Chapter 6

6

Tank

T his time when I went down to the basement, I was by myself since we now knew Beck was no longer a threat. Everything in that folder had only backed up what Beck had already told me. His loyalty to Clarke was admirable—a trait I knew every man in this club respected.

Beck had given up everything . His dreams. His potential career. Freedom. Fuck, he'd almost given up his life.

I wondered if Clarke knew what kind of man she had standing at her back. I wondered if she knew how much he loved her. The devotion he had to her was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing. She probably had no idea just how incredibly lucky she was to have a man like him loving her.

Beck opened his eyes when I emerged into the basement from the stairs. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, and that defeated look I hated still rested on his face—like he knew there was no saving Clarke, and it was gutting him.

"I can make that promise to you now," I found myself blurting.

His shoulders raised a bit, his head tilting up. "You can?" he rasped before he cleared his throat. His throat was no doubt as dry as the Sahara. I'd be sure to get him a bottle of water once I got him out of the basement.

I nodded at him. "Yeah, I can. My club and I discussed it—did a background check on you?—"

"That was fast," he blurted, making me chuckle.

"Yeah, well, Alejandro works fast. A background check is simple as hell for him to get." I moved forward and began working on the ties around his feet. "We're offering you and Clarke protection here. The plan is for the three of us to get into Mexico. Alejandro has a home there we'll be staying in while he works on dismantling the trafficking ring from the top."

"Wouldn't trust any cops," Beck muttered.

I snorted. "Cops and us don't really get along anyway," I explained. We did our best to avoid them at all costs. Most were shady, in our experience. "We handle our own shit. Law enforcement and government officials won't be brought into it, especially since these rings usually have influential people involved."

The one I'd been involved in sure as fuck had. With the number of federal agents involved in keeping it running, it was a miracle law enforcement had been able to dismantle it.

Beck's lips twisted into a sneer before I moved behind him and began untying his arms. "I wasn't high enough in the guard ranks to know who came and went," he explained, "but I knew anyone who came was wealthy. I know expensive suits and jewelry when I see them."

I moved back in front of him and held my hand out. He eyed it for a moment before placing his hand in mine so I could pull him up from the chair. My heart skipped a beat in my chest and tingles rushed up my arm and into my chest at his touch. His palms were calloused from years of playing hockey, and his grip was strong despite his smaller frame. I really liked the way his hand felt in mine, and I wasn't sure what to do with that information. So, I just pushed it to the back of my head to deal with later… much later.

"Don't try to run off," I warned him, dropping his hand once he was on his feet. "You won't get far, and it'll only get you tossed right back into this basement."

He sighed. "You promise she's going to be protected?"

"Swear on my life," I assured him. "You both are under the protection of the Mexican Cartel, Sons of Hell MC, and Fathers of Mayhem MC. Nothing will happen to either of you."

His eyes were practically bugging out of his head. " That's where we are?" he choked out.

I nodded, arching a brow at him. "Is that a problem?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Everyone knows…" He shook his head. "You know what? Never mind. Everything I heard, I heard through rumors. You guys have proven to be different, and I'm going to choose to forget everything I heard before and make my own judgments."

I hummed and turned on my heel, heading for the stairs. "Smart man."

He just snorted, his steps barely audible as he followed me up the stairs. "I try."

After Beck guzzled down an entire bottle of water, I handed him another and then began to lead him up the stairs. I knew I didn't have much time to get a bag together for myself, and I needed to get a move on. I also needed to get some cash out of my safe to use down in Mexico. Once we left here, anything that could be used to track me, Clarke, and Beck had to go. Which meant no credit or debit cards.

We had to fall off the grid—like we ceased to exist. It was the only way to keep them safe. If I couldn't be tracked, then they couldn't either. Sure, two and two could easily be put together to figure out that I was with them—protecting them—but if they didn't know where to find me, then I would have nothing to worry about.

When I pushed open the door to my apartment upstairs, Clarke was curled under the blankets in bed, her eyes closed. Beck followed me in, and the moment he laid his eyes on her, he reverently whispered her name in a way that felt too intimate to witness, toed off his shoes, and padded across the room to curl up in bed with her. Her eyes slowly slid open, and they widened at the sight of him.

"Beck?" she croaked.

"Hey, sweet girl," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm here. We're safe."

She immediately burst into tears. Burrowing her face against his chest, she clung to him, sobbing and crying. She was a mess, but Beck just held her, whispering words to her so softly, I couldn't make them out. But somehow, I knew they were everything she needed to hear.

They made a beautiful image together. She was so much smaller than him—so malnourished. Young. And despite him not being a huge guy, it was clear he was a protector.

Her protector.

Turning away to give them their privacy, I headed into my closet, grabbing my rolled-up duffel bag from the top of my closet. I spent the next few minutes in my small closet, rolling my clothes up and stuffing them into the small duffel bag. When that was done, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants and one of my t-shirts before heading back into the room.

Clarke was back asleep, her eyes a little puffy and swollen, but she finally looked peaceful, safely curled up in Beck's arms. Beck's eyes were closed as well, but they instantly opened when he heard me come back into the room.

"Do you want to shower and change?" I quietly asked, not wanting to wake Clarke. She needed the rest after everything she'd been through. I was surprised she hadn't screamed the clubhouse down with a flashback or nightmare, but maybe her brain was just too tired—still stuck in survival mode.

He nodded and slowly pried himself away from Clarke before easing off the bed, being extra careful not to jar her awake. Once he was off the mattress, he padded across the floor to me, his sock-covered feet not making a sound. I handed him the clothes I'd picked out for him. "They might be a bit big," I warned, "but the sweatpants have a drawstring on them, so you can tighten them."

He nodded, looking down at his guard uniform with a grimace. The black cargo pants and black long-sleeve shirt looked good on him, but I knew they bore only horrible memories. I didn't blame him for wanting to be out of them as soon as possible.

He headed for the open bathroom door, and I settled in my chair near the bed, keeping an eye on Clarke. I knew she was safe here, but I had no idea what kind of torture her mind might be preparing to inflict on her. And if she did end up having some kind of flashback or nightmare, I wanted to be close enough to hopefully coax her out of it since Beck wasn't.

Why I felt the urge to do any of this—protect them, take care of them, be responsible for them—I didn't know. Didn't understand it. But it was there like this was something that had always been a part of me.

But I hadn't even felt this way about Adelaide, River's wife, when I'd seen the way her ex, Tristan, had mistreated her. Sure, I'd been concerned. Wanted to help her. But I hadn't felt this urge . Like I needed to.

But Beck and Clarke? I was desperate to save them.

It was fucking dangerous. I knew it was. Bringing feelings into the equation when having to protect someone was ill-advised. Mistakes were easily made. Judgment was clouded.

But I was forming some fucked-up trauma bond with them anyway.

Sighing, I leaned back in my chair and tilted my head back to stare up at the popcorn ceiling above me, my fingers wrapping around the armrests of my chair. When Clarke made a small sound, I was immediately out of my seat, hovering over her, waiting to gently lead her out of her dream. But the only thing she did was shift and quietly sigh—nothing else.

Fuck .

How the hell was I supposed to survive the next however long days, weeks—fuck, months maybe—with the temptation of these two sweet souls dangling in front of me?