"So I told the truth. I told them everything—about all the years of abuse—and he was arrested."
Her eyes find mine, devastated and angry all at once.
"My mother bailed him out the next day. Hired some expensive lawyer I don't know how they afforded. Together they spun this whole story for the authorities—said I was troubled, hanging with a bad crowd of drug addicts, that one of them beat me up. They said they were just caring, concerned parents. Claimed they were trying to protect their daughter by grounding her, but I was so resentful of their restrictions that Ifalsely accused my own father." Her laugh is bitter, broken. "The authorities believed them. He got off completely. Scott free. Like none of it ever happened."
She sniffles and continues. "That's when I knew the system wouldn't save me. That my own mother would sacrifice me to protect him. So I ran. I’ve been running ever since. Living in my car, working shit jobs." She pauses, her jaw clenching while I process her confession. Everything she's survived, every choice she's made to stay alive—it all led to my door. "I don't want to keep running. Don't want to be the girl in her car who jumps at shadows. But I don't know how to be anything else."
“You’ll learn. It may take time, but I’ll teach you."
"I want that. I really want it.” She takes a breath. Her hands shake but her voice steadies. "I want to run toward something instead of away from it."
I cup her face. “I want that too, baby.” I look down at my phone that’s buzzed for the third time in two minutes. I check the text. Fuck. I can’t ignore this.
“I don’t want to go, baby, but I have to. Steele’s calling church. It’s mandatory."
She nods, but I see the nervousness in her eyes.
“Come on down with me. You’ll need to wait outside. Church is for patched members only. No exceptions." I soften my voice.
I walk her to the chapel door. "Wait right here. Fifteen minutes, maybe less. I'll come get you."
I wait until she's seated on the bench outside, then step inside.
Patched members fill the space—hard men who've earned their colors in blood. Every chair is occupied.
Steel brings his gavel down the second the door closes behind me. "Brothers. We got a situation."
He lays out the intel—Iron Serpents asking about her at the diner, someone lurking out by the dumpster a few nights ago,her asshole father showing up tonight. There are grunts and nods as the picture comes together.
"Wrath's requested we formally recognize Camila Bennett as his old lady." Steel's voice carries the weight of every vote that's come before. "Full protection, full commitment of resources." He pauses, looks around the table. “Anyone got anything to say before we vote?”
Diesel speaks up. "She's a good woman. Been watching her these past few days. She's not some skanky whore looking for a free ride."
"Agreed," Jigsaw adds. "Plus, anyone can see Wrath's already claimed her. We're just making it official."
Steel nods. "All in favor?"
Crusher’s hand goes up first. Then Hound's. Then Bulldog’s. One by one, every hand rises. Not one dissenting vote.
Steel's gavel hits the sound block. "Motion carries. She's family now. Property of Wrath, our VP and under the protection of the Hellbound Devils." Steel looks directly at me. “Congratulations, brother."
"Meeting adjourned. Wrath, get her somewhere secure. Rest of you, doubled patrols around our businesses. If you see Iron Serpent colors, you call it in before you move on it. We do this smart."
Cami's on her feet the moment I step outside, trying to read my face.
"Unanimous. You’re the official ol’ lady of the Hellhound Devil’s VP.”
Then her hands fly to her mouth and tears well—but these are different. The tears of someone braced for rejection, but receiving acceptance instead.
"Really?"
"Really. You're family now, Cami."
For a long moment, we just look at each other. Then she wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face against my chest. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, dampness soaking through my shirt, and I hold her while she cries out years of fear and hopelessness.
Chapter 8
Wrath
