Page 15 of Blade's Runaway Bride
He doesn't ask about my nightmare. Doesn't offer comfort or platitudes. Just watches me with those dark, unreadable eyes. Maybe that's why I start talking. The silence needs filling, and the nightmare still feels too real, too close.
"I was back there," I say abruptly. "In the basement room where they kept us before... before the wedding." I twist the loose thread on his boxers around my finger until it cuts off circulation. "They had me tied to a chair. Mike was there with his friends, setting up the camera like he told me they would. For my 'wedding night.'"
Blade doesn't react beyond a slight narrowing of his eyes. He already knows this part. But saying it again, in the darkness after the nightmare, somehow makes it more real.
"Amy was there too," I continue, my voice dropping. "Just watching. They've done something to her mind with the drugs and whatever else they've put her through. She wouldn't help me. Couldn't help me."
My hands start shaking, and I clench them into fists to make them stop. "They were going to inject me with something. Make me compliant. Then they'd..." I can't finish the sentence.
"They didn't," Blade says flatly. It's not comfort. His tone is too hard for that, but it's grounding. A reminder of reality. "You got away. And I killed the ones who came after you."
I nod, taking a deep breath. "But Amy's still there. And after what I did… Running away, getting those men killed… They'll make her pay for it."
Blade is silent for a moment, his jaw working as if he's grinding his teeth. Then he pushes off from the desk and moves to the bed, sitting on the edge but leaving plenty of space between us. It's the closest he's been since he bandaged my legs.
"How long has she been with them?" he asks finally.
"Almost two years now. Like I told you, she met them at a club when she was eighteen. Thought they were just rich businessmen who liked to party." I laugh bitterly. "We both did, at first. They gave her drugs, expensive gifts. Made her feel special. By the time I realized what they really were, she was already addicted to whatever they were giving her. And to the lifestyle, I think."
"And you stayed because of her," he says. It's not a question.
I nod. "She's all I have. Our parents dumped us at a group home when I was nine, Amy was eleven. They just... left. Never came back. We promised we'd always look out for each other." My throat tightens. "Some job I did. I left her behind."
"You tried to get her out. She wouldn't come." His tone is blunt, matter-of-fact. "You can't save someone who doesn't want saving."
"So, I just abandon her? After everything we've been through?" Anger flares, hot and sudden. "She's my sister."
"I didn't say abandon her." His voice remains level despite my outburst. "But rushing back in half-cocked will just get you both killed."
He's right, and I hate it. "So, what am I supposed to do?"
"Right now? Sleep. Tomorrow, tell Reaper everything you know about Charles's operation. If your sister is at their compound, we'll find a way to get her out."
"Just like that? You'll help me rescue my sister from another MC Club because I asked?" I can't keep the skepticism from my voice.
Blade's mouth twists in what might be the ghost of a smile. "No. We'll help you because we're already at war with Charles, and any chance to hit him where it hurts is worth taking."
At least he's honest. There's no pretense of heroism or selfless rescue. It's refreshing after months of lies.
"Fair enough," I concede. "A mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Exactly."
We fall into silence, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something about Blade that makes silence feel natural rather than awkward. Maybe because he doesn't seem to feel the need to fill it with meaningless talk.
"How did you end up here?" I find myself asking. "With the Outlaw Order?"
He gives me a long look, as if deciding whether to answer. For a moment, I think he won't. His expression is closed off, defensive. But then he sighs, a barely audible sound.
"Military first. Marines. Did three tours in Afghanistan. Met Reaper there. He was my commanding officer. When we got out, civilian life didn't fit right. Too many rules, too much bullshit. Reaper started the club, asked me to join."
"And the name? Blade?"
His expression shutters slightly. "I'm good with knives."
There's more to it than that, I can tell, but I don't push. Everyone has their secrets.
"Did you always..." I hesitate, not sure how to phrase it. "Were you always comfortable with violence? With killing?"
