quiet. Get some sleep, and I'll make sure someone wakes you when it's time."
I nod and head for the door, exhaustion making every step an effort.
"Shadow?" Luna calls after me. "For what it's worth, I think Rachel's lucky to have you looking out for her. Just don't forget to look out for yourself too."
I don't know how to respond to that, so I just keep walking.
The room Luna mentioned is small but clean, with a single bed and blackout curtains. I collapse onto it without even taking off my boots, and sleep claims me almost instantly.
But even in sleep, I can't escape the gray eyes and defensive walls of a woman who asked me to stay.
A woman who's becoming more important to me with every passing hour.
And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.