“Yeah.”

“Ooookay then.” She tucked her head back against my chest. “So you do cult extractions with a deprogrammer and stuff? I’ve heard of that.”

“That was our first and only cult job so far. It’s not our usual kind, but we couldn’t pass it up.”

“What is your usual kind?”

“Scary reinforcements for kids who have to testify against their abusers. We give ’em a biker escort, walk ’em inside, and, if we’re allowed, sit in the courtroom. When we’re not, we wait outside the door so they know they’re safe.”

“That’s so… wow.”

“Not done, baby. Mayhem also helps get people, mostly women, away from abusive assholes in their many forms—husband, boyfriend, parent, bear cult leader. Those jobs don’t happen as often as the trial support. Not even monthly. But they do come up, including today.”

The air in the room felt as heavy as the conversation. It wasn’t easy to think about.

To hear about.

I didn’t say more, following her lead. Giving her only as much as she wanted to know.

But she was Mac. Unlike the majority of people, who couldn’t think about anyone else because their heads were too far up their own asses, she cared.

“So the move you helped with today…”

“A remarried widow and her kids needed to get away from a controlling sack of shit.”

May be the biggest understatement of my whole damn life.

“The eight-year-old,” Mac said.

I braced, hoping like hell she didn’t ask why Maisie didn’t want to move. I hated the thought of lying to Mac, but I would.

My head was already filled with Maisie’s words.

I sure as shit wasn’t putting them in Mac’s.

She sat up, pulling the sheet with her and tucking it under her arms. “Did she agree to move? Because moves are already hard without all this. With something so major, so traumatic, if she—”

“She agreed.”

Mac deflated before my eyes.

I put my hand on her stomach. “Got you to thank for that, baby. Took your advice, started telling her about Dumpster, and that was my in. She agreed, and we got them settled with family out of state.”

“Good.” She tilted her head, studying me. “Why do you do it?”

The whole thing started with Scythe, but that wasn’t my story to tell.

I gave her a different truth. “It’s the right thing to do. Don’t need a reason beyond that.”

She nodded, satisfied with that. Her hand gently covered mine on her belly. “What about your knuckles?”

I chose my words carefully so there was no lie. “Got banged up with the move.”

“But you’re okay?”

Christ, she kills me.

“Yeah, baby, it doesn’t even hurt.”

“Good.” Her gaze moved to the other side of the room, staring off. Processing everything I’d said.