"We're here," I say gently. "You can let go now."
She releases me and slides awkwardly off the bike. I dismount and retrieve her bag, then lead her toward a side door, punching a code into the keypad lock.
"This leads to the living quarters," I explain. "Quieter than going through the main area."
The door opens to a hallway lined with doors. Crash rooms for members who need to stay over. I lead her to the last one on the left, unlocking it with a key from my pocket.
"You can stay here tonight," I say, stepping aside to let her enter first.
The room is basic but clean. Double bed with fresh sheets, small bathroom attached, mini-fridge in the corner. It's where I crash when Eli's spending the night at a friend's house or when club business keeps me too late to go home.
She steps inside, eyeing the exit like she might need to make a quick escape.
"Lock's on the inside," I tell her, pointing to the deadbolt. "No one comes in unless you let them."
She nods, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
"Bathroom's got towels and basic toiletries if you want to clean up," I continue. "I'll get you some food. Preferences?"
She looks startled by the question, like no one's asked her what she wants to eat in a long time.
"Anything," she says. "I'm not picky."
"Sandwich okay? We keep basics in the kitchen here."
She nods again.
"I'll be back in fifteen," I say. "Lock the door behind me."
I step out, hearing the deadbolt slide into place as soon as the door closes. Good. She's cautious. She'll need to be.
I head to the kitchen area, my mind working through next steps. The smart move would be to tell King immediately. No secrets from the president, that's club law. But something makes me hesitate. King's on edge since Vincent's death, focused entirely on club security. Claire represents an unknown variable, a potential complication.
And those bruises... if her old man is looking for her, the last thing we need is to bring his drama to our doorstep. Not with the Eagles already breathing down our necks.
I make a simple sandwich—turkey, cheese, lettuce on whole wheat—and grab a bottle of water and an apple from the fridge. Basic, but better than nothing. As I'm arranging everything on a plate, I hear footsteps behind me.
"Midnight snack, Rage? Or feeding a stray?"
I turn to find Tank leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest. The VP misses nothing. It's why he's King's right hand.
"Just hungry," I say casually.
Tank's eyes flick to the plate, then back to my face. "Two waters. Apple sliced just the way Eli likes it. Except Eli's at your place with the sitter, isn't he?"
No point lying to Tank. He knows everything that happens in this club.
"Found a woman in the park," I admit. "Beaten up pretty bad. Nowhere to go."
Tank's expression doesn't change, but his posture shifts subtly. "And you brought her here."
It's not a question.
"She needed help," I say simply.
"Since when are we running a shelter for domestic violence victims?"
"We're not." I meet his gaze steadily. "But I wasn't leaving her out there for the Eagles to find. You know they're running patrols in our territory."
