She hesitated. “Define holding up.”
He snorted. “That’s a no then.”
Silence settled between them, and it was surprisingly not uncomfortable. Trixie studied Ink—his tattoos, the ever-present smirk, the easy posture. He felt safe in the same way a rattlesnake curled in the sun felt safe—deadly, but predictable.
“You’re thinking loud,” Ink said finally. “Spit it out.”
“Your brothers don’t trust me,” she said.
Ink shrugged. “You think we trust anyone who walks through the gate? You think we trusted Cyclops when he got patched in? Trust is earned. Hell, Cyclops still pisses off half the club on a good day.”
She blinked. “That’s not the reassurance you think it is.”
Ink grinned. “Look, we’re not scared of you. We’re scared of what’s chasing you. There is a big difference.”
She swallowed. “You should be scared of me.”
Ink’s smile faded. He straightened, looking at her seriously—an expression she hadn’t seen on him before. “Yeah, we know. But here’s the thing—Cyclops said you’re under his protection, which makes you under ours. And you being worried about us resenting you being here means that you’re already thinking like you’re part of us.”
Trixie stiffened. “I didn’t say that I’m worried about you guys resenting me being here.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see when someone’s trying like hell not to care.” Ink stared her down, and she felt as though he could see the actual thoughts in her damn head.
Her jaw clenched. “Caring gets you killed.”
Ink laughed—not cruel, just knowing. “Sweetheart, caring is the only thing that keeps you alive in a place like this.” She didn't have a response for that.
He pushed off the wall and opened the door. Venom stood in the hall, his arms crossed over his massive chest, looking like he’d been carved out of bad intentions and concrete. He nodded at her once—silent, assessing, with something like approval in his eyes.
Ink jerked his chin. “We’ll be outside. Cyclops said you need space. But if you need us?—”
Trixie cut him off quietly. “I know.” Then the door shut, leaving her alone again. She sat on the bed and stared at the mug in her hands. He said that she was a part of them, but she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Yet when she pictured leaving, all she could see was Cyclops’s face when he said I choose you.
Her chest tightened painfully. She stood so fast the coffee sloshed out of the mug. She needed to move around. She needed fresh air and ground under her feet. She pulled on a clean pair of jeans and her boots, grabbed her jacket, and cracked the door open. Venom’s eyes landed on her immediately as Ink’s smirk widened.
“You goin’ somewhere?” Venom rumbled.
Trixie straightened her shoulders. “I need air.”
Ink pointed toward the main yard. “Deck’s clear. Cyclops swept it after the meeting.”
The mention of Cyclops made Trixie’s stomach flip. She braced herself and stepped past them into the hall. Venom fellinto step behind her without asking. Ink followed with a lazy saunter, whistling like he wasn’t watching every shadow.
Outside, the morning air was crisp and smelled like pine and diesel. She breathed deeply for the first time in hours. And froze when she spotted Cyclops in the yard. He was barely dressed and sweaty. His calves were planted, his fists wrapped, while he beat the hell out of a hanging sandbag. Each punch landed with brutal precision, his muscles coiled and released in controlled violence. He looked like a storm that was given flesh.
He didn’t see her at first. And she should’ve walked away. Should’ve turned around, but she didn’t—she couldn’t. When he finally looked up, his good eye locked on her like he’d been searching for her through every breath he took. Trixie’s heart stuttered. The moment stretched between them—quiet, fragile, and charged. Then, Cyclops stepped toward her—slow and purposefully, like nothing in the world mattered except closing the distance between them.
“Trixie,” he said. Just her name was enough to make her shiver. It was enough to unravel something she’d been holding together with duct tape and fear for years.
She swallowed hard. “I needed air,” she whispered.
His gaze softened just a fraction. “Then breathe.” She did, for the first time that morning. And as he stepped close enough that the heat of him brushed her skin, she realized with terrifying clarity that she wasn’t just fighting beside Cyclops anymore—she was starting to fight for him.
CYCLOPS
Cyclops hadn’t intended to hit the bag this early. He hadn’t intended to hit it this hard, either. But the minute he walked out into the yard and felt the cold morning air on his skin, something inside him snapped loose. He had too many thoughts running through his head and was consumed with too much want. As the danger closed in around them.
He wrapped his hands and started swinging—hard, fast, and brutal. His punches landed with solid thuds that echoed off the compound walls. He let his mind empty the only way he knew how—through using his fists, sweat, and motion. He cleared his head through violence that didn’t have a single target—it had many. Yesterday’s scouts and the threat of a breach at the compound were his biggest targets, followed by Trixie’s father. He was tightening his net, trying to catch Trixie, and that made Cyclops furious.
