Beast studied Callie with clinical detachment.“Hospital in Riverdale’s forty minutes south.We can arrange transport.”
“She said they’d look there,” I countered.“Whoever ‘they’ are.”
“Then it’s valuable information,” Beast replied.“Information we should have before bringing unknown elements into our home.”
He was right, and I knew it.Beast hadn’t built and maintained the Kings all these years by taking unnecessary risks.Every decision he made put the club and its security first.That focus explained why we followed him and trusted him.
But Callie’s fevered skin burned against mine, her breathing growing more labored by the minute.The zip tie marks on her wrists spoke of captivity, the head wound of violence.She’d fought her way free of something terrible.
I looked down at her, noting how her fingers had curled into my shirt, holding on even in semi-consciousness.The decision crystallized in my mind -- not a new thought, but acceptance of what I’d known since finding her on the dark road.Some lines, once crossed, couldn’t be uncrossed.
“There’s another option,” I said, meeting Beast’s gaze.“One option satisfying protocol.”
Understanding dawned in Beast’s eyes before I even moved.He’d seen enough members make this choice over the years to recognize the signs, though rarely under these circumstances.
I shifted Callie’s weight to one arm, supporting her against my chest as my free hand moved to my leather cut.The Reckless Kings insignia on my back represented more than membership, it was identity, family, purpose.We didn’t remove our cuts casually.Ever.
With deliberate movements, I slipped the leather vest from my shoulders.Cool night air brushed my arms, and the loss of the familiar weight left me momentarily disoriented.Without the cut, I stood before Beast and Ranger as Lyle Harker again -- the name I’d left behind decades ago, the person who’d ceased to exist when I became Samson.
The Prospects watched in silence, understanding the significance of what they witnessed.Ranger’s eyebrows rose slightly, the only indication of surprise from the veteran rider.Beast’s expression remained unreadable, though something flickered in his eyes -- not disapproval, exactly, but caution.
I draped the cut over Callie’s shoulders, the leather engulfing her smaller frame.The gesture carried a universal meaning -- claiming, protection, responsibility, and a bond far deeper than convenience or circumstance.
“She’s mine,” I said, my voice low but strong enough to carry across the space between us.“I claim her.Permanently.”
The words settled into the night, heavy with consequence.Claiming went beyond shielding her from danger.It meant vouching for her choices and owning the fallout if trouble followed.It tied her to my life in a way no quick fix or temporary solution ever could.
Beast studied us both.Years of friendship existed between us, built on trust and mutual respect.I’d never asked for special treatment, never pushed against club rules.Until now.
“You sure about this?”he asked finally, his voice pitched for my ears alone.Not questioning my right to make the claim but ensuring I understood its weight.
“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.The die was cast the moment I stopped on the dark road.
Ranger’s face creased in what might have been concern or resignation.“Hope she’s worth it, brother.”
The words weren’t meant as criticism -- just acknowledgment of the path I’d chosen.I nodded once in response, neither defending nor explaining.Some decisions didn’t need justification.
Beast held my gaze for another long moment before turning to the Prospects.“Let them through.”
The older Prospect gave me a brief nod before stepping back, respect clear in the gesture.
“Get her to Dr.Latimer,” Beast said, his voice returning to its usual authoritative tone.“Full report after.And, Samson…” He paused, his expression hardening slightly.“Whatever she’s running from becomes club business now.You understand?”
I nodded, the implications clear.By claiming Callie, I’d brought her troubles under the Kings’ protection.If someone was hunting her, they were now hunting one of ours.The club would respond accordingly, bringing full force and every available resource.
“Understood,” I said.
“I’ll have your bike brought inside,” Beast said.Then he stepped aside, clearing the path into the compound.As we moved past him, he placed a heavy hand briefly on my shoulder -- not quite approval, not quite warning.Something in between.The weight of years of brotherhood compressed into a single gesture.
Ranger’s expression had softened almost imperceptibly as we passed, his eyes lingering on Callie’s injuries.The old man had seen enough violence in his time to recognize its patterns, to understand what she’d endured to reach this point.
The gate closed behind us with a metallic finality, sealing us inside the compound -- and keeping out whatever pursued her.For now, at least.
* * *
Callie’s gaze found mine, fever-bright but suddenly more focused than when I’d first found her.The weight of my leather cut seemed to pull her from the fog of exhaustion and pain, awareness dawning as her fingers touched the worn leather draped across her shoulders.Recognition flickered in her expression as she processed what had just happened, what I’d declared to Beast and the others.Her throat worked as she swallowed, cracked lips parting with effort.
“What does that mean?”she asked, voice barely audible, rough from dehydration and fear.Her fingers curled around the edge of the leather, knuckles white with tension.
