Chapter Four - Something Else Entirely
1469 Words
Evelyn woke to silence.
Not shouting. Not the clatter of bottles or boots or breaking glass.
Just… stillness.
She blinked up at the ceiling above her, half expecting to find chains or a locked door. But nothing held her. The room was plain but clean. A dresser. A nightstand. A window with a view of open sky and desert sun.
This wasn’t a prison. At least not the kind she knew.
Still, she sat up slowly, keeping her posture straight, hands folded. Submissive. Controlled. She knew how to survive—by disappearing.
A knock tapped on the door.
She flinched.
Before she could answer, the door opened—and in stepped a man she didn’t recognize.
Tall. Late thirties. Piercing green eyes. Tattoos along his forearms, clean-cut beard, confident stride.
The leather cut on his shoulders read Vultures MC – Vice President.
He had the same magnetic presence as the president—commanding without needing to raise his voice. Handsome in a rough, weathered way that made Evelyn feel suddenly aware of how thin her tank top was.
“Morning,” he said, holding a tray in one hand. Eggs, toast, fruit. Nothing fancy, but hot. Real. Thoughtful.
She stared at it, then at him, unsure.
“I’m Maddox,” he added, voice low but easy. “Vice President here. Ronan asked me to check on you.”
She blinked. “Ronan…?”
“The president. You met him last night.”
She gave a small nod. She remembered every second. The way he’d looked at her—not like she was a problem or property, but like she was real. Seen.
Maddox stepped further in and set the tray down gently on the nightstand. He didn’t crowd her. Didn’t hover. Just moved with calm confidence.
“He figured you might be hungry,” he said. “Told me to make sure you were treated right.”
She looked at the food. Toast with butter. Fruit. Eggs. She hadn’t had food like that in years. Not unless she made it and handed it over before even thinking of keeping a plate for herself.
“My woman, Remy, will stop by later,” Maddox continued. “She’ll bring you some clean clothes, shower stuff, whatever you need. You’re not a prisoner here.”
Evelyn’s throat tightened.
She didn’t respond at first. Then, softly—without looking up—she whispered, “Thank you.”
Maddox paused. “You don’t talk much.”
“Wasn’t allowed to.”
That brought a beat of silence.
He didn’t pry. Didn’t offer pity. Just nodded slowly, his voice quiet but steady. “Well, that’s not how it works here. You got a voice. You use it when you’re ready.”
She finally looked up at him. His face was strong, scarred in a few places—but his expression? Kind. Respectful. Not like the men back home. Not like her father.
“I’ll send Remy in a bit,” Maddox said. “Take your time. You’re safe here.”
Then he left.
Evelyn stared at the tray beside her long after he was gone.
You’re not a prisoner.
You’ve got a voice.
You’re safe here.
She reached out, fingers brushing warm toast. The smallest comfort. A simple kindness.
And somehow, it was the strangest thing she’d ever felt.
Evelyn sat quietly, chewing slowly through a piece of toast. The eggs were warm. Perfectly salted. Every bite tasted like something stolen.
She hadn’t finished half the plate when there was another soft knock.
The door opened gently this time. A woman stepped in—dark-haired, olive-skinned, soft in voice but not in posture. Her curves were wrapped in denim and leather, but her face was warm, steady, kind.
“Hey,” the woman said, closing the door behind her. “You must be Evelyn.”
Evelyn nodded, her body tensing automatically.
“I’m Remy. Maddox is my guy. He told me to bring you a few things.”
She held out a small duffel. Inside were clean clothes—soft jeans, a simple black tee, underwear still in the packaging. Travel-sized toiletries. A towel.
Remy didn’t approach. Just placed the bag on the edge of the dresser and gave a reassuring smile.
“Thought you might want a hot shower. There’s one down the hall. Private. Clean. I’ll show you.”
Evelyn stood slowly, clutching the bag like it might be taken from her.
She followed Remy out of the room, barefoot and silent. Her body moved like a ghost—small, elegant, but always tense, always watching.
Remy didn’t press. She walked calmly ahead, leading Evelyn down a quiet hallway toward a single shower room. Tiled floor, clean sink, a working lock.
She gestured inside. “There you go. Take your time.”
Evelyn stepped in, then paused at the door. Waiting.
Remy reached to gently pull it shut for her.
That’s when she saw them.
Just a glimpse—Evelyn’s shirt had shifted when she moved. Purple shadows across her ribs. Yellowing marks near her shoulder blade. A new one, red and angry, near her hip.
Remy didn’t say a word. Just gave her a soft, neutral nod and closed the door.
But her face had changed.
She found Maddox out in the yard, sitting on a bench beside the bikes, cigarette smoldering between his fingers.
“She’s in the shower,” Remy said.
He glanced up. “She okay?”
Remy sat beside him, exhaling slowly. “She’s quiet. Real quiet.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
Remy stared out at the desert. The wind kicked up a small storm of dust across the gravel lot.
“She’s got bruises, Maddox.”
His eyes cut to hers instantly.
Remy’s voice dropped lower. “Old ones. Fresh ones, too. Someone’s been hurting her. Bad.”
Maddox’s jaw clenched. “Her father?”
“Who else?” she murmured. “That poor girl looks like she’s been walking on eggshells her whole damn life.”
Maddox crushed out his cigarette.
“Ronan needs to know.”
Remy nodded. “Yeah. He does.”
Maddox found Ronan in the back room of the garage, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. One of the bikes was stripped down, guts exposed, parts scattered on the concrete. The president always worked with his hands when his mind needed to burn through something.
Ronan looked up as soon as Maddox walked in.
“Well?” he asked. “She eat?”
“Yeah,” Maddox said. “Didn’t finish. But she tried.”
Ronan tossed the rag aside. “She talk?”
“Barely. Quiet as a damn ghost.” Maddox crossed his arms. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Remy helped her to the shower. Girl didn’t say much, just followed. Then Remy saw it—when the shirt shifted.”
Ronan’s expression sharpened.
“Bruises,” Maddox said flatly. “Old ones. New ones. Shoulder, ribs, hip. Not from falling off a damn bike.”
The room went still.
Ronan’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak right away. Just stared at the floor, like trying to rein in the fire already lighting behind his eyes.
Maddox leaned against the wall. “You know how Remy gets about this s**t. She's calm now, but she won’t let it go.”
“Neither would I,” Ronan muttered.
“She’s already pissed,” Maddox continued. “Said the girl’s walking around like she’s expecting to get hit for breathing too loud.”
Ronan exhaled slowly, a low sound full of tension.
“She’s not like the rest of them,” Maddox said. “You saw that too.”
“I did,” Ronan said quietly.
Maddox pushed off the wall. “What do you want to do?”
Ronan looked up then, eyes hard. “Keep her here. Safe. Fed. Unbothered.”
Maddox nodded.
“She’s still Reed Graves’ daughter,” Ronan added. “But that doesn’t make her him.”
“She’s not even a blip on his radar,” Maddox muttered. “You should’ve seen his sons yesterday. The boys wanted to go after her, and Reed basically called her a wasted breath.”
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “He’s going to regret that.”
Maddox smirked, grim. “So will anyone else who’s laid hands on her.”
Back in the hallway, Remy leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, waiting for the water to stop running.
Inside the shower, Evelyn stood under the stream, arms wrapped around herself.
It was the first time in years she’d been warm and clean at the same time.
She didn’t know it yet…
But the Vultures had just declared war in her name.
- Writer
