I laugh, a harsh sound with no humor in it. "Could be anyone. Some guy who fucked her and left, most likely. What does it matter?"
"It doesn't, I guess. I just... I spent so much time wondering about my parents after they left. Why they did it. If they ever regretted it. If they ever looked for us."
"Did they?" I find myself asking.
She shakes her head. "No. They just disappeared. New names, new lives. The police found them eventually. They were living in Arizona with new kids. A perfect little family." Her voice turns bitter. "They said they weren't 'equipped' to handle two children. That they were young and overwhelmed."
"They were cowards," I say bluntly.
"Yes." She meets my eyes. "But at least I know. At least I have an answer, even if it's a shitty one. Not knowing seems worse somehow."
"It's not." I stand, moving to the window to look out at the dark parking lot. "Knowing just gives you something specific to hate. Not knowing lets you hate everyone equally."
She's quiet for so long that I think she might have finally fallen asleep. But when I turn back, she's still watching me, her expression thoughtful.
"Is that why you joined the military? And then the MC? To find a family?"
The question is too close to a truth I've never acknowledged, even to myself. I feel exposed, raw, like she's peeled back layers I didn't know could be removed.
"I joined the Marines because it was either that or jail," I say flatly. "And I joined the club because Reaper asked me to. End of story."
But it's not the end, and we both know it. The club is more than a job or an organization. It's brotherhood. Family. The thing I never had and never admitted to wanting.
"I understand," she says softly. "After our parents left, Amy was all I had. My only family. That's why I can't leave her with them, even if she thinks she wants to stay. Family doesn't abandon family."
She's right, though I've never put it into words before. It's why I left the military despite excelling there. Too many rules, too many times I had to leave a brother behind because some desk jockey thousands of miles away decided the risk wasn't worth it.
Fuck the rules when someone's life is at stake.
It's why I'd die for any of my MC brothers without hesitation. Why I follow Reaper's orders even when I don't agree with them. The club is family, and family doesn't leave family behind.
And here's this woman, this stranger I found on a roadside less than twelve hours ago, who gets it. Who's been through hell and is still willing to go back into the fire to save her sister. Who understands loyalty in a way most people never will.
She's stronger than she looks, this Kelly Stone with her flower shop dreams and her battered heart.
I scratch my beard, studying her. "What will you do if Amy doesn't want to be saved? If she's willing to die with the Vultures MC rather than come back with you?"
The question clearly hits a nerve. Kelly sighs deeply, dropping her head between her shoulders, her blonde hair falling forward to hide her face.
"I don't know," she admits, her voice barely audible. "I've thought about it. God, I've thought about it so much. But I have to believe she can be convinced. She has to be. The Amy I grew up with is still in there somewhere, beneath whatever they've done to her."
Her shoulders start to shake, subtle at first, then more violently as sobs wrack her body. She presses a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it's too late. The dam has broken.
Fuck.
I stand frozen, completely out of my element. I don't do this, don't comfort crying women, don't know the first fucking thing about how to ease someone else's pain. Violence, intimidation, protection—those are my languages. Not this.
But watching her fall apart, something twists in my chest. Before I can think better of it, I move to the bed and sit beside her, pulling her against my chest in a stiff, awkward embrace.
She doesn't hesitate, turning into me and pressing her face against my shirt, her tears soaking through to my skin. Her hands clutch at the fabric, holding on like I'm the only solid thing in a world that's crumbling around her.
"I can't lose her," she chokes out between sobs. "She's all I have left."
I say nothing, because what the fuck could I possibly say? That it'll be okay? That we'll save her sister? I don't make promises I'm not sure I can keep. Instead, I awkwardly pat her back, feeling the delicate curve of her spine beneath my palm, the warmth of her through the thin t-shirt.
Gradually, her sobs quiet, though she doesn't pull away. If anything, she presses closer, her arms trying to wrap around my torso but not quite making it. I'm too broad for her to fully encircle.
She tilts her face up to look at me, and I find myself caught in the blue of her eyes, still wet with tears but somehow clearer, like the storm has passed and left something stronger in its wake. The vulnerability there makes me deeply uncomfortable.No one looks at me like this, like they're seeing past the surface to something underneath. Something worth seeing.
