She holds her breath, and the silence is my answer. Mara swallows hard and says, “I don’t want him involved, he's already so stressed and with everything else going on… It’ll escalate things.”
I try again because Razor is a live wire and if he is comfortable doing this… “Mara?”
She interrupts me with a pleading look in her eyes, “Things are already strained, Gabe is so stressed. I can’t add to that. I…. it’ll be fine.”
Her brother is the Club President of the Dawnbreakers and Angelwould most definitely snap if he knew what was happening to his sister.
I hate this, but if I push or do something without her consent then I may be taking away her one safe space… I need to listen to her.
“Okay,” I say carefully. “We’ll keep this between us.”
She nods again, relief flickering across her features for just a second.
“And I… I need to ask you something else.”
Her voice drops lower, so I pull the stool closer.
“Razor doesn’t want me taking the pill anymore,” she says, staring at the floor. “He says it messes with my hormones. Says it makes me distant.”
My stomach tightens.
“I don’t want to get pregnant,” she whispers. “Not right now.”
Not like this.
“He checks my prescriptions,” she adds, barely audible. “Counts the days.”
Fuck.
Control doesn’t always start with fists.
“Are there other options?” she asks. “Something he wouldn’t see?”
I keep my tone even. “There’s the shot you could get, it lasts three months. Or there’s an implant, an IUD.”
She nods slowly. “Something long-term.”
“You’d need to come back for placement,” I say. “And we’d still need to chart it somewhere.”
Her shoulders stiffen and I know she doesn’t want anything on paper or anything the club could trace. Does that mean that Razor is tracking more than just her medication? And who does he have? I can’t imagine Cypher doing that for him, keeping that from Angel.
I finish wrapping her wrist, carefully.
“There’s another option,” I say, lowering my voice slightly. “There’s a trauma clinic not far from here. Two women run it and they specialize in situations that… require discretion.”
Her eyes flick up, fear mingled with hope.
“They won’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer,” I add. “And they won’t report back to anyone.”
Mara studies my face like she’s trying to decide whether this is betrayal or salvation.
“I can’t let him know,” she whispers.
“I know.”
I excuse myself under the pretence of grabbing supplies. The hallway outside the exam room is quiet, while a code echoes faintly somewhere distant.
I slip into the supply closet, my heart is beating faster than it should be.