The Rusty Cage—Back Room
Over the next week, Evie transformed the bar’s storage room into something resembling a functional medical station. She salvaged supplies from everywhere—bought basics with her dwindling cash, accepted donations from Roxy, and scavenged the clubhouse’s surprisingly well-stocked first-aid kits. She organized everything with obsessive precision: bandages sorted by size, antiseptics labeled and dated, suture kits sterilized and ready to go.
The brothers watched her work with a mixture of awe and amusement.
“She’s nesting,” Havoc observed, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, that perpetual grin on his face.
“She’s preparing,” Ghost corrected from behind him, his voice quiet but firm, “There’s a difference.”
Evie glanced up from the supply cabinet
