"And you didn't ask?"
"Not my business. Knuckles doesn't usually make stupid decisions." Ghost's pale eyes flick to me. "Usually."
"Clearly he's making them now." Pope looks at Savannah again. "Tell me what happened. And don't leave anything out."
She takes a breath and starts talking. Tells him about Derek, about the abuse, about her family choosing him over her, about running from the wedding. Her voice stays steady even when she's describing things that clearly hurt to remember.
Pope listens without interrupting. When she's done, he's quiet for a long moment.
"You got proof of the abuse?" he finally asks.
"I have the bruises. The one on my jaw is from three days ago. There are others." She hesitates. "And I have texts. From my mother and sisters. They reference what happened even if they don't explicitly say it."
"Good. We'll need those." Pope looks at me. "What do you know about the ex? Derek what?"
"Derek Marsh," Savannah supplies. "He works in finance. Has connections. Money. A temper."
"He knows where you are?"
"I don't think so. I've been walking around Vegas for hours before I got to the casino. My phone was off until last night, and Ryan helped me block everyone."
"Ryan, huh?" Pope's expression doesn't change but I can hear the edge in his voice. "Already on a first-name basis."
"Pope," I start. "I know you're pissed. I know I broke protocol. But she needed help and I gave it. What happened after—"
"What happened after is you thinking with your dick instead of your brain." Pope cuts me off. "And now we've got a complication. Because if this Derek comes looking for her and finds out she's shacking up with a Steel Sinner, that's a problem. He could go to the cops, claim we're keeping her against her will, make a whole fucking mess that none of us need."
"I'm not here against my will," Savannah says firmly. "I came here on my own. And I'm staying on my own. Ryan didn't force me to do anything."
"Doesn't matter what the truth is. Matters what it looks like." Pope sighs and runs a hand over his beard. "Look, I'm not unsympathetic to your situation. You were in a bad spot and you ran. That takes guts. And Knuckles did the right thing bringing you somewhere safe. But him getting involved with you personally? That's a problem."
"Why?" Savannah asks. "Because it makes things complicated?"
"Because it makes things messy. And when things get messy, people get hurt." Pope looks at me. "You ready for that? Ready to deal with the fallout when this ex finds out you're fucking his almost-wife? Ready to handle it when your brothers question whether you're thinking clearly or just trying to play hero?"
"I'm not playing hero."
"Then what are you doing?"
Good fucking question. What am I doing?
Getting involved with a woman I met twelve hours ago. Breaking club rules. Potentially bringing heat down on my brothers because I couldn't keep my hands to myself.
But when I look at Savannah, still sitting there in my bed, still meeting Pope's gaze without flinching, I can't bring myself to regret it.
"I'm helping someone who needs it," I finally say. "Same way you helped me nine years ago. Same way the club has helped dozens of people over the years. And yeah, I got involved with her. But that doesn't change the fact that she needs protection from a piece of shit who was hurting her."
Pope looks at me for a brief moment. "You care about her?"
"Yeah. I do."
"After twelve hours."
"After twelve hours."
"That's fucking stupid."
"Probably."
