“Sure.” I glance to the empty doorway and then follow her lead.
She gestures to the left of the porch steps, moving us out of earshot of the others. “When we met last night, you were vague about your intentions moving forward. In the short term, we can offer crisis counseling, and once the charges are laid, you’ll get financial assistance. Is this something you would like our victim support officer to pursue on your behalf?” She pauses, tilting her head to study me.
I don’t mind her. Natural, deep blonde hair that sits just past her shoulders. Genuine, kind eyes. And the type of calmpresence that makes you want to relax your shoulders and take a seat.
She’s good at her job.
“I don’t know yet.” The truth.
I don’t need help to start over. I don’t need protection.That I know of.But I need a possible exit strategy if things turn bad.Worse than it already did.
“Okay.” Maisie folds her arms, yet it’s not aggressive. More pensive. “What makes you feel unsure about receiving assistance?”
I glance past her at the field, then turn briefly to note Chaos and Loki conversing with Deputy Keller. Anywhere, but at the gentle crease to Maisie’s brow that begs me to unload.
To confess.
“I haven’t decided where I want to go yet.”
“Are there family who’d like to see you?”
“Not really.”
She rolls her lips. “If we get the ball rolling now, at least then if you change your mind and decide you’d like the help to set yourself up somewhere you’ll have financial aid as a starting block.”
“I’m not short of money.”
She seems surprised by the revelation. “Oh.” Her gaze flicks over the men. “Would you like me to recommend some places you could get your own accommodation, then, close to the sheriff’s office and town amenities?”
And there it is. The preconception that because the Kings of Anarchy are a one percent club, I don’t feel safe here.
I’m safer than I am at some tired motel where nobody knows who’s in the room next door and the owner can’t be reached after 5 P.M.
“I’m okay with staying here. Thanks. It’s nice having other people around.”
Her frown deepens. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I tuck my hands under my arms and shrink into the safety of Fang’s sweater. “Is there anything else?”
“No.” She offers a practiced smile. Unsaid questions linger behind her firm lips. “You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
“Sure.” I don’t hesitate, turning on my heel to head for the house before she can think of anything else to say.
The men quieten as I pass by, my gaze lifting to connect with Chaos’s. His stoic expression gives nothing away, yet I find the shadow of doubt in his apathetic stare. I dash up the porch steps and bypass the downstairs living areas to head straight for Fang’s room.
I might be resilient, but I’m not infallible. I have moments of overwhelm, when the world gets too much, and this is one of them.
Little over a week ago, I waited tables in a bar. Now, here I am, gripping the handrail of a biker clubhouse for dear life in the hopes it keeps me grounded to reality.
I set foot on the landing and stride to Fang’s door, shoving it open, desperate to take a full, calming breath.
“No, please,” he sasses. “Come right in.”
My feet won’t move. I’m caught between the dire need to shut myself away and reset, and the knowledge that this is his space, and he has a right to ask me to leave. “Sorry.”
He hesitates, halfway through tugging on a thick, plaid riding shirt. The kind woven with Kevlar threads.Maybe they’re useful for more than just road safety.Something that hadn’t crossed my mind until now.
“What happened?” he asks with a frown.
