The Vulture’s Queen

Chapter Ten - First Steps

The water was still dripping from her hair when Evelyn stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and breathing like she’d just run a mile.

Her heart thudded with something she didn’t quite recognize. Nerves, yes—but also a thread of determination, fragile but real.

She got dressed slowly—fresh jeans, soft tee, bare feet on cool floors.

Then she opened her door.

No knock. No one calling her.

She just… opened it.

The hallway was quiet, sun casting golden light across the floorboards. The scent of coffee and something sweet drifted from the direction of the kitchen.

Her feet moved before her fear caught up.

One step.

Then another.

The walk felt endless, every breath measured, every sound amplified in her ears. She half-expected the laughter to stop when she entered. Eyes to swing toward her like searchlights.

But that didn’t happen.

She stepped into the kitchen, and the world… kept going.

The women were already sitting at the table, talking, passing plates. A couple of the men were at the bar counter, joking about something she didn’t understand. No one stopped to gawk. No one went quiet.

No one treated her like a wounded animal or an intruder.

They just… kept living.

And that’s when she saw Remy.

The woman turned, eyes lighting up just slightly at the sight of her. Not shocked. Not smug.

Just pleased.

“You like tea, right?” Remy asked casually, already reaching for the kettle. “We’ve got lemon or mint.”

Evelyn’s throat tightened. “Mint.”

Remy nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Good. Sit down. We’ve got pancakes. Jules went overboard again.”

“I heard that,” Jules called from the stove, flipping another golden stack.

Evelyn took a seat at the far end of the table, fingers twitching in her lap until Remy set a warm mug down in front of her.

No one pushed a plate on her. No one asked a million questions. Someone passed her the syrup without comment. Another slid a clean fork toward her side of the table.

Like she was supposed to be there.

Like she belonged.

She wrapped her hands around the mug, eyes on the steam curling up, letting the warmth settle into her fingers.

And for the first time in her life, breakfast didn’t feel like a privilege that had to be earned.

It just… was.

Evelyn had eaten three bites of pancake.

It was more than she’d managed in days.

She chewed slowly, her stomach tight with nerves—but not dread. Just… unfamiliarity. A new routine forming beneath old fears.

Remy slid into the seat across from her, coffee in one hand, a casual smile playing on her lips.

“Eat slow,” she said gently. “We’ve got a long morning ahead.”

Evelyn blinked. “We do?”

Remy nodded. “You and me. Little shopping trip.”

The fork paused in Evelyn’s hand.

“I don’t need anything,” she said quickly, the old instinct kicking in. Keep your head down. Take nothing. Be nothing.

Remy just tilted her head, voice soft but firm. “You do. You just don’t know it yet.”

Evelyn looked away, unsure what to say.

“Ronan’s paying,” Remy added like it was no big deal. “Club funds. Says you need a real wardrobe—clothes that belong to you. Not borrowed stuff. Not hand-me-downs.”

Evelyn’s brows knit together. “I… I don’t understand why.”

Remy leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Because you’re one of us now. And around here? We take care of our own.”

Evelyn looked down at her plate.

“But I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

“That’s where you’ve got it backwards,” Remy said softly. “You don’t earn dignity. You deserve it. Just for existing.”

The words hit like a warm blade. Sharp and kind all at once.

Remy leaned back with a grin. “We’re not going crazy, don’t worry. Just the basics. Jeans. Boots. A jacket that fits. A few things that feel like you.”

Evelyn nodded slowly, unsure how to react, but not refusing.

That alone was something.

After breakfast, Evelyn helped clear her own plate, even though Remy waved her off.

A few minutes later, they stood out front while two patched members of the club—Silas and Beck—pulled up in a sleek black SUV. Not flashy, but unmistakably guarded.

“Don’t worry,” Remy said under her breath as they approached. “They’re Ronan’s most trusted. And they will make a scene if someone so much as side-eyes us wrong.”

Evelyn watched the two men step out—big, leather-cut, but smiling casually. No intimidation. No posturing. Just a nod and a “Morning, ladies.”

Remy winked. “See? Perfect gentlemen.”

Evelyn slid into the passenger seat while Remy took the back, Silas behind the wheel.

As the doors closed and the engine rumbled to life, Evelyn looked out at the compound through the glass.

This was the first time in her life she was going somewhere… for herself.

No errands. No orders. No leash.

Just her.

Shopping.

For her own clothes.

With people who didn’t want anything in return.

It didn’t feel real yet.

But it would.

Eventually.

The boutique wasn’t fancy.

It wasn’t full of designer brands or high fashion. But it was clean, comfortable, and smelled like vanilla and new cotton.

Remy had picked it specifically.

Quiet. Local. A place where no one would ask questions or stare too long.

Evelyn stood near a rack of denim, fingers grazing the fabric like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to touch it.

Remy watched her carefully.

That girl doesn’t even realize what she looks like, she thought.

Evelyn Graves was the kind of beauty that turned heads—but not because she tried. It was effortless. Golden hair that fell in soft waves when left alone. Sky-blue eyes that held more pain than most people saw in a lifetime. A face carved with gentleness, not vanity.

Porcelain.

But not fragile.

Just hidden.

Remy held up a soft black tank and a cropped leather jacket that matched the exact cut of confidence she could see in Evelyn… if she’d just let it breathe.

“Try this,” she said, passing them over.

Evelyn hesitated. “It’s… not me.”

Remy raised an eyebrow. “How would you know?”

Evelyn opened her mouth. Closed it.

Exactly.

Remy smiled. “Humor me.”

She took a few more items—slim jeans, a pale blue shirt that matched Evelyn’s eyes, even a pair of boots with just enough heel to remind the world she wasn’t to be stepped on—and sent her into the dressing room.

A few minutes passed.

Then the door cracked open.

Remy leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Well? Let’s see.”

Evelyn stepped out.

Slow. Unsure. Her hands tugged at the hem of the black tank, the leather jacket resting open on her shoulders, the jeans hugging her in all the right places.

She looked… like herself.

The version of herself that had been buried under years of silence and bruises.

Remy stared for a beat.

“Damn,” she said softly. “There she is.”

Evelyn blinked, uncertain. “I feel… strange.”

“You look powerful,” Remy corrected. “Not strange. Not fake. Just… seen.”

Evelyn turned to face the mirror.

She tilted her head.

And for the first time—maybe ever—she didn’t shrink from her reflection.

She didn’t flinch.

She just… looked.

Remy came to stand beside her.

“You know what I see?” she asked gently.

Evelyn shook her head.

“I see a woman Reed Graves tried to erase. And I see her coming back stronger.”

Evelyn’s lips parted, a tiny breath catching in her throat.

Remy grinned. “We’re getting all of it. Every piece that makes you feel even a little more you. Got it?”

Evelyn nodded. Quiet. But this time… not uncertain.

The boutique was behind them, bags in hand, the SUV trunk already filling up.

Remy, of course, had one last stop in mind.

It was tucked into the edge of the plaza—a sleek little lingerie shop with sheer curtains in the windows and soft lighting that gave everything a glow of elegance.

Evelyn paused at the door, eyes wide. “Here?”

Remy grinned. “Yep.”

“I don’t think I need anything from—”

“Not need,” Remy said, tugging her gently forward. “Deserve.”

Evelyn’s cheeks flushed immediately, but she didn’t pull away.

Inside, the shop was warm and softly lit. Racks of satin, lace, and silk danced under golden lights, whispering promises of confidence Evelyn wasn’t sure she was allowed to feel.

She moved carefully, eyes drawn to the safe colors—white, beige, soft cotton that spoke more of function than beauty.

Remy noticed.

“You are not walking out of here with a pack of beige,” she said, casually plucking a silky black set from a nearby display.

Evelyn hesitated. “I’m just used to…”

“Plain?” Remy offered.

She nodded, embarrassed.

“Yeah,” Remy said, tone softer now. “Because no one ever told you you could wear something that made you feel powerful.”

She paused beside a rack of lace-trimmed bralettes and held up a deep sapphire set—delicate, elegant, beautiful. Feminine in all the ways Evelyn had always been told to hide.

“This,” Remy said, handing it to her. “You try this.”

Evelyn stared at it, biting her lip. “I don’t know…”

Remy smiled but didn’t push harder.

Instead, she watched Evelyn’s face, saw the flicker of hesitation give way to something she hadn’t seen before.

Curiosity. Wonder, even.

Remy had seen that look before—in other women who’d never been given permission to own their bodies. Who’d only ever dressed to disappear.

But Evelyn?

She was starting to see herself.

And Remy couldn’t help but glance toward the fitting room mirror behind her—just briefly—already imagining a day in the not-so-distant future when Ronan Cade, cold and iron-willed as he was, wouldn’t be able to look away from the woman standing in front of it.

She wouldn’t say that to Evelyn now.

Not yet.

The girl didn’t need pressure. Didn’t need expectation.

But one day…

Remy had a feeling the president of the Vultures was going to lose his damn mind over this girl.

And when that day came?

Evelyn would be ready.

“Go try it on,” Remy said gently. “Not for anyone else. Just for you.”

Evelyn nodded slowly and took the pieces into the fitting room.

And Remy smiled to herself, already victorious.

The shopping bags filled the backseat of the SUV, every one of them a small symbol of something Evelyn had never been allowed to have—choice, ownership, self.

But before they headed back to the compound, Remy insisted on one last stop: a small café nestled between two shops, with worn brick walls and plants spilling out of mismatched pots.

Inside, the space was warm, the air scented with roasted beans and cinnamon. The kind of place where no one rushed, and no one stared.

They sat at a quiet table near the window, steam curling from the mugs in front of them.

Evelyn held hers in both hands, eyes fixed on the rim like it held answers.

Remy didn’t push conversation. Just let the silence settle, comfortable and soft.

Then, when the timing felt right, she spoke.

“You know,” she began, casually stirring cream into her coffee, “I didn’t always belong to this world either.”

Evelyn looked up, surprised.

Remy smiled faintly. “Didn’t grow up in it. Didn’t think I’d ever end up tied to an MC, let alone fall for the VP.”

“You and Maddox…” Evelyn said softly, “You seem… solid.”

“We are,” Remy said, her tone clear and confident. “But it didn’t start that way. I was angry. Closed off. I didn’t trust anyone. Thought all men were the same.”

She looked out the window for a moment, her voice gentler when she continued.

“And then Maddox came along. Quiet. Steady. Never tried to fix me. Just made space for me to figure out who I really was underneath all the armor.”

Evelyn was quiet, but her body leaned in ever so slightly—just enough for Remy to notice.

She sipped her tea and kept her eyes low. “That sounds… nice.”

“It was,” Remy said. “It is.”

She paused, then added carefully, “It changed everything.”

Evelyn didn’t speak, but her fingers tapped lightly against her cup, a restless movement that didn’t seem nervous—just thoughtful.

Remy watched her closely. She wasn’t just telling a story. She was testing the water—gently, the way you would with someone still learning what warmth felt like.

“And now?” Remy added. “I can’t imagine a life without him. Not because I need him to survive… but because I want him to be part of what I’ve built for myself.”

Evelyn finally looked up, eyes soft but guarded.

“That’s different than what I’m used to,” she said. “Back home… needing someone was seen as weakness. Wanting anything was… selfish.”

Remy smiled sadly. “Then we’re going to rewrite what ‘home’ means for you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks, watching the sunlight drift through the window.

No pressure.

No expectations.

Just two women sharing a quiet truth:

It’s okay to want more.

Even if you don’t know how to reach for it yet.