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“Tank, he...” She pauses. “He didn’t just take me; he marked me as his.” The words are like poison on her tongue, each syllable laced with the venom of memory.
I nod, my throat tight, a silent vow forming deep within me. I listen, absorbing every painful confession, letting her know with my silence that I’m here, bearing witness to her scars.
“First night, I remember it was cold,” Cheree continues, her gaze distant. “The fear... it clutched at me, a living thing. I didn’t understand what was happening, why my mom... why she would do that to me.” Her fingers curl into fists, knuckles white as bone. “Every time he touched me,” she whispers, “it was like being claimed all over again. A piece of me chipped away until I wasn’t sure there’d be anything left.”
“Cheree, Tank is dead and buried. You’re free,” I say, my voice barely above the hum of the engine. It’s all I can manage without letting the rage that simmers in my blood break free. I want to tear down the world that hurt her, but right now, she needs me to be the anchor, not the storm. “And as much as I want you. I want you to know, I will never force myself upon you.” Pausing, I say with conviction, “Never.”
“Thank you for listening, JD,” she murmurs.
“Always,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil that rages inside me.
Her fingers entwine with mine, a silent thank you that stings like salt in an open wound. My jaw clenches as her pain seeps into me, a toxic reminder of how this world can chew you up, spit you out, and never look back.
“Cheree, I ain’t much for talking about myself. But there’re things you should know.” My thumb brushes over her knuckles. “Me and Grim, we go way back. He had his family in the MC, but I was in the gutter, a throwaway who found a family with his.” I pause, memories of blood and loyalty flooding my mind. “Decisions I made, things I did, they haunt me. Not ‘cause I regret standing by Grim, but because I know the cost. The toll it takes on your soul.”
“JD,” she whispers, her voice a balm to the raw edges of my confession. “You don’t have to carry all that alone anymore.”
A bitter laugh escapes me, and I shake my head. “Ain’t that easy, darlin’. But having you here, it makes the load a bit lighter.”
Her thumb strokes the back of my hand, a tender gesture that eases the clench of my heart. I’ve laid bare parts of me that few have seen, but with Cheree, it feels right—like another piece of my fractured world clicking into place.
“Thank you,” she says, and I find solace in the knowledge that she understands the man behind the scar, the monster within tamed by her touch. “JD.” Her voice is steady despite the weight of our pasts. “You play the cards you were given. Like me, you probably did what you needed to do to survive. We both probably made decisions we wished we could change but there’s no going back.”
Her hand on mine is firm, and I can feel the pulse of her strength. She’s no damsel in distress, she’s the queen in a game of chess, moving across a board of asphalt and danger.
“Yeah. Grim took me in when no one else would. Loyalty’s what keeps us together—it’s our code, our bond. Without it, we’re nothing.”
“JD.” Her voice grows firmer, more determined than I’ve ever heard it. “I want out. I want a life where I’m not looking over my shoulder, waiting for the Defiant Men to claim what they think is theirs.”
“Out?” I repeat.
“Far out,” she corrects me, her gaze locked on the sprawling city lights that now dance just beyond our reach. “A place where names like Tank and Cherry and JD don’t mean a damn thing. A clean slate.”
“Cheree—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“No, listen.” Her command brooks no argument. “I’m done being someone’s property, JD. Done with the fear. I want to wake up and not wonder if today’s the day my past comes roaring back on two wheels. And maybe I want you there with me.”
I hear the steel in her voice, the kind that’s forged in the fires of hell. She’s not just talking about dreams; she’s talking about forging destiny with her own hands. And in that moment, I see her—not just Cherry, the red-haired enigma wrapped in leather and defiance, but Cheree LaRoux, a woman carved from survival and hope.
“Alright,” I say, my voice a low growl of agreement. “We’ll find that place. You and me. No looking back.”
My gaze softens as I look at her, and what I see stirs something deep within. This woman, this warrior beside me, has walked through hellfire and emerged not unscathed, but undefeated.
“Listen to me, Cherry.” I reach over. “I don’t care how dark the road gets. I’m with you. And I’ll fight for you—to keep you safe, to give you that new beginning.”
In the silence that stretches between one breath and the next, I feel it. The weight of our pasts, the strength of our resolve—it binds us tighter. It’s a connection born from vulnerability, from bearing our souls.
“JD...” She squeezes my hand, her touch a lifeline in the chaos. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for,” I say, but my heart thunders in my chest like it knows the truth. We’re two halves of the same coin, spinning endlessly in fate’s gambit.
And as the New York skyline looms larger, a steel-and-glass monument to dreams and defiance, I feel it—that unspoken promise of a future.
“JD,” Cheree murmurs, her voice a thread woven through the fabric of the night. “It feels like for the first time...I can actually breathe.”
“We’re gonna do more than just survive. We’re gonna live.”
“Live,” she repeats, tasting the word, savoring its flavor on her tongue. “No one’s ever made me believe that could be real. Not until you.”
