Because she's mine. And I protect what's mine.
Always.
Chapter 12
Ava
The CNN interview is scheduled for tomorrow, and I'm panicking. Not because I don't know my material or because I'm afraid of the questions, but because this makes everything real in a way that publishing the article didn't. Millions of people are going to watch me discuss the trafficking investigation, and every word I say will be scrutinized, analyzed, and picked apart.
"You're spiraling," Mason says from where he's watching me pace his room. "I can see it happening."
"I'm not spiraling. I'm preparing."
"You're wearing a path in my floor and you've changed your outfit four times in the last hour. That's spiraling." He stands, crossing to intercept me. "Come here."
"I don't have time to come here. I need to review my notes, practice my talking points, make sure I've got answers for every possible question they might ask."
"Ava." His hands settle on my shoulders, solid and grounding. "You know this story better than anyone alive. You've lived it, bled for it, almost died for it. No amount of preparation is going to change that."
"But what if I freeze? What if I forget something crucial or say the wrong thing and compromise the prosecution?"
"Then you'll recover and move forward. But you won't freeze because you're too stubborn for that." He pulls me against his chest. "Breathe. Just breathe for a second."
I do, inhaling the scent of leather and motor oil and something that's uniquely him. Gradually my heart rate slows, the panic receding to manageable levels.
"Better?" he asks.
"A little." I pull back enough to look at him. "How do you do that? Make everything seem less terrifying just by being here?"
"Years of practice dealing with your particular brand of chaos." He's smiling, the expression soft. "You're going to be amazing tomorrow. You're always amazing."
"Flatterer."
"Truth teller." He kisses my forehead. "Now, you're going to stop obsessing about the interview, we're going to have dinner with the club, and then I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember why you were worried in the first place."
"That's your solution to everything. Sex."
"It's a good solution, it hasn't failed us yet."
I laugh despite my nerves. "Fine. Dinner, then distraction. But I'm reviewing my notes one more time after."
"Deal."
The common room's crowded when we head downstairs, brothers gathered around tables with food and beer, the atmosphere relaxed despite the tension that's been hanging over the compound since my article dropped. Sarah's here too, sitting with Condor and actually smiling at something he's saying.
"She's doing better," I observe, watching my friend.
"Sterling's been working with her, helping her process the trauma. And Condor's good at making people feel safe." Mason guides me toward the food table where Harrior's set out whatlooks like half a grocery store. "Plus, being around the club, seeing how we function, it helps normalize things."
"You're not exactly normal."
"No, but we're consistent. Predictable in our unpredictability." He loads two plates with food. "That's comforting for someone who's had their world turned upside down."
We settle at a table with Falcon and Sterling, and the conversation flows easily despite the weight of everything hanging over us. The brothers are careful not to mention tomorrow's interview, giving me space to just be rather than constantly preparing.
"Ava." Vulture sets down his beer, expression serious. "I want to thank you. For being careful about how you portrayed the club in your article. It could've gone very differently."
"You saved those girls. Saved me. The least I could do was tell the truth about what happened." I meet his eyes. "Besides, I meant what I told Mason. You're not the bad guys. You're just not the conventional good guys either."
