I nod. "Tommy Reeves."
"And he did all this?" Rage gestures to my multi-colored torso.
"The fresh ones," I confirm. "After his friend Vincent died, he just... changed. Or maybe the mask came off. I don't know."
Rage secures the bandage with metal clips, his movements still gentle but his jaw visibly tighter. "Vincent," he repeats. "Vincent Kemp?"
I realize my mistake immediately. I've said too much. The room suddenly feels colder, and I pull the edges of the robe closer together, covering the bandages and my exposed skin.
"You know that name," Rage says. It's not a question.
I swallow hard. There's no point denying it. "Yes."
His green eyes harden, the muscles in his shoulders tensing beneath his T-shirt. "Your ex is Iron Eagles."
Again, not a question. I nod anyway, my heart hammering against my newly-wrapped ribs.
"Fuck," he mutters, standing up and pacing across the small room. "Of all the goddamn—" He cuts himself off, running a hand over his short hair.
"I didn't lie to you," I say quickly. "I just didn't—"
"Didn't mention that your ex is part of the MC that's currently planning to rain hell down on our town?" Rage's voice is controlled but tight with anger. "That's a pretty fucking big omission, Claire."
"I was afraid," I admit. "Afraid you'd just throw me to the wolves if you knew."
He stops pacing and turns to face me. "Is that why you came to Blackwater Falls? To get away from the Eagles?"
I shake my head. "I was already here. Tommy brought me to Blackwater Falls three days ago, right after Vincent died. Said they were setting up in town for something big."
Rage's expression changes, alert now. "Setting up where?"
"I don't know exactly. A house somewhere on the east side of town. Tommy didn't tell me much, just that they were establishing a forward position for what's coming."
"And what exactly is coming?" he demands.
I meet his gaze directly. "War. All-out war. Vincent was Vulture's right-hand man, and your club killed him. Tommy said there won't be a single Savage Rider left alive when they're done."
"Jesus Christ," Rage mutters again, pulling out his phone. "I need to call Tank."
"Wait," I say, suddenly desperate. "Will you still help me? Now that you know?"
Rage pauses, phone in hand, and looks at me. His face is unreadable, but there's a calculation happening behind those green eyes.
"You're sure he doesn't know where you went? That you came here?"
I shake my head. "I didn't even know where I was going until I got to the park. I just ran."
He's silent for a moment longer, then asks, "What else do you know? About their plans, their numbers, anything."
"I overheard things," I say. "Tommy and some others talking. I know they've called in members from other chapters. I know they're planning something for tomorrow night."
His eyebrows raise. "What kind of something?"
"An attack on your clubhouse. They think you'll be gathered for Vincent's wake, celebrating his death." I clutch the edges of my robe tighter. "Tommy said it would be a slaughter."
Rage's eyes widen. He hits a button on his phone and holds it to his ear. After a few seconds, he speaks urgently: "Tank, we have a situation. Need you back at the room. Now." He hangs up without waiting for a response.
"He's going to hate me," I whisper, suddenly terrified of the club's VP and his cold, assessing eyes.
