"I'm fine."
"Right. And I'm the Queen of England." She shakes her head but doesn't push it. "Stubborn men. I'm surrounded by stubborn men."
She leaves, pulling the door almost closed behind her but not latching it. Giving Rachel the illusion of privacy while ensuring someone can get in if needed.
Smart woman. King's lucky to have her.
Rachel is already pulling her knees back up to her chest, withdrawing into herself like a turtle into its shell. Her dark hair falls forward, hiding her face, and I should leave. Should let her process everything that happened and get some rest.
Instead, I stay where I am by the door.
"You did good," I say after a moment.
"What?"
"Letting Luna examine you. That took courage."
She laughs, but it's a bitter sound. "Courage. Right. I was just tired of people knocking on the door."
"Bullshit." The word comes out harsher than I intended. "You were terrified. But you let her do it anyway. That's the definition of courage."
Rachel lifts her head, and those brown eyes are blazing with something that might be anger or might be tears she's refusing to shed. "Stop trying to make me feel better about myself. I don't need your pep talks or your psychological insights."
"Not trying to make you feel anything. Just stating facts."
"Yeah, well, your facts suck."
Despite everything, the pain in my shoulder, the exhaustion pulling at my bones, the weight of too many bodies and too much blood, I feel that almost-smile tug at my lips again.
This woman is something else. Prickly and defensive and so fucking damaged it hurts to look at her. But underneath all that armor, there's steel. Strength that hasn't been broken despite everything the world has thrown at her.
"Noted," I say.
We fall into silence, and I can see her struggling with something. Her fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt, that too-small, too-revealing outfit the Eagles forced her to wear.
"I should let you rest," I finally say after a few minutes of pure silence.
"Wait." Rachel's voice stops me before I can move toward the door. She's biting her lip, looking uncomfortable. "Is there... could someone maybe get me something to eat? I don't want to go to the main room with everyone else, but I'm..."
She trails off, embarrassed.
"Hungry," I finish for her. "Yeah, I'll get you something from the kitchen."
Relief flashes across her face. "Thank you."
I nod and step out into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind me. My shoulder is screaming now, the pain medication Luna gave me starting to wear off, but I ignore it as I make my way downstairs.
The clubhouse is quieter than usual. Most of the brothers are in the main room, dealing with cleanup from the raid andchecking on the rescued women. I can hear voices carrying down the hallway. Someone talking about securing the perimeter, someone else discussing what to do about the bodies.
Standard post-mission conversation.
The kitchen is empty when I first walk in, which suits me fine. I open the fridge and stare at the contents, trying to figure out what Rachel might want to eat.
Fuck, I don't even know if she has dietary restrictions or allergies. Don't know her last name or where she's from or anything beyond the fact that she's got walls higher than Fort Knox and a mouth that doesn't know when to quit.
I grab some bread, turkey, and cheese, setting them on the counter. Making a sandwich one-handed is going to be a bitch, but I've managed worse.
"Making a late-night snack?" Chaos appears in the doorway, startling me. I didn't hear him approach, which means I'm more exhausted than I thought. "How you feeling, man? That shoulder's gotta be killing you."
