You guys got second lead syndrome after knowing Knives for TWO chapters? Seriously? I can't take you guys ANYWHERE 😂

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"You did? What did you find?"

"He's trafficking women to the middle east. He preys on Mexican women crossing the border since no one asks many questions when they go missing, and he's kidnapping them."

"Holy fuck. Who are we passing this information to?"

"Probably some feminist organization, the United Nations, and the FBI. They'll tear his ass apart. We got receipts, messages, files of sold women."

"Is that operation over, then? Since he's out of the picture?"

"The trafficking? Nah, sweetness. That bastard was only one piece of the puzzle. Taking him out won't be enough to halt the business."

The happiness in her chest chilled. She didn't want to stop here. She wanted to help more women. Free them from the hopelessness she was semi-familiar with.

"Can't we do more? I can go back in there. I can bump into a few more men, and..."

"No, Raelynn. This is far above us. We don't even have a map of the hierarchy. We don't know who the targets are."

"But..."

"Sorry. We're at a dead end."

"I get it," she swallowed. "Thank you and take care.

So much for pride.

She slumped on her bed and stared at the chipped wall on the ceiling. Not wanting to entertain the dessert of disappointment in her belly, she picked a book from her nightstand and began reading.

She discovered in minutes that she didn't want to continue neglecting reality for fiction. She didn't want to read about heroines, but become one herself.

Bored and irritated, she shelved the book. It was a weekday, and although she had worked the next day, she knew she wouldn't get an ounce of sleep.

Her phone lit up as an unknown number called. The caller ID was from Arizona. Figuring it was one of Knives' biker friends, she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Raelynn?"

The man's thick Mexican accent alerted her. Maxim had enemies on the border and on each coast. Did one of them find her?

"Who is this?" She asked instead.

"I'm a former co-worker of Maksim's. We used to work construction about a year ago. I tried to go to his place many times, but it looks like he moved out. Maksim talked about you enough times that I learned your name, so I searched for you until I got this number."

"Uh..." she didn't know what to respond to that. Maksim never spoke much of work, so she didn't know the first thing about his work friends.

"Did he owe you money?"

"No. God, no. I have been trying to track him down to thank him. When he went missing at work, I found him drinking himself to death. He asked me a strange question. He wanted to know the name of the gangster that raped my little girl over in Mexico. He promised he would avenge her. A week later, I get news that the man died dead. I know Maksim did it. I know it, and I have been tracking him down to give him my gratitude. Que Dios lo bendiga." (God bless him)

Raelynn covered her mouth to hide her gasp, but nothing stopped tears from spilling.

Not wanting to get Maksim legally compromised, she lied and said, "there must be some confusion. Please don't call again. Take care."

She hung up and stared at the phone.

Maksim did this. He avenged a devastated family. The pride that she earlier felt for herself shifted to him.

Something clicked. Months ago, when she was still pregnant and hellbent on keeping the babies out of mafia business, Maksim made an argument she didn't understand.

"That's the thing... clean doesn't build for the world. It builds for one person. If you want them to bring good to the world, then they'll have to get their hands dirty."

She got it now. All along, she thought about the murder, theft, and kidnapping. She thought about mafia bosses stiffening their bones with delusions of Godliness, only to be killed by a bullet that carried death and the reminder that no mortal is bulletproof.

All she saw was the individual crimson-red crimes, not the picture they painted. She never asked Maksim what good his dirty money could do. She never asked what evil they could crush with evil.

Maksim was a vigilante. Their children would have become that, too.

She didn't know how she felt about that, but one thing was certain, the mafia world no longer made her skin crawl.

– • –

She thought about the roadblock throughout the week. With Maksim's resources, they could tear apart a dozen trafficking rings. They could do what crooked cops and politicians wouldn't do.

She would have been going back on the promise she made her father, but it would have been for a greater cause. Not selfishness, but sacrifice.

Maybe the trade-off was worth it.

She found focus on her life again– helping those that were lost. She was distracted all day at work, wondering if she could still have a future with Maksim.

Many times, she punched Maksim's number into her keypad, but struggled to call. Was it fair for her to interrupt his healing by barging back into his life? Did he already heal and change his phone number?

She hit the call button on the thousandth time the questions ran through her mind.

There was no answer.

"You should stop by for the club party on Friday."

She looked up from her ice-cream. "No way. You know I'm not a club sweet-butt who likes getting hit on by drunk bikers."

Knives squinted. "You used to belong to a boss, didn't you?"

Her ice cream almost tipped over. She was shocked by the observation.

"What the hell made you reach that conclusion?" She didn't bother to correct him. The MC and mafias were used to seeing women as property.

"Well, you don't take my shit. You talk to me as if you're my size. Also, some of our conversations prove that you know a little too much about the underground. Too many questions about turfs and drugs, territory splits, and gun suppliers. Normally, people only talk so deeply about these topics when they've dipped a finger into the world."

Had she been that obvious?

She was getting nervous.

The ding of a notification went off, and she was grateful for the distraction as she pulled the cellphone out.

She got a new text from an unknown number. It was a short message, but it was enough to make her ice-cream tip over and splatter on the concrete.

Your babies are alive.