Page 18 of Ranger’s Protection

"Yeah," I manage. "That sounds good."

Judge nods and steps back, giving Graham some kind of signal I don't catch. Graham nods and heads back to the sedan, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Ready?" he asks me.

"I don't think I've been ready for any of this," I tell him honestly.

He almost smiles. Almost. "Fair enough. But we're going anyway."

He starts the engine and falls into formation with the other bikes: two in front, two behind, creating a protective convoy with us in the center.

And for the first time since I witnessed David Miller's murder, I think maybe, just maybe, I'm going to survive this after all.

Chapter 5 - Ranger

The clubhouse looks the same as when I left it two hours ago: reinforced doors, security cameras tracking every approach, motorcycles lined up in perfect rows, but somehow it feels different pulling in with Delilah beside me.

More significant.

More like bringing someone home instead of extracting a package.

I kill the engine and sit for three seconds, doing a final threat assessment out of habit. Judge and Brick pull their bikes up on either side of the sedan, flanking us. Canvas and Saint park behind, completing the protective formation we maintained for the entire fifteen-minute drive back from the industrial park.

The three Vipers we detained are being transported separately in a van Diesel drove out to meet us. Vale is still in my back seat, silent now, probably running calculations about how badly this went for him.

"We're here," I tell Delilah unnecessarily.

She's staring at the clubhouse with wide eyes, taking in the building, the bikes, the men dismounting and removing their helmets. Her hands are clasped in her lap.

"It's bigger than I expected," she says quietly.

"Used to be a warehouse. Phoenix converted it three years ago when he founded the club."

"How many people live here?"

"Nine patched members. Plus the old ladies and kids. Maybe eighteen total, depending on who's around on any given day." I unbuckle and turn to face her. "It's going to be overwhelming. A lot of new faces at once. But everyone here is safe. I need you to trust that."

She nods but doesn't move to unbuckle.

I recognize the response, psychological shutdown, the moment when your brain and body both decide they've had enough and refuse to process one more thing. I've seen it in soldiers after firefights, in civilians after disasters, in myself the first time someone died in my arms.

"You can take a minute," I tell her. "Nobody's rushing you."

"I don't think I can do this," she whispers.

"Do what?"

"Go in there. Meet all those people. Explain what happened. Pretend to be okay when I'm..." She trails off, her breathing getting faster. "I can't. I'm sorry. I know you risked your life to get me here, and I'm grateful, but I can't—"

"Delilah." I keep my voice calm, even. The same tone I used when talking her through the breathing exercises. "Look at me."

She does, those wide brown eyes meeting mine, fear and something close to desperation in them.

"You don't have to explain anything to anyone right now," I tell her. "You don't have to meet everyone. You don't have to pretend to be okay. All you have to do is walk from this car to the front door. That's it. Phoenix will take your statement later, when you're ready. Eden will do a basic medical check. Someone will show you to a room where you can sleep. Everything else can wait."

"That's really all I have to do?" Her voice is small, uncertain.

"That's really all."