Page 6 of Dagger

I hit him again. And again. Each punch lands harder than the last, fueled by all the anger, all the frustration, all the pain I’ve seen tonight.

I think about the women outside, too broken to even cry properly. I think about the haunted look in their eyes, the way their bodies trembled under blankets meant to comfort them. I think about how powerless they must have felt.

And I let it all out.

The man groans, his head lolling to the side, but I don’t stop. Not yet. Not until I feel the burning in my chest ease, not until the rage quiets, even just a little.

"You think you’re a man?" I spit, my voice shaking. "You think you’re tough? This is what happens when you prey on people who can’t fight back."

My knuckles throb, blood—his or mine, I don’t know—smeared across them. My breaths come hard and fast as I take a step back, staring down at him. He’s slumped in the chair, blood dripping from his mouth, his swollen eyes barely able to stay open.

The rage still simmers in my chest, but I feel a grim satisfaction watching him like this—powerless, weak, nothing like the predator he thought he was.

This isn’t justice, not really. But it’s something. And right now, it’s all I can do.

As I step back out of the room, my chest still heaving and my knuckles throbbing, I spot Tank in the distance. He’s holding Sophie in his arms, her head resting against his chest like she’s found the safest place in the world.

The way Tank looks down at her makes me stop in my tracks. His expression, normally hard and unreadable, is soft—almost reverent. It’s the kind of look you give to something fragile and precious, something you’d protect with your life. Damn.

Tank’s no ordinary man. As our Sergeant-at-Arms, he’s the backbone of our brotherhood, the one who ensures we stay in line and that no one messes with us—or those we care about. He’s built like a mountain, and his presence alone is enough to make most men think twice about crossing him.

But with Sophie, he’s different. Gentle. Almost tender.

She came stumbling into our clubhouse, Perdition, a couple of months ago, barely holding herself together. Clothes ripped, body bruised, and eyes hollow. She collapsed the moment shecrossed the threshold, and Tank was there to catch her before she hit the ground.

She was his the second she passed out in his arms. Everyone could see it—even her, once she woke up.

Tank made it his mission to heal her, piece by piece. He didn’t just help her recover physically; he gave her hope, something she hadn’t had in a long time. And when Sophie told him about the women still trapped in the hell she’d escaped, Tank swore on his life that he’d save them.

And he did.

Looking at them now, it’s clear she’s his world. Sophie’s still thin, still fragile in some ways, but the haunted look in her eyes has started to fade. She looks up at him like he’s her anchor, and maybe he is.

I feel a pang of something—respect, admiration, maybe even envy. Not because of Sophie, but because of what they’ve found in each other. Something solid. Something real.

Tank glances up and catches my eye, giving me a small nod. It’s a look that says,We’re not done yet.

I nod back, knowing he’s right. There’s more to do, more people to save, more justice to deliver. But for now, seeing Sophie safe in his arms is a reminder of why we do this. Of why we fight.

Sophie finally got to save Chloe tonight—the girl she’d called her little sister since their days in captivity. It was a moment she’d been waiting for, fighting for, ever since she escaped that hell.

Back when they were both trapped, Sophie had taken Chloe under her wing, doing everything she could to shield her from the worst of it. Chloe was younger, yet spunkier, and so heartbreakingly naive when they were first thrown together. Sophie had seen the terror in her eyes and had made it hermission to protect her, to keep her as safe as she could in a place where safety didn’t exist.

They had clung to each other like lifelines, whispering stories about the lives they used to have and the lives they wanted to live someday. Sophie had promised Chloe that they’d get out, that she’d make sure they survived. It was the only thing that kept them both going—the fragile hope that there was something better waiting for them on the other side.

But when Sophie managed to escape, Chloe wasn’t with her. That failure had haunted Sophie every day since, gnawing at her like a wound that wouldn’t heal. She couldn’t save Chloe then, but she swore she’d come back for her.

And tonight, she kept that promise.

Seeing Chloe again, alive but battered, brought a mix of relief and heartbreak. Chloe’s haunted eyes were too familiar, a reflection of the same pain Sophie carried. But this time, Sophie wasn’t powerless.

She’d wrapped Chloe in a blanket and held her tightly, whispering, “I told you I’d come back for you. I told you I’d get you out.”

Chloe had cried then, clutching Sophie like she was afraid to let go, her sobs shaking both of them. It was the first time in a long time that Sophie had felt like they might actually be okay—like they’d finally found their way out of the darkness.

All the women climb into the back of our van, their movements slow and careful, like every step reminds them of what they’ve been through. We’re bringing them back to Perdition to get patched up, fed, and taken care of. It’s the least we can do after everything they’ve endured.

I lean against the side of the van, watching as they settle in, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by the quiet hum of relief. My eyes linger on Chloe longer than I mean to, but there’ssomething about her that draws me in. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

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