I hesitate, then unlock the door, opening it just enough to peer out. Reaper stands there with a tray loaded with what looks like a sandwich, fruit, and a steaming mug.
"May I come in?" he asks, as if this isn't his room, his space.
I step back, letting him enter, trying not to flinch as he moves past me. He sets the tray on a small desk in the corner.
"It's not much, but you should start slow. Your stomach's probably not used to regular food."
He's right. The Vultures MC kept us on one meal a day, usually broth and stale bread.
"Thank you," I manage, hating how those words feel in my mouth. Thanking my captor, even if he thinks himself my rescuer.
"We need to talk," he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "But eat first."
I approach the food cautiously, perching on the edge of the desk chair. The sandwich is simple, turkey and cheese. I take a small bite, nearly groaning at the flavor. Actual food. I force myself to eat slowly, knowing he's right about my stomach.
"Why did you help us?" I ask between bites.
His eyes—cold gray, like winter rain—stare at me. "Because selling people isn't acceptable in my territory."
"Your territory," I repeat, testing the words. "So, it's not about helping us. It's about your... jurisdiction."
"Does it matter why, as long as you're free?"
"I'm not free," I counter softly. "I'm just in a different cage."
He doesn't deny it, which is oddly reassuring. At least he's not pretending.
"What do you want from me?" I ask, setting down the half-eaten sandwich. My stomach is already protesting.
"Information," he says. "About the Vultures MC. Their operation. How many girls they've moved through. Where they take them."
"And after I tell you everything I know?"
He shifts his weight, uncrossing his arms. "Then you decide. You can go to the sheriff. I'll take you there myself if that's what you want. Or you can disappear. New ID, new location. My club has connections."
"Just like that?" I can't keep the disbelief from my voice. "No strings attached?"
"Just like that."
"Why?"
"Because contrary to what you might think, I'm not in the business of forcing women to do anything they don't want to do."
I laugh, a harsh sound that hurts my throat. "No, you're just in the business of guns and drugs and who knows what else."
His expression doesn't change. "You've been watching too many TV shows."
"And you expect me to believe the president of an MC is running a charity operation?" I challenge, surprising myself with my boldness. Fear has a way of making you reckless sometimes.
"I expect you to believe I'm giving you a choice. More than those Vultures MC did."
He's right, and we both know it. I look down at my hands, at the raw marks around my wrists.
"I need to sleep," I say finally. "I can't... I can't think straight right now."
He nods. "Take the bed. I'll be in the main room if you need anything."
As he turns to leave, a sudden panic grips me. "Wait… The other men. Your club. Will they..."
