"Good. Neither am I."
I turn without responding and gesture for them to follow. The other women scramble to their feet immediately, but Rachel takes her sweet time, like she's making a point.
Whatever. As long as she follows.
I lead them back down the hallway, moving slowly enough that they can keep up but fast enough that we're not sitting ducks. The main room has quieted down. Most of the Eagles are either dead or subdued, and I can hear King's voice barking orders.
"Clear the rest of the building," he's saying. "Find Vulture. I want that bastard alive if possible, dead if necessary."
I emerge from the hallway with six women trailing behind me, and every head in the room turns. Tank's expression softens when he sees them. Beast actually stops grinning. Even King looks relieved.
"I found them," I announce.
"Good work," King says, then his attention shifts to the women. His voice is gentle in a way it never is during club business. "You're safe now. We'll get you medical attention and help you contact anyone you need to reach."
Most of the women start crying. A few rush forward to hug the nearest Savage Rider, not caring about the blood and violence that still lingers in the air.
Rachel doesn't move. She stays right where she is, arms still crossed, eyes still suspicious. I don't know why I notice. I don’t know why it matters.
"We didn't find Vulture," Tank reports, his expression grim. "Bastard must have slipped out during the fighting."
King's jaw clenches. "Then this isn't over."
No shit. But at least we've dealt the Iron Eagles a serious blow tonight. Their new clubhouse is destroyed, most of their members are dead, and the women they kidnapped are free.
It's a win, even if it's not the final victory we wanted.
"Get the women to the vehicles," King orders. "Torch, make sure nothing's wired to explode. Beast, Tank, finish clearing the building."
I should move. Should help with the cleanup or escort the women to safety. Instead, I find myself looking at Rachel again.
She's staring at the bodies littering the floor, and for the first time since I found her, that defensive anger has cracked. She looks lost. Exhausted. Like she's been holding herself together through sheer force of will and it's finally catching up to her.
"Come on," I say. "Let's get you out of here."
She flinches when I speak, like she forgot I was there. Her eyes meet mine, and I see something in them that I recognize,that hollow emptiness that comes from surviving something you shouldn't have had to survive.
"Why?" she asks. "Why do you care?"
It's a fair question. I'm not known for caring about anything.
"I don't," I lie. "But King does, and he is my president. So, you're my responsibility until we get you somewhere safe."
It's the wrong thing to say. I know it as soon as the words leave my mouth. Her expression shutters completely, that defensive anger slamming back into place like armor.
"Right," she says coldly. "Responsibility. How noble."
Then she brushes past me, heading for the exit without waiting to see if I'm following.
I watch her go, something uncomfortable twisting in my chest. It feels almost like guilt, though I'm not sure why. I told her the truth. She is a responsibility, nothing more.
Except…
Except I can't stop watching the way she walks, head held high despite everything she's been through. Can't stop thinking about the way her eyes flashed when she challenged me, all fire and defiance even though she had to be terrified.
Can't stop wondering what she'd look like if that fire was directed at something other than pain.
"Shadow."
