"What about you?" she asks. "Any dreams beyond the club?"
The question catches me off guard. I haven't thought about "dreams" in years. I've been too focused on survival, on raising Eli, on club duties.
"I want to see Eli grow up," I say finally. "Graduate high school. Maybe college, if that's what he wants. I want to be there for all of it."
"That's a good dream," she says softly.
"And I want him to have choices I never had. Options that don't involve violence and looking over your shoulder." I pause, surprised by my own honesty. "Don't get me wrong… I don't regret the club. They're my family. But this life... it limits you in ways you don't always see coming."
We fall silent again, both contemplating futures that suddenly seem fragile in the face of what's coming tonight.
"Do you think we'll survive this?" Claire asks abruptly. "Tonight, I mean."
The directness of the question takes me aback, but I appreciate it. She's not asking for empty reassurances.
"Yes," I say with more confidence than I feel. "We've got good intel—thanks to you. We've got the home field advantage. And we've got brothers who know what they're doing." I lean forward, meeting her eyes. "The Eagles think they're walking into a celebration. They're actually walking into an ambush."
She nods, seeming to take comfort in my certainty. "And after? What happens to me if we survive this?"
"When," I correct her. "When we survive this. And after, we help you get somewhere safe. New town, new start. Maybe even that second-hand clothing store."
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "That would be nice. To think there could be something after Tommy."
"There will be," I assure her. "He doesn't get to be the period at the end of your story, Claire. Just a shitty chapter you survived."
Her eyes shine with sudden tears, but she blinks them back. "Thank you. For seeing me as more than just... this." She gestures to her bruised face. "More than just a victim."
"You stopped being just a victim the moment you ran," I tell her. "Takes guts to leave, especially when you know what they're capable of. Trust me, I've seen plenty of people stay in bad situations because they're too scared to leave. What you did took courage."
She absorbs this, straightening slightly as if the words themselves give her strength. "I want to believe that. That I can be brave, that I can start over."
"You can." I check my watch, aware that I should be helping with preparations, not sitting here talking. But something keeps me rooted to the chair, unwilling to end this moment of connection. "What would you do? If you could start over anywhere, do anything?"
"I'd find a small town," she says without hesitation. "Somewhere quiet, where people look out for each other. Open my shop. Maybe volunteer at a shelter, helping other women who've been through what I have." She pauses. "What about you? If you could do anything else, what would it be?"
I consider the question seriously. "I'd probably still work with my hands. Carpentry maybe. I like building things, creating something tangible that wasn't there before." I smile slightly. "And I'd still be raising Eli, just without having to teach him which adults in his life he can mention the club to and which ones he can't."
Claire's answering smile makes her look younger, unburdened for a brief moment by fear and trauma. "That sounds nice. Simple."
"Simple's underrated," I agree.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, breaking the moment. I check it—a text from Tank.
*Meeting in 5. King's office.*
"Duty calls," I say, standing reluctantly. "I need to go. Final preparations before sunset."
Claire nods, the weight visibly settling back on her shoulders. "Of course."
"Someone will come get you when it's time to move to the safe room," I tell her. "Probably Luna or Jenny. Just follow their lead."
"I will." She stands as well, wrapping her arms around herself in what looks like an unconscious gesture of self-protection. "Rage... be careful tonight."
There's genuine concern in her voice that catches me off guard. We've known each other less than twenty-four hours, yet somehow she's already carved out a space to care about what happens to me.
"Always am," I assure her. "Got too much to lose."
I leave her room with a strange reluctance, aware that I've shared more with her in the past thirty minutes than I have with most people in years. Something about Claire pulls the truth out of me. Maybe because she's been lied to enough, maybe because she seems to see beneath the surface to the man I am beneath the cut and the reputation.
