Once alone, I pull out my burner phone and dial King's private number. He answers on the second ring.
"Tank. Beast filled me in."
"We need to discuss how far we're willing to go with this," I say without preamble.
"You think this cop's going to force our hand?"
I consider the question. "Men like Mitchell don't back down easily. They see it as weakness. And from what Amelia's told me, he's escalated his violence over time. Classic abuser pattern."
"The kid complicates things," King notes. "Orphaning her isn't ideal."
"No," I agree. "But letting her grow up watching her mother get beaten isn't either."
A heavy silence falls between us. King and I have both seen the lasting damage abuse does to children. We've lived it in different ways.
"Your call, Tank," he says finally. "You're on the ground. You know the situation. If you decide this guy needs to disappear, the club backs your play. But try the non-permanent solutions first, for the kid's sake."
"Understood."
"And Tank?"
"Yeah?"
"This isn't just about your sister and her friend, is it?" King's question cuts closer to the bone than I'd like.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've got a look in your eye I haven't seen since we were in Afghanistan. The same look you had when we found that village after the warlord's men went through it."
I close my eyes, unwilling to revisit those memories. "Mitchell hurt a woman and a child under his protection. That makes it personal."
"Hmm." King's non-committal response speaks volumes. "Just be careful. Don't let your history color your judgment."
"I won't."
"Good. Rage and Shadow will be there by 0600. I've put the rest of the club on standby. Just say the word, and we're there."
"Thanks, brother."
I end the call and sit heavily on the edge of the bed, King's words echoing in my mind. This isn't just about your sister and her friend, is it?
Is he right? Am I letting this case get under my skin because it reminds me of my own failures? Of how I couldn't protect my mother from my father's psychological abuse? Of how I left Jenny behind to fend for herself?
Or is it something else entirely? Something to do with the way Amelia looks at me with those tired, brave eyes? The way her presence stirs protective instincts I thought long buried under years of violence and emotional detachment?
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I stand quickly, hand automatically reaching for the gun at my waist before I catch myself.
"Yes?"
The door opens slightly, and Amelia peers in, her face pale in the dim light. "I'm sorry to bother you, but Anna's having nightmares again. She's asking for you."
"Me?" I can't hide my surprise. "Why?"
A small, sad smile crosses Amelia's face. "She says she wants the man who's 'scarier than Daddy' to check her room for monsters."
"I'll be right there."
I follow Amelia down the short hallway to where Anna is sitting up in bed, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly to her chest. Jenny sits beside her, murmuring reassurances, but the little girl's eyes are fixed on the closet door across the room.
