Page 112 of Sacrifice
Biometric locks that recognize their prints, camera feeds accessible from multiple tablets, panic buttons disguised as light switches in every room.
The safe room hidden behind a bookshelf, stocked with weapons, water, and communication equipment.
"This is like a spy movie," Elfe breathes.
"It's like staying alive," I correct. "Both of you need to memorize everything. Practice the protocols until they're muscle memory."
"You really think it's necessary?" Saga asks.
"I hope not. But hope's not a strategy."
I show them the weapon stashes—guns hidden but accessible if you know where to look.
The reinforced windows that look normal but could stop rifle rounds.
The backup generator that kicks in automatically if power's cut.
"This is intense," Elfe murmurs.
"This is reality. You're connected to the club now. That makes you targets." I meet their eyes. "I can't be here every second. You need to be able to protect yourselves."
We drill for an hour.
Both women take it seriously, understanding this isn't paranoia but preparation for war, which is exactly what I’m accustomed to.
By the time we're done, they can lock down the loft and access weapons in under thirty seconds.
"Satisfied?" Saga asks.
"Getting there. We'll practice daily until it's automatic."
"Daily?" Elfe groans. "This is worse than CrossFit."
"This could save your life. CrossFit just makes you sore."
"And on that cheerful note," Elfe interjects, "Can we go see the dogs now?"
The shelter is a twenty-minute drive away.
Both women vibrate with excitement, discussing names and training plans.
I pretend to be annoyed but secretly love seeing them happy.
After everything they've both been through, they deserve some joy.
"You're smiling," Saga accuses.
"Am not."
"Are too. Big bad biker, excited about puppies."
"They're not puppies. They're security assets."
"Sure they are."
"Adult dogs with guard training. Completely smart decision."
"Which is why you bookmarked 'Best Christmas Sweaters for Large Dogs' last night?"
