Page 61 of Brutal for It
Tripp steps in from outside, eyes scanning the scene. “You good?”
I nod once. “It’s done.”
He doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t need to.
Pretty Boy checks the hallway. “Women are in the back. They’re scared.”
Crunch moves first. “Let’s get them out.”
It takes time. We move careful and quiet. The women flinch at every sound, every shadow. Some can barely stand. One clutches a small bag to her chest like it’s the only thing she owns.
I kneel beside her. “You’re safe now,” I tell her softly. “There’s a van outside. Someone’s gonna take you somewhere clean. You’re gonna get the support you need. You don’t owe anyone anything anymore.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, confused. “Why?”
“Because someone helped the woman I love once,” I share. “And I’m paying it forward.”
Doc Kelly’s contact — the social worker — arrives within minutes, wearing plain clothes and calm eyes. She moves through the group like she’s done this before, her voice steady and kind.
“We’ll take care of them,” she promises. “Anonymous intake. No paperwork that leads back.”
Tripp hands her an envelope. “Funds for whatever they need. No names.”
She nods. “You boys just did something good. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
We watch as the vans pull away — seven women, seven new chances.
Pretty Boy lights a cigarette and exhales slowly. “Think they’ll make it?”
“Some will,” Crunch says. “Some won’t. But they got a shot now. That’s more than they had yesterday.”
Tripp claps his shoulder. “That’s what we can give them, a second chance.”
Karma calls the cleanup crew. They’ll handle what’s left behind — erase the trail, close the book. The motel will be shut down. Maybe reopened with new owners. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter. The poison’s gone.
The ride home is quiet. The engines hum low, a chorus of ghosts and relief. The storm that had been threatening finally breaks, rain hitting our cuts, washing the dust from our faces.
By the time I pull into our driveway, it’s near midnight. The lights are dim, the world still.
I park the bike and stand there for a long time, letting the rain soak through my shirt. The sound is steady, grounding.
Inside, the house is dark except for one lamp by the window. She’s there curled under a blanket, head resting against the arm of the couch. She must’ve fallen asleep waiting for me.
I take off my boots quietly, not wanting to wake her, but she stirs anyway, eyes blinking open.
“Tommy?”
“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”
She sits up, rubbing her eyes. “You’re late.”
“Ran long.”
Her gaze sharpens, tracing the rain dripping from my hair, the exhaustion in my shoulders. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I sit beside her, taking her hand. “It’s done.”
She studies me for a long time, the silence between us full but gentle. She doesn’t ask what done means. Maybe she doesn’t need to. Maybe she already knows.
