She's quiet for a moment.
I can feel her gaze on my back, assessing, reading between the lines like she always does.
"The club blames me."
I turn around. "What?"
"For all of this. The raids, the pressure, Varro's vendetta." She sets the laptop aside, hugging her knees to her chest. "I've heard the whispers. Seen the way some of them look at me. Like I'm a curse that landed on their doorstep."
"They don't?—"
"Don't lie to me. Please." Her voice cracks. "I know what I am. I know what I've cost you."
"You haven't cost me anything."
"I've cost you everything." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Your reputation, your authority, maybe your club. All because you decided to play hero for some broken woman you barely knew."
"That's not?—"
"I've been thinking." She cuts me off, her voice steadier now. More resolved. "About getting my own place. Moving out."
The words hit me like a slap to the face.
"What?"
"It makes sense, doesn't it? I can't stay here forever, relying on you, causing problems for the club. I need to get my own life together. Find an apartment, get a job, start the teaching certification process." She's not looking at me now, picking at a thread on the blanket. "I can't do that from here. And maybe if I'm gone, Varro will ease up. Without me as a target, he's got less leverage."
"That's not how it works. Varro's not going to stop just because you're gone."
"Maybe not. But at least I won't be making things worse."
I cross the room in three strides, crouching in front of her so she has to look at me. "You're not making things worse."
"Everyone thinks I am."
"I don't give a shit what everyone thinks." My voice comes out rougher than I intended. "These men follow me because I've earned their loyalty. And if any of them have a problem with you being here, they can take it up with me."
"That's exactly the problem." Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "You keep defending me. Keep making enemies, burning bridges. And for what? For some woman you picked up out of the goodness of your heart?"
"You think that's what this is? Charity?"
"Isn't it?"
"No." The word is absolute. Final. "This isn't charity, Ripley. This isn't me playing hero. This is—" I stop, struggling to find the words.
"This is what?"
I stare at her.
At the woman who crashed into my life and turned everything upside down.
At the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, the desperate need to understand.
And I realize I have a choice.
I can retreat.
Pull back behind my walls, let her believe this is nothing more than protection, watch her walk out the door and take a piece of me with her.
