Marci tapped the top of the whiteboard with a marker.In all caps, someone had written: IF THEY COME.
Underneath were bullet points.
Get kids to safe room.
Call chain.
Med kit.
Defensive positions.
My stomach tightened.“Safe room?”
“Basement,” Solena explained.“Under the clubhouse.Reinforced storage room.Used to hold kegs.We cleared it out, added cots, water, snacks.Not pretty, but it’ll hold.”
“You have a panic room,” I breathed.
Marci’s eyes narrowed.“We have a plan.Club’s had one for years.We refreshed it.Recent… developments.”
By developments, she meant Diaz.By developments, my brain insisted she meant me.
Casey’s knee bumped mine under the table.“Brood later.Listen now.”
Marci tapped the board again.“Jobs.Everyone has one.”
She pointed to herself.“I’m eyes and call chain.I’m the one who decides when we go to ground.”
Her marker moved.“Casey handles kids.She knows every quirk, every meltdown sign, every trick that gets them moving without panic.”
Solena’s turn.“Med kit.I stock it.I run it.I’ve got a Prospect assigned as backup.”
Then Marci’s gaze settled on me.“You.”
My spine straightened.“Me?”
Solena leaned forward slightly.“We’re not locking you in a closet and telling you to pray.Not how this works.You’re part of us.You get a job.”
My pulse kicked.“What kind of job?”
“When the call goes to move, you’re with Casey.”Marci’s voice stayed matter-of-fact.“You help get kids to the safe room.You go armed.”
Her eyes flicked to the gun at my hip.My hand went instinctively toward it, as if touching it could make me braver.
My throat tightened.“You want me guarding kids?”Panic tried to climb my ribs.“What if I freeze?”
Casey’s gaze snapped to mine.“What if you don’t?What if you become one more set of eyes and hands getting my kids and everyone else’s into a room where Diaz can’t touch them?Would I hand you this job if I didn’t trust you?”
“I’ve had a gun for” -- I hesitated -- “barely two days.”
Solena leaned forward, her expression remaining calm.“And during those days, you’ve shot better than some men do in their first week.We aren’t asking you to become a soldier.We want you to do exactly what you did when you showed up at Kane’s door -- move forward while scared.”
My throat clogged with emotion.The weight of responsibility pressed down on me.Their trust overwhelmed me.The fear of breaking something precious made my hands shake.
Marci leaned in.“You want to punch Roth and Diaz in the face?This is how.”
Casey’s little girl had placed a tiara on my head with solemn ceremony.The memory warmed me.I remembered the children lined up with crayons, laughing, oblivious to cartel politics.
“Okay.”My voice came out steadier than I felt.“I’ll do it.”
