"Our next move?" She laughed, but it came out cracked. "There is no 'us,' remember? This is my fight."
"Not anymore." He stepped back, giving her space to breathe, but his expression didn't soften. "Your father threatened my town, my club, and my people when he sent his dogs here. That makes it our fight now."
"You can't win against him. He has judges, cops, and politicians in his pocket. He won’t hesitate to use his resources to get to me and tear down the Road Reapers while doing it."
"And I have a motorcycle club full of violent assholes who don't give a shit about any of that." His grin was as sharp as the blade that she had just dropped to the floor. "Besides, I've been bored lately. This'll be fun."
Trixie barked out her laugh, "Fun?" She stared at him as though he had lost his mind. "You think going to war with Vincent Lee will be fun?"
"It will be more fun than just sitting around here playing babysitter to Mace's bar." He moved toward the door, walked out into the hallway, and paused. "Get dressed. We're leaving in twenty."
"I didn't agree to go to your compound," she reminded.
He looked back at her, and something in his expression made her breath catch. "You’ll agree because, despite all that independence and attitude you like to give me, you're smart enough to know you can't do this alone. Well, that and because somewhere under all that fear and anger, you trust me. I can see it in your eyes. You trust me, just a little bit, but a little bit is enough." He was gone before she could deny any of what he had just said.
The door closed with a soft click, and Trixie stood there for a long moment, staring at it with her heart racing. He was right, damn him. She did trust him, at least more than she trusted anyone else right now. And that terrified her more than her father's threats because trusting people could get her killed in her father’s world. But not trusting them might get her killed even faster.
She grabbed her backpack and started repacking, adding the clothes Cyclops had left for her. Twenty minutes—she had twenty minutes before her life changed again, and before she threw her lot in with a motorcycle club and a one-eyed biker who made her feel things she couldn't afford to feel. Her father had taught her that feelings made you weak and vulnerable. But as she laced up her boots and prepared to follow Cyclops into whatever came next, she wondered if maybe her father had been wrong about that, too. Maybe feelings didn't make you weak. Maybe they gave you something worth fighting for.
The knock on her door came exactly twenty minutes later. Cyclops didn’t wait for her to open it, letting himself in. "You ready?" Cyclops asked, standing in the doorframe. He was fully dressed now—leather cut, boots, and carrying enough weapons to start a small war. She shouldered her backpack, taking one last look at the room that had been her sanctuary for all of three hours.
"No," she said honestly, "but let's go anyway."
He smiled then, a real smile that transformed his scarred face into something almost beautiful. "That's my girl," he said, and before she could object to the possession in his words, he took her hand into his and was leading her down the hallway.
His girl. She wasn't anybody's girl and hadn't been since she'd stopped being her father's princess. But as she followed Cyclops down the stairs, surrounded by leather-clad bikers who'd decided she was worth protecting, she thought maybe—just maybe—being somebody's girl didn't have to mean being owned. Maybe it could mean being chosen, and for the first time in her life, that thought didn’t scare the hell out of her.
CYCLOPS
Cyclops knew something was wrong the second Venom stepped into the hallway behind Trixie. The big man only moved like that when there was trouble. His shoulders were tight, his stance wide, and his eyes were scanning for threats even when there weren’t any in sight. Cyclops needed that kind of edge tonight, and he was damn glad that Venom had his back, because this shit was about to get complicated.
The clubhouse was buzzing the moment they came downstairs. Brothers had gathered around the bar, word traveling faster than the bikes they rode about the bounty on Trixie’s head. Half a million dollars was hard to ignore, even for the most loyal of men. It wasn’t because any of them would betray him—but because that kind of money meant war was coming straight to their front door. And Cyclops had brought it there. He’d made that choice the second he’d told Trixie she wasn’t going anywhere, and he didn’t regret it, but he felt the weight of it like a chain around his neck.
Ink spotted them first. “Prez is gonna shit bricks when he hears about this,” he muttered.
Cyclops shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “Prez isn’t here. I am.” That quieted the room. Not completely, since nothing quieted this crew, but it was enough to give him time to think.
Trixie’s posture changed instantly as she stepped a half-inch closer to Cyclops, subtle enough that most wouldn’t notice. But he sure as hell did. She might not have called it trust yet, but her body already knew where safety was, and he liked that too damn much.
He led her toward the bar. It wasn’t the most private place, but he needed eyes on the doors—and on his brothers. “You all know what’s going on,” he said, addressing the room without turning his back on anyone. “Her father put a bounty out on her. Half a million alive and unharmed. Which means they’re not looking to kill her—they’re looking to sell her off, eventually.”
Trixie stiffened beside him, but Cyclops continued. “This ain’t just about her anymore. Someone comes onto our turf waving money around and thinking they can take what’s under our protection, and we take that as a challenge.”
“Damn right it is,” Venom growled.
Ink crossed his arms. “So what’s the plan, Cyclops?”
Cyclops looked around the room at his brothers and back at Trixie. “We take her north to the compound.” A murmur went through the room, because everyone knew what that meant. He was taking her into isolation to ensure her safety. It was a fortress that the entire state avoided like they’d avoid a rabid dog. But it also meant Cyclops was officially pulling the club into this fight.
“Hold up,” Razor said from the couch. “Since when do we go to war for outsiders?” Trixie’s eyes flashed as though she was ready to bite back, but Cyclops beat her to it.
“She stopped being an outsider when her father’s men slashed her tires on Reaper ground. When she stepped into our bar, she became our problem and our responsibility.”
“That’s not how it works,” Razor argued.
“It’s how it’s going to work tonight,” Cyclops insisted. Silence filled the room again. He could see the shift happen. His brothers exchanged looks, weighing loyalty against danger, against money, and against the unknown. Cyclops straightened. “Anyone got a problem with it, speak now.”
Razor opened his mouth, but Venom’s glare shut it for him. Ink leaned forward. “Mace trusts Cyclops to run this place in his absence, and that’s enough for me.” One by one, the others nodded. They seemed reluctant, but he trusted that they’d stick with their decision to follow him.
