I should let him go. Should let him finally get some rest and deal with his own pain instead of worrying about mine.
But something in his words—the rawness of them, the honesty—makes me want to give him something back. Some kind of explanation for why I've been such a bitch when all he's done is try to help.
"Wait," I say again before he can leave. "I should... I owe you an explanation. For why I'm so suspicious. So defensive."
Shadow turns back. "You don't owe me anything."
"Maybe not. But I want to tell you anyway." I take a breath, forcing myself to meet those gray eyes. "Two months ago, I came home early from work. Found my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—fucking some twenty-year-old bartender on our kitchen counter."
I can see Shadow's jaw tighten, but he doesn't say anything. Just listens.
"Marcus and I had been together for three years. Lived together for two. I thought... I thought we were building something. Thought I knew him." The words taste bitter. "Turns out I didn't know shit. He'd been cheating for months, maybe longer. With multiple women. I was just too stupid and trusting to see it."
"That's not stupidity. That's trust. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because trust got me nothing but humiliation and a broken heart." I pull the blanket tighter around myself, suddenly cold despite the sweat still clinging to my skin. "I cried for two weeks straight. Couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function. My friends kept telling me I'd get over it, that I just needed time."
"But you didn't get over it."
"No. I got angry instead." I look down at my hands. "I quit my job, sold everything I owned, and decided to travel. Thought maybe if I ran far enough, I could outrun the pain. Outrun the memories of what he did to me."
Shadow moves back into the room, closing the door behind him. He doesn't sit on the bed this time. He just leans against the wall, giving me space but showing he's listening.
"I made it three days," I continue, my voice flat. "Three fucking days of freedom before the Iron Eagles grabbed me off the street. I was in some nowhere town, stopped at a gas station to use the bathroom, and when I came out there was a van waiting. They threw a bag over my head and that was it."
"How many women did they take?"
"Six of us. All around the same age, all alone. They told us we'd work at their new clubhouse—serve drinks, look pretty, smile for the members. And if we didn't..." I swallow hard. "If we didn't, they'd kill us and find replacements. Simple as that."
"Did they—" Shadow's voice is rough. "Did any of them touch you? Beyond the bruises Luna found?"
I shake my head. "No. They liked to threaten, liked to make us feel like it could happen any second, but they never... I think they were saving us. Breaking us down first, making us desperateenough to be grateful for any scrap of kindness. Classic abuser tactics."
"Bastards."
"Yeah." I look up at him. "So, when you guys showed up, when you said you were there to rescue us, all I could think was 'here we go again.' Another group of men who want something from us, just with different colors on their jackets."
"You thought we'd claim you. Take ownership from the Eagles."
"Can you blame me? My whole life, men have taken what they wanted and called it something else. Marcus took my trust and called it love. The Eagles took my freedom and called it employment. Why should you be any different?"
"Because we are different." He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer. "I can't speak for every man in the world, Rachel. Can't undo what Marcus did or erase what the Eagles put you through. But I can tell you that the Savage Riders don't operate like that. We don't take. We protect."
"Why should I believe you?"
"You shouldn't. Not yet." His gray eyes hold mine. "But maybe you can believe this. I took a bullet for you. Not because I wanted something from you, and not because I expected gratitude or anything else. I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because you deserved to be protected."
"Nobody's ever done that for me before," I whisper. "Protected me without wanting something in return."
"Then the men in your life have been fucking idiots."
The bluntness of it startles a laugh out of me—a real one this time, not bitter or broken. Just... genuine.
Shadow's almost-smile appears again, and I realize it's becoming less 'almost' and more real each time.
"You're different from what I expected," I admit. "When I first saw you in that room, covered in blood with a gun in your hand, I thought you were just another killer. Another man who'd hurt me eventually."
"I am a killer," he says quietly. "That part's not wrong. But I choose who I point the gun at. And it's never going to be you."
