"Domesticity with an outlaw biker, that's a sentence I never thought I'd say."
"Get used to it. You're stuck with me now."
"Good." I kiss him softly. "Because I'm not going anywhere."
We lie there in comfortable silence until my phone buzzes with a reminder about tomorrow's call time. Five AM pickup for hair and makeup, live interview at seven. Less than twelve hours.
"You're tensing up again," Mason observes.
"Can't help it. This is the biggest interview of my career."
"Then let's make sure you're too exhausted to be nervous." He rolls us so he's above me again. "Round two?"
"You're insatiable."
"Only with you." His mouth finds mine. "Only ever with you."
He proves his point over the next hour, taking me apart with a thoroughness that leaves me boneless and satisfied. By the time we finally sleep, it's past midnight and I'm too tired to be anxious about anything.
The alarm goes off at four thirty, brutal and unwelcome. Mason's already awake, coffee made and clothes laid out for me. He's thought of everything, including making sure I eat something before the car arrives.
"You're going to be incredible," he says as I finish getting ready. "Just remember to breathe, trust yourself, and tell the truth. That's all anyone can ask."
"What if they ask about us? About our relationship?"
"Then you decide what you're comfortable sharing. I'm not ashamed of what we have, but I understand if you want to keep some things private." He pulls me close. "Whatever you choose, I support it."
The car arrives at exactly five, a nondescript sedan that'll take me to the studio. Mason walks me out, his hand on my lower back, and kisses me hard before I climb in.
"Knock 'em dead, sweetheart."
"That's the plan."
The ride to the studio is a blur of nerves and last-minute preparation. Hair and makeup take an hour, transforming me from exhausted journalist to polished professional. The producer briefs me on the format, the kinds of questions they'll ask, and by the time I'm led to the set, I'm as ready as I'll ever be.
The host is warm but professional, putting me at ease during the pre-interview chat. Then the cameras are rolling and we're live, and everything else fades away except the story I need to tell.
"Ava Langley, thank you for joining us this morning. Your article about the Castellano trafficking network has sparked national conversation about how these operations hide in plain sight. Can you walk us through how you first became aware of this story?"
I take a breath and begin, walking through the investigation chronologically. The missing women I noticed, the patterns I tracked, the connections to the Reapers MC. The host asks smart questions, digging into the methodology without being intrusive, and I find my rhythm.
"You mentioned in your article that you received protection from the Saints Outlaws MC during your investigation. That's an unusual source of help for a journalist. How did that come about?"
Here's the question I've been preparing for. "I was being targeted by people who wanted to silence the investigation. The Saints became aware of the situation and offered protection. They have their own reasons for opposing human trafficking, and our interests aligned."
"There's been speculation about whether this represents a new relationship between outlaw motorcycle clubs and law enforcement. What's your response to that?"
"I think it's important to distinguish between cooperation and parallel interests. The Saints weren't working for law enforcement. They were protecting someone who needed help and taking action against an operation that violated their principles. That's different from being informants or assets."
"But they did coordinate with the FBI during the final operation."
"They provided tactical support and intelligence, yes. But that was specific to this case, not indicative of a broader relationship." I choose my words carefully. "The reality is that not all MCs are criminal enterprises, and not all criminals wear leather cuts. Sometimes the lines are more complicated than we'd like them to be."
The interview continues for another twenty minutes, covering Castellano's arrest, the rescued girls, the ongoing prosecution. By the time it wraps, I'm exhausted but satisfied. I told the story I needed to tell, protected the club's interests, and hopefully made a difference.
The producer's thrilled, already talking about followup segments and ongoing coverage. I smile and nod but my mind's already racing ahead to getting back to the compound, back to Mason.
The car drops me off three hours later, and I'm barely through the gate before Mason's there, pulling me into his arms.
