Chapter: 6 The Weight Of Vengeance

The clubhouse came into view just as the sun bled out across the horizon, streaking the sky in bruised colors. Rhett cut the Harley’s engine and let the silence swallow him for a beat before swinging his leg over. His knuckles ached where the skin had split, the scabs torn from gripping the bars too tight.

The door creaked when he pushed inside. The noise hit him immediately — laughter, music, the thud of boots on wood. But it didn’t feel the same.

It felt like judgment.

“’Bout damn time,” Hawk called from the bar, a grin tugging his mouth. “Where the hell you been, kid? We were starting to think you ran off chasing tail.”

Rhett didn’t answer. He moved toward the counter, shrugging off the question. Tank squinted at his hands, the raw, bloody knuckles catching the light.

“Looks like you found a fight instead,” Tank muttered.

Grim leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes sharp as knives. He didn’t speak, but the weight of his gaze pressed harder than words.

Even Emily was there, standing near Sierra and Kayla. Her eyes found him instantly. Wide, searching. Hopeful.

Rhett’s chest tightened. He forced his mouth into a faint smile, something to reassure her, but it felt foreign on his face.

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Questions kept coming. Hawk, Tank, even Cherry. He deflected all of them with shrugs and clipped answers. “Just business.” “Nothing worth talking about.”

The lies tasted like ash, but the truth would taste worse.

Eventually, the crowd thinned, men drifting out to smoke or crash in their rooms. Grim stayed at the table, watching, silent and steady. Emily disappeared upstairs with Sierra and Kayla, her eyes still lingering on Rhett’s back until she was gone.

And that was when Ghost moved.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped out from the shadows near the hall, pale eyes fixed on Rhett like he’d been waiting all night.

“Come with me,” Ghost said simply.

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The two of them ended up outside, the night cool and still. The row of Harleys glimmered under the pale light, silent sentinels. Ghost lit a cigarette, the flare briefly illuminating the scars across his face.

He studied Rhett for a long time before speaking.

“You killed him.”

Rhett stiffened. “You don’t know that.”

Ghost’s gaze never wavered. “I don’t have to. I see it in your eyes. Once you’ve taken a life, you don’t hide it from someone who’s done the same. It leaves a mark, boy. Not on your skin. On your soul.”

The words landed like lead. Rhett’s throat worked, but no words came.

Ghost exhaled smoke, his tone even, quiet. “First time I pulled a trigger overseas, I thought I’d left it behind in the jungle. But it follows you. Every time you close your eyes. Every time you breathe.” He flicked ash to the dirt. “That stain don’t wash off. You either learn to carry it, or it eats you alive.”

Rhett’s fists clenched, raw knuckles burning. “He hurt her.” His voice cracked sharp. “He touched her. I saw the proof. I saw her face in his truck like she was just another broken thing for him to use. So I ended him.”

Ghost’s pale eyes softened, though his expression stayed stone-hard. “Then you made the choice. Don’t waste time pretending otherwise. But remember this—” He leaned closer, voice lowering into something dark and steady. “You’ll carry his face now, same as I’ve carried mine. Don’t think you can hide it from her forever. She’ll see it. The ones who’ve been broken always do.”

Rhett’s chest heaved, the weight of the words pressing harder than the blood on his hands.

Ghost took another drag from his cigarette, flicked the butt into the gravel, and straightened. “But you ain’t alone in it. Not anymore.”

For a long time, neither man moved. The night was silent except for the echo of Rhett’s heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Ghost finally turned back toward the clubhouse. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow you start carrying it for real.”

Rhett stayed where he was, staring at the dirt, his hands trembling.

Caleb’s face burned in his memory. But so did Emily’s.

And between the two, Rhett wasn’t sure which one would haunt him more.

Rhett’s room was dark except for the sliver of moonlight cutting across the bed. He shut the door behind him, locking it with a quiet click. His hands trembled as he pulled the bundle from inside his cut — the leather journal, the scattered Polaroids he hadn’t been able to burn.

They were still stained with smoke, edges curled, but the images were clear enough.

Girls. Too young. Too desperate. Their faces hollowed by fear.

And Emily.

Rhett’s jaw locked as he stared at her photo again, his thumb brushing over her frozen expression. He could still hear Caleb’s voice mocking her, mocking him: “Begged me to stop. Didn’t make it any less sweet.”

Rhett shoved the photo back into the bundle before his rage boiled over.

He had to hide this. If Emily saw it… if she knew Caleb had photographed her, that Rhett had killed him for it… she’d see him the same way she saw every other monster.

He wouldn’t risk that.

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He pulled open the dresser drawer, digging past shirts until he found a hollow space near the back panel. It wasn’t perfect, but it would keep the evidence out of sight until he could decide what to do with it.

The journal creaked as he shoved it inside. The Polaroids fluttered, one slipping free and landing face-up on the floor.

Emily’s face stared up at him.

Rhett bent to grab it —

The bathroom door creaked softly behind him.

Rhett froze, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

Emily stepped out, barefoot, her hair loose around her shoulders. She clutched the edges of one of his shirts she’d thrown on for the night, her eyes wide as they locked on what he held.

“I was waiting for you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But you locked the door.”

Her gaze dropped to the Polaroids in his hand. One had slipped loose — her face staring back at her from the floor, pale, broken, captured in Caleb’s cruel lens.

Emily’s breath hitched. “That’s… that’s me.”

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Rhett’s heart hammered. He shoved the photo back into the bundle, voice rough. “Emily, you don’t need to see this.”

Her steps faltered forward, disbelief sharp in her voice. “Why do you have that? Why is there a picture of me like that?”

Rhett dragged a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to smash the drawer shut and pretend none of it existed. “Because I found him. Caleb. The bastard who picked you up when you were running. He had this. He had all of them. I couldn’t let him keep breathing after what he did.”

Her face went white. She stared at him like she was staring at a stranger. “You killed him.”

Rhett’s fists clenched. “He touched you. He hurt you. And he would’ve kept hurting others. I made sure he won’t.”

Emily’s breath came faster, her hands trembling at her sides. “You don’t understand…” Her voice cracked, fragile as glass. “He wasn’t the one. Not the one I was running from.”

The words carved straight through him. His chest collapsed under the weight of them.

Rhett tried to step closer, but she flinched back, her eyes glistening with something sharper than fear — heartbreak.

“I did it for you,” he said, his voice raw.

Her lips trembled, her whisper cutting him to the bone. “Or did you do it because you’re just like him?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rhett staggered back, rage and guilt tangling until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to yell, to make her see the difference — but with her looking at him like that, he couldn’t. Not without proving her right.

He shoved the bundle into the dresser drawer, slamming it shut, his knuckles split and shaking.

“Go,” he whispered, his voice breaking against the word. “Please.”

Emily lingered a moment longer, tears streaking down her cheeks, before she turned and slipped back into the bathroom, the door closing quietly between them.

Rhett sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands in his hair, the drawer rattling with the weight of secrets he could no longer control.

And for the first time since Caleb’s death, Rhett Maddox wondered if he’d just destroyed the one thing he was trying hardest to protect.

The bathroom door shut soft, but it felt like a gunshot in Rhett’s chest.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fists pressed into his thighs, head hanging low. The drawer was shut now, the bundle of proof hidden in the dark — but it didn’t matter. Emily had already seen enough.

Her eyes. That look.

Like she wasn’t sure if the monster she’d been running from wasn’t standing right in front of her.

Rhett dragged both hands through his hair, breath ragged, the burn of unshed rage shaking his chest. He hadn’t felt like this since his first real fight, the one that got him locked up as a kid. Back then, the world had looked at him like he was nothing but trouble. Tonight, Emily had looked at him the same way.

And it gutted him.

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A knock at the door jolted him.

“Open it, son.” Grim’s voice. Steady. Unforgiving.

Rhett scrubbed his face with both hands, shoved himself upright, and unlocked the door. Grim stepped inside, his presence filling the small room like a stormcloud.

“You’re back. You’re bleeding. And she’s crying in your bathroom.” Grim’s eyes bored into him, sharp and clear. “You want to tell me why?”

Rhett’s throat worked, but nothing came out. He couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not without tearing the last thread of control he had left.

Grim’s jaw tightened. “You think you can carry whatever this is by yourself, but you can’t. Not without breaking her. Not without breaking you.”

Rhett turned away, fists clenching. “I did what I had to.”

“Did you?” Grim asked quietly.

The silence pressed heavy.

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Another presence filled the doorway. Ghost. Pale eyes, unreadable, but his gaze landed on Rhett like a hammer.

“Leave him,” Ghost said to Grim, his voice gravel-deep. “This isn’t your lesson to teach.”

Grim studied them both for a long beat, then gave a sharp nod and left, the door shutting behind him.

Ghost stepped in, lighting a cigarette, the smoke curling in the dim light.

“You killed him,” Ghost said simply. Not a question. A fact.

Rhett didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Ghost exhaled smoke, his gaze unwavering. “I told you — once you take a life, it leaves a mark. You thought you could hide it from her, but you can’t. The broken ones? They see it clearer than anyone.”

Rhett’s chest burned. “He hurt her. He took pictures of her. He kept them like trophies. What the hell was I supposed to do? Let him live?”

Ghost’s tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “I’m not saying you were wrong. I’m saying you’ll carry him now. Every time you look at her, you’ll see him. Every time she looks at you, she’ll see something in your eyes she doesn’t understand yet. That’s the mark.”

Rhett’s hands shook, his knuckles still split open. “I don’t care if it kills me. I just want her safe.”

Ghost leaned forward, pale eyes burning. “Then you better find the strength to carry this without letting it eat you alive. Because if you don’t, boy, she won’t just run from the past — she’ll run from you too.”

The cigarette hissed as Ghost crushed it out on the dresser. He turned, leaving Rhett in the heavy silence, the smoke still curling in the air.

Rhett stood alone, chest heaving, his reflection in the mirror looking less like a protector and more like the monster Emily had feared.

And for the first time, he wondered if Ghost was right — if the mark would cost him the only person who’d ever made him believe he could be more than his scars.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind her, and Emily pressed her back against it, her chest heaving like she’d just run a mile.

Her reflection in the mirror swam through her tears, pale and wild-eyed. She looked like the girl in that Polaroid Rhett had tried to shove out of sight. Broken. Exposed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image burned behind her lids — her own face, captured by someone else’s hands. Caleb’s. She hadn’t thought anyone could have proof of that night, and yet there it was.

And Rhett had been holding it.

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Her thoughts twisted until she couldn’t breathe. Rhett’s voice echoed in her head, rough and raw. “I found him. He hurt you. He had this. I made sure he’ll never touch anyone again.”

He’d killed a man.

For her.

Her knees gave out, and she slid to the tile floor, hugging herself tight. The terror clawed at her chest, but beneath it, something else pulsed hot and confusing.

Rhett hadn’t denied it. He hadn’t hidden behind excuses. He’d killed Caleb, and he’d done it because of what Caleb had done to her.

Was that protection? Or was it proof of something darker?

Her mind wouldn’t stop circling back to the way he’d looked at her when he admitted it — his eyes lit with a fire that didn’t look like love, didn’t look like control, but something fierce and primal. Something that terrified her as much as it made her feel seen.

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A knock at the door made her flinch.

“Emily.” Grim’s voice this time, steady, fatherly, but carrying a weight that made her chest tighten. “You okay in there?”

She pressed her hand to her mouth, forcing herself to answer. “I’m fine.” The lie scraped her throat raw.

There was a pause, then footsteps retreating. Silence fell again.

Emily buried her face in her arms. She wasn’t fine. She was a storm.

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Later, when the clubhouse quieted, she crept back into the bedroom. The dresser drawer where Rhett had shoved the bundle sat closed, but she couldn’t stop staring at it.

It felt alive, like a monster crouching inside.

Her fingers itched to open it, to see everything Rhett had hidden — every girl, every victim, the proof of what he’d done to Caleb. But her body locked up before she could move.

If she saw more, she wasn’t sure she’d come back from it.

Instead, she curled onto the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. The pillow still smelled faintly of leather and smoke, of Rhett.

Her tears soaked into the fabric as a single truth twisted in her chest:

She wanted to run.

But she also wanted to stay.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

Morning sunlight spilled weakly through the blinds, painting thin gold lines across the floor. Emily hadn’t slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that Polaroid staring back at her. Her face. Caleb’s trophy. And Rhett’s bloodied hands hiding it away.

She stayed curled on the bed, knees hugged to her chest, until the knock came.

“Emily? You in there?” Sierra’s voice, sharp and bright.

Emily wiped her eyes quickly, forcing her voice steady. “Yeah. Just… getting dressed.”

The door opened anyway. Sierra swept in, braid swinging, Kayla following behind with a softer presence.

“You look like hell,” Sierra announced, no filter as usual. “No offense.”

Kayla shot her a look. “Subtle.” She crossed the room, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. “What’s going on? You’ve been hiding again.”

Emily shook her head fast. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Sierra said, folding her arms. “Something happened. I can smell it.”

Emily flinched at the word smell, memory flashing — Caleb’s whiskey breath, hot against her face. She swallowed hard, nails digging into her arms.

Kayla noticed instantly. She reached out, laying a gentle hand on Emily’s knee. “Hey. You don’t have to tell us. But you don’t have to carry it alone either.”

Emily blinked, her throat tight. She wanted to spill everything, to pour out the storm building inside her. But the image of Rhett’s eyes — wild, burning — stopped her cold.

If she told them, would they see him the way she had last night? Would they pull away?

Instead, she forced a smile. “Really. I’m fine.”

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Sierra huffed, clearly unconvinced. “Fine, my ass. You need a distraction.” She grabbed Emily’s wrist and tugged. “C’mon. We’re going out. Food, maybe some thrift shopping again. Anything but sitting in here and turning into a ghost.”

Emily resisted at first, but Kayla gave her a small, encouraging smile. “It might help,” she said softly. “You don’t have to talk. Just… come with us.”

Something in Kayla’s tone broke through. Safe. Nonjudgmental.

Emily nodded slowly. “Okay.”

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The three of them wandered downtown that afternoon. Sierra cracked jokes at everything — the guy with a mullet ordering four chili dogs, the couple arguing over off-brand cereal. Kayla rolled her eyes but smiled, her quiet energy a perfect counterbalance.

Emily trailed between them, letting their noise wash over her. For moments at a time, she even forgot the heaviness pressing at her ribs.

But then a man laughed too loud in the aisle behind them, and her chest seized. Or she caught the glint of a security mirror and saw her own face reflected back, hollow and pale, and the image of that Polaroid crashed down again.

Her smile would falter. Her hands would tremble.

And both Sierra and Kayla noticed, every single time.

Sierra would step closer, her fire protective. “You good?” she’d ask, sharp but caring.

Kayla would give her that quiet nod, grounding her without words.

Emily didn’t know how to thank them, not yet. But for the first time, she felt what it was like to have sisters.

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That night, back in the clubhouse, Sierra flopped onto Emily’s bed without asking. “You can keep lying to us, fine. But sooner or later, you’re gonna crack. And when you do, we’ll be here. Got it?”

Emily almost laughed, the sound catching on a sob. Kayla squeezed her hand gently.

And for a fleeting moment, Emily thought maybe — just maybe — she could survive this without running again.

But when she was finally alone, staring at the ceiling in the dark, the question whispered back louder than anything:

Did she fear Rhett more for what he’d done… or love him more for why he’d done it?

The clubhouse quieted after midnight. Most of the men had drifted to their rooms or out to the porch to smoke. The hum of engines outside had faded into the distance.

Emily sat cross-legged on her bed, Kayla perched across from her. Sierra had crashed hours ago, sprawled out in her own room, leaving the two of them alone.

Kayla fiddled with the hem of her hoodie, then looked up, her eyes soft. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong. But I can see it’s eating you alive.”

Emily swallowed, her throat dry. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Kayla tilted her head, waiting. Not pushing, just giving her space.

So Emily tried. Her words came halting, broken. “It’s like… I want to feel safe. And sometimes I do, here. With Rhett. With you and Sierra. But then something happens and it’s like I’m right back there again. Trapped. Helpless. And now…” Her chest tightened, tears pricking at her eyes. “Now I don’t even know if I can trust the one person who makes me feel safe.”

Kayla’s brows furrowed. “Rhett?”

Emily nodded, wiping at her cheeks. “He scares me sometimes. Not because I think he’d hurt me. But because I saw what he’s capable of. And it was for me. That should make me feel protected. But it makes me wonder if I’m dragging him into something darker than either of us can survive.”

Kayla reached across, taking Emily’s hand gently. “You’re not dragging him anywhere. He chose you. Don’t forget that.”

Emily clung to her hand, the tears finally breaking free.

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Neither of them noticed Ghost leaning in the hall, half-hidden in the shadows. His pale eyes had caught every word, but he didn’t step in until Kayla finally slipped out, murmuring something about finding Sierra for the night.

Emily thought she was alone when the knock came. Soft. Measured.

“Come in,” she whispered, her voice raw.

The door opened, and Ghost filled the frame. His presence was quiet but heavy, like he carried the weight of everyone else’s ghosts along with his own.

“You don’t have to stand,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “Sit.”

Emily stayed where she was on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Ghost lowered himself into the chair across from her, his pale eyes steady.

“You think Rhett scares you,” he said flatly. Not a question.

Emily’s heart kicked hard. “You heard?”

Ghost gave a single nod. “I hear more than most. Comes with the name.”

She looked away, shame burning her cheeks. “I don’t want to feel that way about him. I just… do.”

Ghost leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, cigarette unlit between his fingers. “Then let me tell you something about that boy. He’s wild, yeah. Got his father’s fire and more than his share of scars. But he ain’t his father. And he damn sure ain’t the men who hurt you. What he did, he did because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being broken by someone who didn’t deserve to breathe.”

Her throat tightened. “That doesn’t make it easier to watch.”

“No,” Ghost said, his voice low, gravel-deep. “And it won’t. Because once you’ve seen what someone’s capable of, you can’t unsee it. But let me ask you this — would you rather walk through this world with a man who pretends he can’t bleed for you? Or one who already proved he will?”

Emily’s eyes stung. Her fingers curled tight around the blanket.

Ghost lit the cigarette finally, smoke curling between them. “You’re scared because you’ve been hurt. That fear won’t go away overnight. But don’t confuse the man who’s trying to protect you with the man you had to run from. That’s how the past wins.”

The words hit deep, heavy and steady.

For a long time, Emily couldn’t speak. She just sat there, tears sliding silently down her face, while Ghost’s pale eyes held her in place — not demanding, not pitying. Just steady, unflinching.

When she finally found her voice, it was barely a whisper. “What if I’m too broken for him?”

Ghost leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Then he’ll break with you. And he’ll still stand back up. That’s what Maddox men do.”

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Emily lay awake long after Ghost left, his words echoing in her chest.

She didn’t know if she believed him yet. But for the first time since seeing that photo, the fear wasn’t the only thing filling her chest.

There was something else too.

Hope.

The sun was already sinking when Emily worked up the courage to leave her room. She lingered in the doorway, fingers tight on the frame, listening to the thrum of voices downstairs. Boots scuffed against the wood, low laughter rolled through the hall, and the faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air.

She told herself she was just going down for water. Just to breathe somewhere that wasn’t suffocating with memories.

But really, she knew what she was looking for.

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The bar was quieter than usual. A couple of men played cards at the far end, Cherry wiped down the counter, and Sierra was perched on a stool, waving her hands wildly as she told Tank a story.

And then she saw him.

Rhett sat alone at a corner table, shoulders hunched, a half-empty beer bottle resting in front of him. His eyes flicked up when she entered — sharp, tired, and searching.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

Then Emily forced her feet forward, one step at a time, until she stood at his table.

“Can I sit?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Rhett blinked, as if he hadn’t expected her to speak to him at all. Then he gave the smallest nod. “Yeah.”

She slid into the seat across from him, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. The silence stretched, heavy with everything unspoken between them.

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“I…” Her voice caught. She tried again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Rhett’s jaw flexed. He didn’t look away, but his voice was rough when he answered. “Then don’t. You don’t owe me words.”

Emily’s hands twisted together on the table. “I saw… what you had. What you did. And it scared me.”

Rhett’s eyes darkened, but he didn’t flinch. “I know.”

The blunt honesty made her chest ache. She swallowed hard. “But it wasn’t because I thought you’d hurt me. It’s because I know what men like him are capable of. And seeing you… like that… it made me wonder if I’ll ever stop seeing danger in every shadow. Even in you.”

The words broke something in her throat, and she dropped her gaze.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Then the scrape of Rhett’s chair against the floor.

Her breath caught, panic rising — but instead of looming over her, Rhett lowered himself onto the seat beside her, leaving just enough space that she could feel his heat without being trapped by it.

“I can’t take that fear away,” he said quietly. “I wish I could. But I’ll never be him, Emily. Not to you.”

Her eyes burned. She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to.

So she did the bravest thing she’d done in years. She leaned just slightly, letting her shoulder brush his.

The contact was so small it almost meant nothing. But to her, it was everything.

Rhett didn’t move, didn’t push. He just sat there, steady as stone, letting her set the distance.

And for the first time since the photo, Emily didn’t feel like running.

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Later, as she lay in bed, she replayed that moment again and again — the warmth of his shoulder against hers, the steadiness in his voice.

It wasn’t trust yet. Not fully.

But it was a start.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The next morning came soft, sunlight bleeding pale through the blinds. Emily lay awake long before the clubhouse stirred, listening to the distant murmur of voices and the creak of footsteps below.

She thought of last night — Rhett’s shoulder brushing hers, the steady quiet in his voice when he promised he’d never be like him. It should have eased the storm inside her, but the truth was more complicated.

It didn’t erase the fear. But it gave her something else, too. A flicker of warmth she didn’t want to let go of.

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By the time she wandered into the lounge, Sierra was already sprawled across the couch, flipping through a magazine like she owned the place. Kayla sat nearby, sketchbook balanced on her lap, pencil moving in light strokes.

“There she is,” Sierra drawled, smirking. “Sleeping beauty finally decided to join us.”

Emily rolled her eyes but felt a small smile tug at her lips. “I wasn’t asleep.”

Sierra arched a brow. “Then you’re just brooding. Even worse.” She snapped the magazine shut and tossed it aside. “We’re fixing that. Kayla and I are dragging you into town. Real food, real coffee, maybe even new clothes. No arguments.”

Kayla looked up, her smile softer. “It’s good for you. Gets your head out of these four walls.”

Emily hesitated, fingers twisting in her sleeves. The idea of leaving the safety of the clubhouse still made her chest tighten — strangers, noise, unexpected shadows. But the thought of another day locked inside her own thoughts felt worse.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Sierra clapped her hands, grinning. “That’s the spirit.”