Page 27 of Rampage

"Sweet and stubborn," Grace agrees fondly. "Just like her brothers."

A sharp whistle cuts through the chatter, and Aiden steps up to the large wooden table. "All right, everyone take your seats. We've got business to discuss."

Reid appears at my side, his hand finding mine. "Ready?" he asks quietly.

I nod, though my heart is racing again. He guides me toward the massive table, pulling out a chair for me near one end, where I'm acutely aware of all eyes on me. The room falls into a respectful silence as members take their places, some at the table, others standing along the walls.

The formal proceedings begin with club business I don't fully understand, but then Aiden turns the focus to me.

"Brothers, we're here tonight to vote on extending club protection to Lily Chambers," he announces, his voice carrying an authority that commands respect. "One of our members has brought this request to the table, but before we vote, you deserve to hear the situation directly from the source."

He nods to me, indicating I should speak. The room falls completely silent now, and I feel the weight of two dozen gazes fixed on me. Reid's hand finds mine under the table, warm and steady. I focus on that touch, using it to anchor myself as I take a deep breath and begin to speak.

"I was placed with Frank and Marlene Dawson when I was sixteen," I start, my voice shakier than I'd like. "They seemed normal at first. Good, even. But Frank…" I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat.

Reid's thumb traces small circles on my palm, a silent encouragement.

"Frank started coming into my room at night. At first, he'd just stand there, watching me pretend to sleep. Then he started touching me." My voice drops to an almost whisper, but in the complete silence of the room, everyone hears me. "When I fought back or threatened to tell someone, he'd beat me. Said no one would believe me anyway."

A low murmur of anger ripples through the men around the table. I see hands tightening into fists, jaws clenching. Reid's grip on my hand becomes almost painful before he relaxes it.

"The night before my eighteenth birthday, he was drunk. Worse than usual. I knew what he was planning." The memory of that night—the splintering door, the terror coursing through me—feels so vivid my heart starts racing again. "I climbed out my window. Two stories up. I had a backpack ready, had been adding to it for weeks. Just essentials."

I look up, meeting Aiden's eyes directly. "I didn't steal anything. The jewelry, the money—that's a lie. I had less than four hundred dollars that I'd saved from my job at a gas station. That's all."

"Where did you go?" one of the other men asks.

"My friend Jeremy worked at a diner next to the gas station. He let me sleep in the break room that night. The next day—my birthday—he connected me with his cousin Deb. Bought me a bus ticket here."

I glance at Reid, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "I've been working for Deb and Mrs. Winters for a year now. Building a life. And then today…" My voice wavers. "That officer showed up. Said Frank filed charges against me."

"And you believe he won't stop," Aiden says. It's not a question.

I nod, my throat tight. "Frank has… evidence. Photos, videos, of the girls before me. Things that could destroy him if they got out. He's afraid I'll expose him."

The room's temperature seems to drop several degrees as understanding dawns on the faces around me. These men, with their hard exteriors and gruff voices, suddenly look murderous.

"How many other girls?" someone asks.

"Eight that I know of," I say. "All foster kids. All vulnerable. All trapped."

Alex steps forward from the wall where he's been standing, the scar above his eyebrow more pronounced under the harsh overhead lights. "What's his address? This Frank Dawson." His voice carries the same dangerous tone as Reid's, but with a barely controlled rage that makes several members shift in their seats.

"Alexander," Aiden warns, but Alex shakes his head.

"No, Dad. We need details. If we're voting to protect her, we need to know exactly who we're dealing with." Alex's eyes find mine, intense but not unkind. "Lily, does he have connections? Law enforcement? Politicians? We need to understand the reach of this bastard."

Jacob moves silently to stand beside his twin, his quieter presence somehow more unsettling. Where Alex burns hot with anger, Jacob radiates cold calculation.

"The officer today," Jacob says, his voice softer than his brother's but no less intense. "He knew exactly who you were. That suggests coordination. Not just some random warrant check. Who else in your hometown might be helping him? Teachers? Social workers? Other cops?"

I'm startled by the tactical precision of their questions. They're not just angry—they're analyzing the threat, breaking it down into components they can address.

"He's friends with the sheriff," I admit. "And a county judge. They go hunting together. He… he used to brag about it whenever I threatened to…” I trail off.

Lane, the president, nods, seemingly satisfied. He looks around the table at his brothers. "You've heard Lily's story. Frank Dawson is using his connections with local law enforcement to harass and threaten her with false charges. He's attempting to force her back into an abusive situation. The question before us is simple: do we extend club protection to Lily Chambers?"

One by one, the men around the table voice their support. Some say "Yes" or "Aye," while others add comments that make my cheeks flush with their vehemence. The vote is unanimous.

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