Page 81 of Possession

“We need the Devil’s Hands Motorcycle Club in Ridgewood.”

He turned and met Gayle’s worried green eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” he said quickly, taking a couple of steps back toward her.

“I know,” she said, holding her head up high. Her soft auburn curls and freckles gave her a young and innocent appearance, but he knew she had a spine of steel. She had to, dealing with the shit she saw every day at the shelter. “But I think it’s time. You put yourselves in dangerous situations every time you answer a call, and if you can’t trust the local law enforcement to have your backs when things go bad, then I can’t ask you to help anymore.”

“What are you talking about, Gayle?” George said curiously, hiking his pants up absently. “What calls?”

“For the last few years, Safety After Violent Encounters, which many of you know as SAVE, has been working with the Devil’s Hands Motorcycle Club to respond to crises.”

A woman a few rows behind her visibly blanched. “You have bikers working with victims of domestic violence?”

“They’re survivors,” Tomas and Gayle said at the same time.

“And yes,” she added, glancing at the woman dismissively.

Cynthia gave a low whistle behind him, whispering, “Damn, that woman is hot.”

“The most dangerous time for a person in an abusive relationship is when they try to leave,” Gayle said in a clear voice, educating the room around her, which consisted of a lot of men. “When an abuser is worried they’re losing their grip on their partner, they can lash out in an extremely violent fashion, sometimes preferring their partner to end up dead rather than leave them.

“The MC provides support in those volatile moments. We pass out their number to men and women in the community and tell them that if they ever need help or have someone hurting them but are too afraid to call the police, they can call that number, and someone will come.” Gayle’s voice broke, andshe delicately cleared her throat, holding Tomas’s eyes. “We tell them that someone will come, and they always do. Every time the phone rings, at least one member of the club responds, showing up in tricky situations where things can turn dangerous in a matter of moments. And it doesn’t just stop there,” she added, raising her voice above the buzzing chatter around her. “They escort adult and child survivors to court hearings to help them feel safe when the system isn’t designed to protect them.”

Emotions burned in his chest as he placed a hand over his heart and gave her a nod in thanks. He could feel the energy in the room shifting in their favor.

“I don’t care about your political affiliations or what your personal beliefs about motorcycle clubs are,” she said, smiling at him. “This man and his club protect the most vulnerable in our community, and they’ve done it for years completely under the radar without any sort of recognition from anyone in this room because that’s the waytheywanted it. They felt that was the safest way to go about helping, but it’s time for their good work to come out of the shadows.”

He couldn’t help the pride coursing through him. The work his club did with SAVE was a lasting legacy he’d never regret. He’d always be thankful to Six for bringing the club’s attention to a need they were uniquely qualified to fill.

Gayle smiled and pointed at Tomas. “We need to stand by the club and protect them for a change.”

As soon as he walked into the clubhouse, the group of people who had been sitting over on the couches and recliners shot to their feet. Cynthia had dropped him off and then turned around and left again, wishing him luck and informing him she’d beentexting her brother snippets of his speech and then let him know who had stood up for the club.

If she wasn’t so damn good at her job…

The group moved toward him, his boys right in the front. Mason didn’t stop until he was pressed against Tomas, clinging to him like the little monkey he was, but Vinnie hesitated, a stark look on his face as he ran his eyes over Tomas’s body obsessively, like he was worried Tomas was hiding some sort of injury or something.

“I’m okay,” he assured him, hugging Mason tighter when he made a soft, broken sound.

Vinnie nodded, swallowing, but still didn’t move closer.

“What the hell is that?” Ollie asked, skipping into the clubhouse and drawing short when he saw Tomas and the others standing there. Six was right behind him, brows scrunched together as he took everything in.

“What?” Tomas asked, trying to make eye contact with Vinnie but not having much luck.

“That thing around your neck,” Ollie exclaimed, pointing at him

“Ollie,” he sighed, having no patience for the boy.

“Seriously,” he said, ignoring Six, who tried to stop him, but Ollie twirled out of reach and scooted closer. “You look like a funeral director. The only time you should wear a tie is if you’re getting dressed up for role play.”

“Ollie,” Six reprimanded, wrapping his fingers around his boy’s bicep and jerking him around to face him. “That’s enough.”

“Wait, what? What’s wrong?” Ollie asked, sounding genuinely confused.

Six looked over Ollie’s shoulder at Tomas. “Glad you’re okay and that you took care of business.”

“What business!” Ollie exclaimed as Six led him away.

Tomas smiled tiredly. “We’ll see if it’s taken care of.”

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