Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

Vienna

I thought my hometown was small.

Shady Valley had it beat for sure.

I mean, yeah, there were a decent amount of storefronts in the main town, but it seemed like quite a few of them were shuttered. Likely from the economic downturn Riff had mentioned that happened after the factory shut down.

There was the pool hall, the bar, a gym, a food store, the karate studio, and, well, not much else.

The landscape itself was kind of low and somewhat barren, aside from the mountains leering down at the town.

Closer, but also staring down at the heart of Shady Valley, was the prison with its razor wire fencing and, it seemed, the biker clubhouse.

They'd mentioned it being a warehouse many times. But I guess my imagination hadn't been able to fathom just how big of a building that might be, how much living space it would afford the men and women who called it home.

Which, I guess, now included me.

For however long I stayed.

Nerves skittered through me as I followed Riff toward the door, finding myself moving behind him as he reached for the door, and started to open it.

In my arms, Vernon was tenser than usual, not trying to squirm away at all. I guess maybe he was picking up on my anxiety, spiking his own.

I don't know what I was expecting of the clubhouse, but cozy hadn't exactly been at the forefront of my mind.

The bones of the warehouse were still on display from the many glass windows, exposed brick walls, and the rusted metal beams across the ceiling.

But these men had clearly made it into a home.

Right inside the door was even a cozy little entry spot where motorcycle helmets were hung on the wall with keys on nails below each and a bench to sit and slide on your shoes.

The living room area was dominated by the biggest sectional I'd ever seen in my life. It sat across from a massive flatscreen TV with a sound system below it.

To the other side of the room was a sort of game area that featured a pool table with a splash of bright purple felt, a foosball table, an air hockey table, and a set-up for darts as well as a loaded bar.

Further back was a kitchen that looked straight out of a magazine, loaded with industrial appliances and featuring an island big enough to serve a full Thanksgiving feast on. The cabinets were all black and the countertops were stainless steel, giving it a bit of a commercial feel.

It was definitely the kitchen that belonged to a chef.

Almost as if I'd conjured him, I saw a man standing there at the stove, mixing something in a pan while he spoke to Raff, who was perched on the counter a few feet away.

This must be Detroit. Who was, well, an absolute wall of a man. Tall, wide, and extremely fit with dark skin and chiseled bone structure.

"It's okay," Riff said, voice soft, as he reached back, gently touching my hip, guiding me out from behind his back.

I hadn't even realized I'd stepped behind him.

"Do you want me to introduce you, or do you want to go right upstairs?"

I had to say hi, right? This was their home. I was a guest. It would be rude not to. Even if I just wanted to curl up in a bed until I felt truly ready.

"You can introduce us," I said, proud of how sure my voice sounded even as my heartbeat started to hammer in my chest.

Riff moved forward with me at his side until we were a few feet from the island, still giving me plenty of space.

"Detroit, this is Vienna. Vienna, our resident master chef, Detroit."

"Hey, honey," Detroit said, giving me a soft smile and making no move toward me. "Who you got there?" he asked, looking toward my arms.

"Oh," I said, eyes going wide. Did Riff not tell them about Vernon? Were they going to make him leave? If he left, I had to go with him.

"This is Vernon," Riff said, reaching out to massage the cat's head. "He's considerably fonder of women than Cat," he added, waving over toward where said cat had materialized out of nowhere to perch himself on the dining room table, tail swishing in a way that seemed menacing as he stared at me.

"The girls will like that. It still makes ‘em sad that Cat hates them."

"Hi, Cat," I said, taking a step closer to him, but moving right back away when he hissed.

"Should we introduce the boys?" Raff asked, looking between the cats.

"I think, maybe, we should wait until Vernon sees a vet?" I suggested. "Just in case. He was discarded at a rest stop," I explained to Detroit.

"Probably a good idea," Riff agreed. "We can try to get him an appointment this week. Want me to show you upstairs?" he asked, reaching for my bag he'd set down.

"Sure," I said, nodding.

"Nice to meet you, Vienna," Detroit called, already turning back to his food, unbothered by my standoffishness.

"You too," I said, quickly following behind Riff as he led me around a wall, pointing out a bathroom, a staircase, and then ushering me into a freight elevator, pulling down a big door.

"You're doing great," Riff said, reaching out to give my wrist a little reassuring squeeze.

I thought I'd shrink away from the touch of any man after… well, everything. But something about Riff felt safe and comforting.

We made it to the second floor, and Riff led me over toward a slightly ajar door, pushing it fully open, and ushering me inside.

He was right.

The rooms were massive.

In fact, it might have been the size of my entire apartment in my hometown. But much less cluttered since it was only set up to be a bedroom.

There was a wall of those glass windows again, and two of the walls were the same exposed brick as the lower level. The other walls were normal walls, and painted a deep green that probably skewed almost black at night.

The bed was a king covered in bedding that was similar to the shade on the walls, with nightstands and lamps on each side, and was set up across from a TV almost as large as the one a floor below and hung over a long wooden dresser.

There was a door to the side of that. A closet, I imagined.

And because there was an empty area near the door, there was a full-sized sofa pressed against the wall, creating a space to sit that wasn't the bed if you were spending long periods of time in the bedroom.

It smelled intoxicatingly of Riff all over this space.

"This is your room," I said, looking over to see if he was going to try to deny it. Because he'd been very careful to say I'd get a bedroom, not that I'd be putting him out of his bedroom.

"And now it's yours," he said, shrugging. "I didn't luck out to get one of the bedrooms with their own private bathrooms in it, but the bathroom is right across the hall. Has a stall shower/tub combo. Feel free to put all your shit in the second drawer. It's always empty.

"I can't take your room."

"It's no big deal," he said. And as if to emphasize his point, he walked over to the bed to start spreading my blankets over it. Then, rushing so I couldn't object further, he changed the topic, "Do you mind if I wash your clothes in the car?" he asked. "We have to get you some more, but for the time being, I can wash them for you if you want."

"Oh, um, only if you're washing something," I said.

"I'll let you settle in, then," he said. "Do you want me to bring you food to your room when it's done, or do you want to try to come down?"

"I, ah, I don't know yet."

"No pressure. I'll check back."

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone to watch Vernon explore the new space, seeming to enjoy the fact that there were a lot of windows to bask in.

There was a soft knock at the door a few moments later that had my heart shooting up into my throat.

"Ah, yeah?" I called, stomach cramping at the idea of one of the club guys coming in here when I was alone.

There was a strange rustling sound before the door opened.

And there was a woman with a giant basket in her arms.

She was gorgeous with long, silky black hair, a curvy body, lots of tattoos, and a face that could launch a thousand ships.

If I had to place a guess, I had a feeling this was Nyx, the former bartender and present martial arts studio owner. Also, partner to Slash, the president of the club.

"Hey," she said, giving me a small smile. "Mind if I come in for a sec?" she asked.

"Sure," I agreed, my stomach unclenching, but anxiety was still thrumming across my nerve endings.

She kicked the door closed behind her.

"I'm Nyx," she said.

"Vienna," I told her. "You really didn't have to do that," I said, looking at the packed basket in her hands as she brought it over to set it on the bed.

"Oh, this? No. I didn't do this. This is all Colter."

"Colter?" I asked, remembering the story of the man from the military whose wife cheated with his best friend while he was deployed.

"Yeah, this is his thing. He makes gift baskets. Which is weird and adorable. He always drops them off like this. I brought you this," she said, reaching back into her pocket and coming back with something folded in on itself. With one press, it flicked open.

A pocketknife.

But not the flimsy-looking type you saw many people carry on their keychains. This thing had a long, jagged blade that looked like it would take a lot of work to break.

"A girl always has to have a solid knife to keep on her," she said.

And, suddenly, I felt very… seen. Understood.

I reached for the knife, surprised by the weight of it, but liking how it felt in my hand as I folded it up, then flicked it open.

"Thank you," I said, emotion slipping into my words.

"Don't mention it. Also, if you ever want to take a class—personal, just you and me—just let me know."

"Martial arts?" I asked.

"Yes. It's very empowering," she said. "But we might have to wait until there's a little more meat on your bones first. No worries on that front, though. I'm sure Detroit is up to the task," she said, walking back toward the door. As she passed Vernon, she reached out, and he let her rub his head. "That's refreshing," she declared before continuing to the door. "Nice to meet you, Vienna. Glad to have another girl around."

And with that, she was gone.

Almost like she knew I couldn't handle a long interaction yet.

Alone, I placed the knife under my pillow, then went to the massive basket from a man I'd never even met.

Inside, I found all the comfort items. Fluffy socks, another super soft blanket in purple that I immediately spread over my others on the bed, a lavender-colored robe, a candle in a light vanilla scent, a few face masks, a luffa in the same shade of purple as the robe, socks, and blanket, and a few soft hair bands.

I'd barely been able to check out all of the items before there was another soft knock at the door. Soft enough for me to know it was a woman even before I called out to her.

"Hey, Vienna," the woman said, her voice soft as she moved a step inside the door, but didn't come closer. "I'm Morgaine."

She looked, well, exactly how I thought she would. Something about her name conjured up memories of a feminist retelling of a King Arthur book with all these quietly badass women with ethereal, witchy looks.

That was what Morgaine looked like to me. Tall, willowy, with long, deep, shiny red hair she had around her shoulders, framing her gorgeous face with her light blue eyes.

"The chicken-tender," I said, getting a surprised little burst of laughter from her.

"That's me," she agreed. "Can I come closer?" she asked, something in her hesitance, in her tone, making me think that she not only knew, but understood, had maybe even been in a similar situation as I had.

"Sure," I said.

"I see Colter dropped by your door," she said, eyeing the basket. "He somehow always knows exactly what you need, even when you aren't aware of needing it. His gift makes mine look a little silly, but," she said, holding up a mug I'd missed dangling from her hand. "Raff said you like coffee and books. So I made you this," she said, holding it out to me, carefully making a space for me to grab it without having to touch her.

It was gorgeous in the way that only handmade pottery could be. Slightly imperfect in a charming way. She'd painted the whole thing to seem to have a woodgrain to it, then had painstakingly painted a row of books around it.

"Everyone here has their own mug that I've made them. It's a thing. So now you do too."

"That's… this is beautiful," I said, surprised to find my eyes getting teary. "Thank you so much."

"Are your ears pierced?" she asked, making me startle.

"Ah, yeah," I told her, watching as she went into her pocket to fish out a set of dancing earrings. They were, well, itty bitty vials with some sort of liquid in them.

"They're plastic, so you don't have to worry about breaking them accidentally," she told me. "The liquid inside, well, let's just say that, should you ever need it, each vial could kill a fucking elephant. So a man would be no issue," she added, dropping them into my mug, making my brows raise. "Just a little drop in the mouth, nose, eyes, anywhere, really. And, poof, all your problems are gone. Anyway, I hear one of my children screaming. It was nice to meet you," she said, making her way to the door without another word.

Huh.

Okay then.

I set the mug down, reaching for the earrings, feeling them in my hands, and deciding that they, along with the knife, would definitely make me feel safer the first time I went out to explore Shady Valley.

I carefully tucked them into the nightstand, though, not wanting Vernon to get to them.

By the time I finished with that, there was another knock at the door, this one a little harder, making me jump.

"Yeah?"

"Looks like most of the welcome party has already been here," the pretty blonde said as she moved inside in her cargo pants and black tank top. Her features were pretty in a very feminine way, but she carried herself a little more ruggedly.

If I had to put money on it, I would bet this was Murphy.

"Morgaine and Nyx," I said, nodding.

"And Colter, though he always places the basket and runs," she told me, smiling a little. "I won't bother you for long. I know everyone here can be a bit overwhelming," she said. "I just wanted to bring you this," she said, reaching for one of her deep pockets and pulling out, well, some sort of weapon.

"What is it?" I asked, brows pinched.

"Something I made. For people who don't know how to use guns yet, but need something," she told me. "The strap goes around your wrist, so you can't lose it in a tussle. This button here," she said, pointing, then pressing it, making it make a buzzing noise, almost like a downed wire, "will create a current about four times stronger than the shit most tasers emit. It will hurt. A lot. Trust me; I tested it on Sway," she added, smirking. "It also has this feature," she went on, taking a step back, and swinging the whole weapon hard, making a baton extend out from it. "Just don't touch it," she warned, moving it closer to my face, making me see it had little jagged razors along its entire length. "Use your shoe to push it back in," she said, demonstrating, then tossing it on the bed. "I'm Murphy, by the way," she said.

But then she was turning and disappearing as suddenly as she'd appeared.

I set her weapon on the nightstand then turned and sat, my head reeling.

They all knew.

I'd been under no delusions about that. Of course Riff would have told them about finding me, and in what condition I was in. Everyone from there would know exactly what happened. Because why else did a man keep a woman chained up in a shed?

The thing that struck me most, though, was that all these women seemed to intrinsically know that what I needed right now were ways to feel safe, to feel empowered. And that weapons were one way to do that.

I wasn't sure, had it been me in their shoes, that would have ever occurred to me.

I mean, they were women from very different backgrounds. A poison expert, a martial artist, and a weapons designer. But still. It said a lot that they understood what I needed, and gave it so effortlessly.

I'd expected them to, well, pry, to ask me for all the ugly details of what had happened to me. And, sure, I understood that I would need to talk about that to someone to help me process and move past it, but I really loved that they hadn't poked at what was already a raw wound.

Riff came back half an hour later, loaded down with all of Vernon's things, setting them around the room, then looking over at me.

"I see you've had company."

"Just Nyx, Morgaine, and Murphy," I explained.

"They brought gifts?" he asked, eyeing the mug on the nightstand.

"They mostly brought weapons," I admitted.

He seemed nonplussed by that information, though, as he came over to bring me the other bag of my books. "That sounds about right," he said, picking up the item Murphy had given me, pressing the button, and nodding.

"It also does this," I said, extracting it from his grip, then moving a few feet away to swing it open.

"No shit. She's always got something cool up her sleeve," he said, reaching toward it.

"Don't touch it!" I squealed, pulling it backward. "It's sharp," I added at his stricken face, like maybe he thought I thought he was going to take it from me, disarm me.

"Yeah?" he asked, squinting at it. "Shit. That looks lethal," he declared. "Nice. We gotta get you a purse to keep this kind of shit in," he told me. "I'll dig out my laptop for you to do some browsing on later," he offered. "But dinner is ready, so I came to ask what you wanted."

From below, I could hear a chorus of male laughter. At least three or four people, I had to guess. The sound made the cramp start in my stomach again, and had my throat feeling like it was closing up.

"Can I eat in here?" I asked, voice choked.

"Of course you can," he said. "I'll take this down for you, if you want," he said, inspecting the coffee cup. "I can bring you up a cup of coffee with dessert."

"Thanks," I said, feeling some of the anxiety sliding away.

Things were just… easier with him nearby.

I didn't know just how easy, though, until many hours later when the house finally quieted down, but I found myself tossing and turning for the third hour in a row, unable to sleep, it seemed, without him nearby.

The part of myself that had once been so strong and independent bristled at that realization. But the part of me that was traumatized and scared had me climbing out of the bed, grabbing Murphy's weapon, and slipping the band on my wrist before climbing into Colter's robe, and making my way to the door.

I glanced into the hallway first, looking, listening. But I heard nothing but the distant sounds of televisions and low music, so I quickly made my way to the stairs, rushing down them almost at a run.

Because when Riff had been leaving my room after bringing me my dessert, I'd heard Raff offering to let Riff sleep in his room earlier. But Riff had said he'd crash on the couch in the living room.

And, well, if he was okay with sleeping on a couch in the living room, maybe I could convince him to sleep on the one in his room instead.

"Riff?" I whispered as I closed in on the couch, not wanting to startle him. But he was out cold. "Riff?" I called again as I rounded it, stopping short at seeing him lying there, his upper body bare, the outlines of his muscles evident even at rest.

Did he always sleep without a shirt? Had he been wearing one just for my comfort during the road trip?

That was… unexpectedly considerate.

Even as I thought that, my gaze seemed to dip, finding him in a pair of navy blue sleep pants. That were doing nothing to hide the fact that he was… having happy dreams.

I expected complete and utter panic.

And while my pulse did speed up, I wasn't convinced it was in fear.

But it couldn't have been anything else.

I forced my gaze back up to his face.

"Riff?" I called, voice a little louder. Then, desperate, "Reid!"

He woke up with a jolt, body tense, eyes unseeing for a second.

"Vienna?" he called, slow-blinking at me, sleep clearly still clinging to his mind.

Then, coming fully alert with a widening of his eyes, he knifed up into a seated position, folding forward to hide the proof of his desire.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice tense.

"I just… I can't… sleep," I admitted, feeling flustered all of a sudden. "I was just wondering if you would… never mind," I said.

"No, what?" he asked, head tipped to the side as he watched me.

"Just… there's a couch in your room," I said, gaze on my feet, feeling so silly all of a sudden.

"You want me to sleep there?" he asked, wanting confirmation.

"It's okay if you don't want—" I started, but he was already climbing off of the couch, gathering his blanket in front of him, then reaching for his pillow.

"Of course I'll sleep there," he said.

And it really was just that easy with him.

If I wanted it, he would give it.

And never seemed resentful of it, either.

Every day I spent with him just further proved that he was one of the good ones, one of the ones who could be trusted, who I could rely on.

And just knowing that seemed to shine a bit of light into all of the darkness inside of me.

Sure enough, with him on the couch in the room, I was asleep within minutes.