Page 4

Rio

I jolted awake to the sound of my own ragged breathing. The guest room was barely lit, the light of dawn beginning to creep around the edges of the curtains. For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was -- only that it wasn’t my place, wasn’t anywhere I’d called home. Safety was a concept I’d stopped believing in weeks ago. The digital clock on the nightstand read 5:13, and the compound was still quiet. Too quiet.

When I first began my journey back east, I’d had every intention of going to the trial. But somewhere along the way, I’d decided to take a detour, go see the ocean. Or maybe I just really didn’t want to face those fuckers again. From my point of view, I’d been discharged. Why the fuck did they think they could still tell me what to do?

A month ago, I’d have never stopped at a biker compound. Things had changed. I had. I’d become tougher. At first, I’d avoided men like the plague. Then I’d realized what I was doing and forced myself to go to bars and face my fear. Gotten into a few fights. I’d always won. The “incident” had taught me a tough lesson. No one touched my fucking drink. I watched it being poured, kept my hand over the top of it when I wasn’t paying attention, and never went anywhere isolated by myself. Coming here had been a challenge for myself.

Two nights here, and I still couldn’t sleep through the night. Every creak, every shadow set my nerves on edge. It was only supposed to be one night, but when I’d walked into Rebel’s kitchen the next morning, looking more like a haggard raccoon than a human, he’d said I could stay another night.

My phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. I reached for it, my fingers trembling slightly. The bright screen burned my eyes, but it was the message that made my blood turn to ice.

I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. Your attackers have escaped. They may be coming for you .

The words refused to make sense at first, like they were written in some foreign language my brain couldn’t process. Then they hit me all at once, a physical blow that knocked the air from my lungs.

They were coming for me.

The men who had --

My breath caught in my throat, turning into a strangled gasp. The room swayed, and I closed my eyes against the sudden dizziness. Bad move. The darkness behind my eyelids became a canvas for memories I’d been trying to bury.

Rough hands.

The smell of cheap cologne and cheaper liquor.

My own protests, muffled by a calloused palm.

I forced my eyes open, but the flashbacks kept coming in jagged bursts.

The tearing of fabric.

Pain, white-hot and searing.

Blood on my thighs.

A voice whispering that nobody would believe me anyway.

“Stop,” I whispered to the empty room, pressing my palms against my temples. “Stop it.”

My heartbeat thundered in my ears. Sweat slicked my skin despite the chill in the air. I needed to move, to do something, but my limbs felt like they were filled with concrete. The phone slipped from my fingers, landing on the rumpled sheets.

I focused on my breathing, the way my therapist had taught me. I’d hated going to one, but Dr. Winters had called me several times and finally convinced me to talk to someone. I’d only had a few appointments before I’d moved on, but I used those lessons now. Four seconds in. Hold for seven. Out for eight. It wasn’t working. The panic clawed at my throat, threatening to drag me under.

Two days of hiding here. Of pretending everything would be fine. Since I’d missed the original hearing date, they’d moved it. That was the real reason I’d been traveling this way. Heading back to base. I’d convinced myself everything would be fine. But now, I didn’t think I could go through with it. Didn’t want to. I’d tried so hard to move on with my life. Why did they want to drag me back?

What a fucking joke.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold against my bare feet, the sensation grounding me for a moment. I grabbed my phone again, reading the message a second time, hoping I’d somehow misunderstood.

No such luck.

I needed to tell someone. The thought came with surprising clarity, cutting through the fog of panic. I couldn’t handle this alone. Not again.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants under the oversized T-shirt I’d slept in. My hands shook so badly I could barely manage the simple task. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser -- pale face, dark circles under my eyes, hair a tangled mess. I looked haunted. I was.

The hallway outside the guest room was dimly lit by a single bulb at the far end. I padded down the hall, my bare feet silent on the wood boards. Each step sent fragments of memory ricocheting through my mind.

The crack of my head against concrete.

Laughter, low and menacing.

I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. My breathing was too fast, too shallow. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. I couldn’t pass out here. I forced myself to straighten, to keep moving.

The sound of male voices up ahead made me freeze. For a heart-stopping minute, I was back in that moment, surrounded and outnumbered, drugged and barely standing. My fingers dug into my palms, the sharp pain bringing me back to reality. These weren’t my attackers. These were the men of the Devil’s Boneyard, men who’d offered protection, a safe place to crash while I figured out my next move.

Not that I fully trusted them either. I wasn’t that naive.

I recognized one of the voices now -- Rebel’s distinctive cadence, cocky even at this ungodly hour. Relief washed over me, followed immediately by a fresh wave of dread. How was I supposed to explain why I looked terrified?

The metallic taste of fear coated my tongue. Another memory surfaced -- blood in my mouth from biting my cheek to try and bring clarity to my drug-addled brain. I swallowed hard, trying to force it back down where it belonged.

The living area came into view, a spacious room with mismatched furniture that somehow worked together. A couple of low lamps cast pools of yellow light, illuminating Rebel’s tall frame as he leaned against the kitchenette counter that separated the two rooms, coffee mug in hand.

He wasn’t alone. Two other club members whose names I didn’t know lounged on the threadbare couch, cleaning what looked like gun parts spread across the coffee table. They all looked up when I appeared in the doorway.

“Well, look who’s up with the birds,” Rebel said, his smile fading as he got a better look at my face. “Jesus, Rio. You look like shit.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, a sob broke free, shocking me as much as it did them. I hadn’t cried since it happened. Not during the rape kit. Not during the interview with the MPs. Not during any of it, not even my discharge.

But now, standing in a biker compound at five in the morning, I finally broke.

“They’re out,” I managed to say between ragged breaths. “They escaped.”

The room went deadly silent. Even from across the space, I could see Rebel’s knuckles whiten around his coffee mug. The other two men exchanged glances, then quietly gathered the gun parts and quickly walked out of the front door, leaving us alone.

“How do you know?” Rebel asked, his voice low and controlled in a way that somehow scared me more than if he’d shouted.

I held out my phone, the screen still displaying the damning message. My hand was shaking so badly the words blurred. Rebel crossed the room in three long strides and took the phone from me, his eyes narrowing as he read.

Another memory hit me -- their promise that they’d find me if I talked. That I’d beg for death before they were done.

My legs gave out. I would have hit the floor if Rebel hadn’t caught me, his grip firm but not painful. He lowered me to the couch, then crouched in front of me.

“I need you to breathe, darlin’,” he said. “In and out. Nice and slow.”

I tried, but the air kept catching in my chest. Black spots expanded across my vision.

“Rio.” His voice cut through the roar in my ears. “Look at me. Right here.”

I forced my eyes to focus on his face. The lines around his eyes were tight with concern, but his expression was steady.

“They are not getting to you,” he said, each word precise and weighted with conviction. “Not while you’re under my roof. You understand me?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Some of the tension eased from my shoulders.

“Good,” he said. “Now, I need to talk to Charming about this. You stay put.”

“No,” I said, the word tearing from my throat. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Rebel’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second before his cocky demeanor slipped back into place. “All right, sweetheart. You can come with me. But let me do the talking, yeah?”

I nodded again, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs felt steadier now, but the fear remained, coiled in my gut like a venomous snake. As we moved toward the door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window -- pale, disheveled, but standing. Still standing.

They hadn’t broken me.

I wouldn’t let them break me now.

“Um. Maybe I should change. And shower,” I murmured.

He nodded. “I’ll wait. Take your time.”

I turned and went back to the guest room, grabbing clean clothes, before heading for the hall bathroom.

* * *

The club’s common area was more like a war zone this early in the morning. The aftermath of last night’s party lay scattered everywhere. I even saw a thong hanging off the back of a chair.

I clutched my phone in my hand as Rebel guided me through the narrow space, his body a buffer between me and the few club members who were already up. Their gazes followed us -- curious, assessing, and in a few cases, suspicious. I wasn’t one of them. I was an outsider allowed here on Charming’s orders, nothing more.

“Wait here,” Rebel said, depositing me on a battered leather couch that had seen better days.

My hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. “No.”

His eyebrows rose, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his usual cocky expression returned. “You got a death grip there, darlin’. Something you want to say?”

“I’m coming with you.” My voice sounded stronger than I felt, the words clipped and certain despite the chaos inside my head.

Rebel studied me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “Fine. But you stay quiet while I handle this.”

I nodded, releasing his wrist.

I followed him down a hall to some rooms at the back. We stopped outside what looked like an office. Rebel didn’t knock. He pushed the door open wider, revealing a cramped space dominated by a corkboard covered in photos, newspaper clippings, and handwritten notes connected by red string, as well as a desk with a computer and overflowing with papers. Charming sat behind the desk and another man, one I didn’t recognize, stood beside him.

“Got a situation,” Rebel announced without preamble.

Both men focused on us. The stranger -- tall, with a neck tattoo peeking above his collar -- gave me a once-over that made my skin crawl. Not lecherous, but calculating, like he was assessing a potential threat. I lifted my chin, refusing to be cowed.

“This is a private meeting,” the stranger said, his voice carrying the faint hint of an accent I couldn’t place.

“It’ll keep,” Charming responded, his eyes shifting between Rebel and me. “What’s the problem?”

Rebel jerked his head in my direction. “Show him.”

My hands trembled as I unlocked my phone and held it out to Charming, the damning message displayed on the screen. “I got this twenty minutes ago.”

Charming took the phone. His brow furrowed. “And what’s this about?”

I swallowed hard. “I was medically discharged from the Army, after two of the men in my unit drugged and raped me.”

His expression hardened as he read the text again. “Who sent this?”

“My old supervisor. He’s been keeping tabs on the case.”

“And you trust his information?” The stranger had moved closer, reading over Charming’s shoulder.

“Yes.” The response was automatic. He wouldn’t have warned me if he didn’t think they posed a real threat to me.

“How did they get out?” Rebel asked, arms folded across his chest.

“Does it matter?” I countered, a flare of anger cutting through the fear. “They’re out. They’re coming for me, just like they said they would if I told anyone what happened.”

“It matters,” Charming said, his voice deceptively calm. “We need to know if someone helped them escape, or if this was some bureaucratic fuckup. I doubt they escaped because they were just that good.”

“I need to check with my sources,” the stranger said, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

He slipped out without another word, leaving the three of us in a silence that felt heavy with unspoken questions.

Rebel broke it first. “We need to move her. If he thinks they’re coming for her, that means they have a way of tracking her. This location could be compromised.”

“No,” I said, the word sharper than I intended. Both men looked at me with surprise. “I won’t run and hide.”

“This isn’t about your pride, sweetheart,” Rebel said, his tone patronizing.

“It’s not about pride.” I stepped closer to him, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes. “It’s about survival. I’ve spent weeks looking over my shoulder, jumping at shadows. I can’t keep living like this.”

Actually, it was closer to four to five weeks since I’d left the base and headed west. But I didn’t think he really cared about exact dates. A generalization seemed good enough in this situation.

“So, what? You want to make yourself bait?” Rebel’s voice rose slightly, his cocky facade slipping to reveal genuine concern.

“I want to end this,” I replied, my voice steady despite the fear churning in my gut. “One way or another.”

Charming handed my phone back to me, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” I agreed, pocketing the device.

“I need to make some calls,” Charming said after a moment. “Rebel, stay with her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Rebel nodded, his jaw tight.

“And, Rio,” Charming added, his gaze locking with mine. “No heroics. You’re under our protection.”

I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what I could say that wouldn’t sound like a lie. The truth was, I didn’t want to be protected. I was tired of being a victim. The men who attacked me had taken enough from me already -- my sense of safety, my peace of mind, my job.

Charming seemed to read some of this in my expression. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press the issue. “Give me five minutes.”

Rebel guided me back to the common area, his hand a steady pressure at the small of my back. The space had filled with more club members in the short time we’d been gone, their conversations creating a low hum that set my teeth on edge. Too many people. Too many unknown variables.

“Breathe,” Rebel murmured close to my ear. “You’re safe here.”

“Am I?” The question wasn’t entirely rhetorical.

Rebel’s expression hardened. “No one gets to you without going through me first. And trust me, darlin’, I’m not easy to get through.”

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. “Always the cocky one, aren’t you?”

“Only because I can back it up.” He winked, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Stay here while I talk to Charming. I mean it this time.”

I sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted despite the adrenaline still coursing through my system. Rebel hesitated for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else, then turned and strode back toward Charming’s office, even though it hadn’t been five minutes.

Left alone, I became acutely aware of the glances cast my way. Some curious, some wary, a few openly hostile, but those were from the women. I was an outsider, a complication they hadn’t asked for. I couldn’t blame them for their suspicion.

Fifteen minutes stretched into twenty. The waiting was almost worse than the fear. My mind conjured a dozen scenarios, each more catastrophic than the last. What if Charming decided I wasn’t worth the risk? What if they handed me over to the police for “proper protection” -- or worse, back to the Army, the same people who had failed me before?

“You look like you’re planning a murder.”

I started, head snapping up to find a club member I’d seen but never spoken to standing in front of me. Tall, with a beard that couldn’t quite hide the scar on his chin.

“Sorry,” he said, holding up his hands. “Bad joke. You just looked… intense.”

I forced a tight smile. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime.” He glanced toward the door Rebel had disappeared through. “They’ve been in there a while.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t elaborate, unsure how much this man knew about my situation.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, lowering his voice, “Rebel’s a good man to have in your corner. Charming too. If they’re taking their time, it’s because they’re making sure all the angles are covered.”

Before I could respond, Rebel emerged from the hallway, his expression unreadable as he scanned the room. When his eyes landed on me, he jerked his head in a silent command to join him.

I rose from the couch, my legs surprisingly steady as I crossed the room. The bearded club member stepped aside, giving me a small nod that might have been encouragement.

Rebel led me to a quieter corner of the common area, his back to the room, shielding our conversation from curious ears.

“Well?” I prompted when he didn’t immediately speak.

“Charming’s making arrangements.” Rebel’s voice was low, his usual swagger muted. “We’ve got three days to figure this out.”

“Three days until what?” The question came out sharper than I intended.

Rebel’s eyes met mine, serious in a way I wasn’t used to seeing. “Until we have to make a big decision.”

Another flash of memory -- my attackers’ faces, contorted with a mixture of rage and satisfaction as they left me bleeding.

“And in the meantime?” I asked, pushing the images away.

“In the meantime, you don’t leave my sight.” Rebel’s tone left no room for argument. “We’ll set up surveillance, reach out to contacts, see if we can figure out where these bastards are holed up.”

“I should call my old superior, see if he has more information.”

Rebel nodded. “Do it. But speakerphone. I need to hear what he says.”

I bristled at the implication. “You think I’m going to lie to you?”

“I think you’re scared, angry, and looking for payback.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “And that makes people do stupid things.”

He wasn’t wrong. The rage that had been simmering beneath my fear was dangerously close to boiling over. Part of me wanted to hunt them down myself, to make them feel a fraction of the terror they’d inflicted on me.

“I’m not stupid,” I said finally. “I know I can’t take them on alone.”

“Good.” Rebel’s customary smirk returned. “Because you’ve got a whole MC who will gladly turn those fuckers into roadkill.”

The promise of violence should have disturbed me. Instead, it sent a surge of something like relief through my chest. My attackers thought I was alone, vulnerable. They had no idea what was waiting for them.

I met Rebel’s gaze, my own hardening with resolve. “Three days.”

“Three days,” he confirmed, his expression mirroring mine. “And then… Well, we’ll discuss it more later.”

In that moment, standing in the heart of a motorcycle club’s compound, I felt something I hadn’t felt since the attack -- powerful. Not because I was stronger or faster or meaner than the men who had hurt me, but because I wasn’t facing them alone anymore.

My hands stopped trembling. My breathing steadied. The flashbacks receded, at least for now.

Three days.

I could survive anything for three more days.