Page 10 of Ranger’s Protection

"Why?"

"Because he was reaching for a gun while actively trying to break into the bathroom where you were hiding. If I'd waited another two seconds to neutralize him, he would've shot me and then broken down that door."

I keep my eyes on the road, giving her space to process that answer. In my peripheral vision, I see her nod slowly. Accepting the logic even if the reality of it sits heavy.

"The others," she says. "The ones you zip-tied. Are they going to—"

"Die?" I finish. "The one I shot in the leg won't if he gets medical attention in the next hour. Someone will find them. The motel manager will call it in. Paramedics will arrive. He'll live to face charges."

Assuming the Vipers don't kill him first for failing to bring her in. But I don't say that part.

"And him?" She tilts her head slightly toward the back seat without looking directly at Vale. "What happens to him?"

"Phoenix will question him. Find out what he knows about Demon's location, his plans, his remaining resources. Then we'll turn him over to the authorities with evidence of his crimes."

"The authorities didn't help me before," she says. "Some of them are connected to the Vipers. That's why I was hiding instead of in protective custody."

"I know. Phoenix's contact explained the situation. But we have connections too. Federal level. People who aren't on the Vipers' payroll." I glance at her briefly. "You're not going back into a system that failed you. You're under Iron Phoenix protection now. That's different."

She's quiet for a long moment, and I can practically hear her brain working through the implications.

"I don't understand why you're helping me," she finally says. "I'm nobody. Just a witness who saw something she shouldn't have. This isn't your fight."

"It became our fight the second the Vipers made it our fight," I tell her. "We're already at war with them. Have been for weeks. Helping you isn't charity, it's strategic. You have information they don't want shared. That makes you valuable. That makes them vulnerable."

It's true, but it's not the whole truth.

The whole truth is that when Phoenix told us about a woman hiding alone in a motel room, waiting to die because she tried to do the right thing, every man in that clubhouse wanted to bring her in. Not because she's strategically valuable. Because protecting people who can't protect themselves is what we do. It's why Phoenix founded this club in the first place.

But Delilah doesn't need to hear that right now. Right now, she needs practical answers. Logic. The kind of transactional thinking that makes sense when emotions are too big to process.

"The man you killed," she says, and there's something different in her voice now. Steadier. She looks back again at Vale, then forward. "His name was David Miller. He had a daughter. Emma. Seven years old."

I process that for a second. "The victim."

"Yes. He worked in accounting with me. He was... he was a good person. Kind. Patient. The kind of dad who kept gummy bears in his desk drawer for his kid." She's gripping her hands together now, knuckles white. "The man in your back seat shot him in the head while two other men held him down. I watched through a gap in the door. I heard David begging for his life. I heard—"

Her voice breaks.

I give her ten seconds, then say: "You reported it. Tried to get him justice. That took courage."

"It took stupidity," she corrects bitterly. "I told the wrong people. Nearly got myself killed. And for what? David's still dead. Emma still doesn't have a father. All I did was make myself a target."

"You gave Emma the truth," I say. "You made sure what happened to her father is documented. That matters. Even if it doesn't feel like it right now, it matters."

From the back seat, Vale laughs. Cold and humorless. "Touching. Real touching. You know what's going to happen to her, right? Demon doesn't give up. He's got ears everywhere. She'll never be safe. Not really. Not while she's breathing."

I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. "You should stop talking."

"Or what? You'll kill me like you killed my brother?"

The man by the nightstand. Brothers. That explains the similar builds, the matching tattoos on their forearms I noticed when I was restraining them.

I feel nothing about that information.

"Your brother tried to break into a bathroom to kidnap a witness," I say flatly. "He made his choice. I made mine. Cry about it if you want but do it quietly."

Vale's jaw clenches. I can see the rage building behind his eyes, the desire to lunge forward despite the zip-ties, despite being outnumbered, despite the obvious stupidity of trying anything while I'm driving.