Page 39 of Ravaged and Ruined
“Four women,” I say, voice low. “Found them in a damn shipping container. They’re banged up. Bruises, rope burns. All of them scared as hell.”
Her jaw tightens. “I won’t ask how you found them. We brought supplies. One of my girls is a medic, we’ll get them looked at, fed, and go from there.”
I nod. Quinn’s already moving past me, headed for the door. I fall into step beside her. She lifts her hand and gives a sharp whistle of two quick bursts, commanding and sharp. The sound cuts through the stillness like a blade.
Doors open behind us. Followed by the thud of van doors, the shuffle of boots, and the quiet murmur of voices as the Royal Harlots move in.
Chapter Sixteen
Lacey
I follow the Royal Harlots MC into the cabin, two duffle bags slung over my shoulders. As soon as I step through the door, the smell of must and rot hits me. It clings to the old wood walls of the cabin. The place is rustic as hell, wood-planked floors scuffed from boots, mismatched furniture shoved to the edges, a stone fireplace that hasn’t seen flame in years. The lights buzz dimly, casting long shadows that flicker across tired faces.
My throat tightens. I knew why Quinn had called us but I wasn’t prepared to see it firsthand.
Four women sit in a loose huddle, scattered across the floor and sagging couch cushions, their eyes wide, and hollow, filled with the kind of dread pulled straight from nightmares. I can’t help but wonder what they went through. How long were they locked in that shipping container? How many days and nights did they stay silent, afraid to even breathe? The thought of it all makes me ache in places I didn’t know I still felt.
Behind me, the door creaks open again. I turn just as Emery steps through the door, flanked by Katana and Orchid carrying more supplies.
A voice explodes across the room like a shotgun blast. “What the hell are you doing here, Em?”
Surge bolts toward her from the back of the room, his eyes raging like a storm, his fists clenched at his sides. The entire room goes still.
Quinn steps between them, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I brought her,” she says flatly. “She wanted to learn what running a women’s shelter really looks like. What better place to learn than the front lines.” She barely pauses for a breath. “These women need help, not more damn testosterone breathing down their necks. So I suggest you step the fuck back and let us take it from here.”
Something shifts in Surge’s expression. He exhales, low and rough, it’s not surrender, not really, but maybe acceptance. Then turns toward the door without another word.
I glance past Surge to find Aero standing back, his shoulders heavy under his cut. His eyes lock on me with that familiar impenetrable stare that ties my stomach in knots. He doesn’t say a word as he follows Surge back outside. Not one word. No protest that I’m here. Not even a fucking thank you. Just silence, and it guts me a little deeper.
Quinn glances at Emery and I and smirks. “Welcome to the shit show.”
I nod. “Glad to be here.”
It’s easier to focus on their pain than the mess of uncertainty rattling around in my chest. I drop the duffel bag on the floor beside her and start pulling out blankets. Emery’s right beside me, handing off bottled water and clean clothes. We move quietly, the air too heavy for small talk. The Royal Harlots slipinto motion, triaging wounds and calming nerves with the ease of women who’ve done this too many times before.
A young girl's eyes dart to mine, her lip trembling. I know that look. I’ve seen it in the mirror too many times.
My stomach twists. Not from the chaos or their injuries but from the memories clawing their way up through the cracks I buried them in. Me. My brother. The silence we swore to keep because no one ever came for us. And maybe because part of me still doesn’t know if anyone ever truly will.
I clench my fists until my fingers go white. With a deep inhale, I shove the memories back down where they belong, like I’ve trained myself to do.
Across the room, Emery stands beside Rogue, handing her supplies as she provides first aid. Emery never ceases to amaze me. Even after surviving this kind of horror herself, she doesn’t miss a beat. She’s right where she needs to be helping them, healing them, and maybe healing herself more in the process.
I envy her sense of purpose. I used to think I was that strong, but being with Aero has shaken things loose inside me, old wounds I thought I’d sealed shut. I should follow Emery’s lead and start putting myself back together. And if Aero can’t give me the honesty I need, then I’ll have to find a way to move forward, even if it hurts. Because I’ve come too far to fall apart now. I tuck the thoughts down deep for now, and focus on the moment. On helping these women heal.
I move around the room, handing out blankets and bottles of water, offering soft reassurances that they’re safe now. After a few hours, the tension in the room starts to ease. The women begin to trust us. Especially Quinn and her club.
Eventually, Quinn rises from where she’s crouched, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “We’ve done what we can here,” she says. “They need real beds, running water and food that doesn’t come in wrappers.”
She glances at Rogue, who’s packing up a med kit. “Let’s get them in the vans. Call LC and let her know we're bringing guests home.”
Then she looks back to Emery, and me. “We’ll start making calls once we’re back. Someone out there’s looking for these girls. If not…” She pauses, her eyes hardening. “Then they’ve got us.”
A half hour later the women are safe in the vans. Quinn’s at the wheel of the lead vehicle, Orchid riding shotgun. Katana and Rogue follow, shielding the women from the rear and just like that, they’re gone.
The silence they leave behind feels heavier now that there’s nothing to distract myself with.
