Page 15 of Reaper's Justice
Evelyn returns before I can respond. She's found a black t-shirt that's still too large but less swallowing, and a pair of jeans she's rolled at the ankles and cinched with what appears to be a shoelace as a belt. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, her face set with determination.
"Ready," she says.
I hand her the gun again, along with a holstered knife. "Tuck the gun in your waistband at the small of your back. Knife goes in your boot."
She follows instructions with surprising efficiency.
"Let's go," I say, leading them through the clubhouse to the lot where vehicles are being loaded.
The scene outside is chaos. My brothers are checking weapons, loading gear, coordinating through earpieces. Wilder stands beside the black van we use for operations.
"Who's this?" he asks, looking Evelyn over with curiosity rather than judgment.
"Evelyn," I answer. "She's with me."
That's all the explanation needed in our world. If the president says someone's with him, questions end.
"She rides with you and me," I continue. "Ghost, you're with Ace, Venom and the prospect in the second vehicle."
The men move into position as I guide Evelyn to the van, opening the passenger door for her.
"Middle seat," I tell her. "Wilder drives. I need the window position."
She climbs in without argument, sliding to the center of the bench seat. Wilder takes the driver's side, and I join them, closing the door with a solid thunk. The interior smells of gun oil, leather, and the faint trace of Wilder's strong perfume.
"Two-minute drive," Wilder says, starting the engine. "Blade says minimal movement at the target now. Four guards visible. Cargo already inside."
"Cargo," Evelyn repeats softly, and I know she's thinking of the girls. Girls like her, who've been reduced to inventory.
"Not for long," I promise her.
The van pulls out, followed by the SUV carrying the rest of our crew. Evelyn sits rigid beside me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I can feel the tension radiating from her.
"You can still change your mind," I tell her. "Say the word, and Wilder turns around, takes you back."
She shakes her head. "No. I need to see this through."
"It might get bloody."
"I know." Her voice is steady. "I've seen blood before. Mine and others'."
The simple statement, delivered without drama or self-pity, reminds me that this woman has endured things I can only imagine. She's not some fragile flower needing protection. She's a survivor.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Really. Not just the territory explanation."
I consider deflecting but decide on honesty. "I have a daughter. Emma. She's nineteen. These girls... they could be her."
"Where is she now?"
"University. Criminal forensics." Pride creeps into my voice despite my attempt to remain neutral. "She wants to work for the FBI someday."
"Far from the MC life."
"That's the idea." I check my weapon one last time, a habitual gesture before action. "She deserves better than what I am."
Evelyn looks at me, and I feel exposed under her gaze. "You're not what I expected."
"And what did you expect?"
