Page 10 of Falcon’s Forever

"Tell her that. You'll make her day."

I lean against the counter and watch him unpack for a second. "How long are they supposed to stay here?"

His hands still. "Who?"

"The women."

He looks at me properly then. "I know nobody's trying to throw anyone out," I say, "but this can't be the whole plan."

"It isn't."

"What is?"

"We're working on it."

"That's not a plan, either."

"No, it's the part before a plan, where everyone argues about what the plan should be."

I almost smile. "Very reassuring."

"Welcome to the Saint’s Outlaws."

He goes back to the box, but the question doesn't go away that easily. This house is safe. But that isn't the same as free. Eventually some of these women are going to want jobs, homes, relationships, even children, or maybe nothing except an apartment where they get to decide who comes through the door. Some will be ready before others. Some might never want to leave the club's protection completely, and none of those choices are wrong, but they need to be choices.

"I think we need somewhere in between," I say.

"Between here and completely independent?"

"Yes. This place is inside an MC compound. That's good right now. Eventually it's going to become another kind of wall if we're not careful."

He doesn't argue, which surprises me enough that I keep going. I tell him what I've been hearing. Some of the women hate the sound of boots outside their windows at night. Others feel safer knowing a brother's there. Two of them still won't get into a vehicle with a man driving, which makes appointments complicated. Sarah wants a job eventually but has no identification left. Emily needs a counselor who understands trafficking, not a well-meaning therapist telling her to journal her feelings.

Knox listens without interrupting except to clarify, and by the time I stop he's got his phone out, taking notes.

"There's a property," he says finally. "A house outside the city. Vulture's been looking at it with Sterling."

"Why didn't anyone tell us?" I’m surprised.

"Because we don't own it yet."

"You're still doing it," I say, and when he looks confused, I continue, "making decisions about what happens to these women without asking what they need."

His expression shifts, not defensively, just thoughtful. That's something I've noticed about this club. They're not used to being questioned, but the good ones actually listen.

"I didn't think of it that way," he admits.

"That's the problem."

"I gathered."

I soften. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He leans back. "Tell me what you think they need."

So I do, the whole list, and he's still writing it down when a scream cuts through the house and every thought in my head disappears.

Knox moves first. His bag hits the floor and he's through the kitchen door before I've even pushed back from the table. I'm right behind him, and there’s another scream, and it's coming from upstairs. Sarah comes out of the living room, her face gone pale.