Chapter Five - Like She's One of Them
882 Words
The bathroom was warm with steam, the mirror fogged, her skin flushed from water that hadn't run cold halfway through.
Evelyn stood in front of the sink, wrapped in a towel, staring at her reflection like it might c***k under her gaze. She looked… softer.
Her hair hung damp around her shoulders. Her skin smelled like lavender and soap, not motor oil and sweat.
The clothes Remy had left were simple but soft. A black V-neck tee, fitted jeans that actually fit, and undergarments that weren’t worn thin or borrowed from someone else’s drawer.
She dressed slowly, carefully. Like if she moved too fast, someone would barge in and snatch them away.
But no one came.
No yelling. No orders. No hands grabbing her by the wrist.
Just silence—and something that almost felt like permission.
When she opened the door, Remy was leaning against the opposite wall, scrolling through her phone. She looked up the second Evelyn stepped out, and offered a warm, knowing smile.
“Better?” she asked gently.
Evelyn nodded, unsure if she was even allowed to smile back.
Remy didn’t push. She straightened and gestured down the hallway. “Come on. Kitchen’s this way. Let’s get you something hot to drink.”
Evelyn followed.
The clubhouse wasn’t what she expected. It wasn’t dark or filthy or crawling with half-dressed women and hungover men like back home. It was… organized. Lived in, but clean. There was laughter coming from somewhere down the hall. Not cruelty. Not rage.
Just… life.
They stepped into the kitchen, and Evelyn froze for a second at the sight of a few other women gathered at the counter. All chatting. Drinking coffee. One was chopping vegetables like she owned the space. Another leaned against the fridge, snorting at something someone else had said.
Not one of them looked afraid.
Remy caught Evelyn’s hesitation and stepped closer, her voice low and kind. “They’re family. The women of the club. My trusted circle.”
Evelyn’s eyes flicked across the room. These women looked strong. Sure of themselves. Comfortable in their own skin.
Nothing like her.
Remy reached out—carefully—and touched her arm. Just a light graze. Not to control her. Just to connect.
“You’re safe here, Evelyn,” she said. “No one’s going to lay hands on you. Not in this club. Not ever again.”
Evelyn swallowed hard. Her throat burned suddenly, tight with something she couldn’t name.
Gratitude. Fear. Hope. All tangled and dangerous.
Remy gave her a look that felt like a hug without touch. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stay close. You’ll see.”
Evelyn nodded slowly.
She didn’t understand why they were being kind to her.
She didn’t think she deserved it.
But for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like prey.
She felt… human.
Ronan stood just outside the doorway to the kitchen, shoulder leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
He wasn’t hiding—but he wasn’t making his presence known either.
From his vantage point, he could see her.
Evelyn Graves.
Sitting at the end of the long kitchen table, a chipped mug clutched between her hands like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She kept her head down, her shoulders tucked in. Every movement careful. Controlled. Like she was trying not to take up too much space.
Like she thought she didn’t deserve any.
The other women chatted around her, laughing about something—Remy smirking, Jules telling some story with her hands, Dani teasing someone over burning breakfast. A normal morning in the Vultures’ clubhouse.
But Evelyn didn’t join in.
She didn’t flinch—but she didn’t lift her head either. Just quietly sipped her tea, eyes low, body still.
Ronan watched her for a long moment, jaw tight.
She looked small.
Not in stature—but in presence. As if someone had spent years compressing her spirit into a corner and warning her not to come out.
He didn’t need Maddox to confirm it, but the bruises said enough. And the way she moved—like even breathing wrong would earn her pain—it made his stomach twist.
He’d seen girls born into the life. Some grew hard. Sharp. Tough. Others became invisible. Evelyn? She was somewhere in between.
Soft, but not stupid. Just… conditioned.
Trained to survive a man like Reed Graves.
Ronan’s fists clenched at the thought.
That bastard had no idea what it meant to have a daughter. No clue how f*****g rare that was. To have a little girl look up at you like you hung the damn moon—and to throw that away like trash?
Reed didn’t deserve her.
But Ronan?
He’d built this club to be something different. Something strong, loyal, bound in more than blood and rage. He’d bleed for his people. Kill for them. Protect what was his with everything he had.
And the more he looked at her—at Evelyn, sitting so still at his table in his home—the more he realized:
She’d never known what it meant to belong.
But she would.
Because now she was under his roof.
And he’d make damn sure no one ever broke her again.
- Writer
