“Do you?” Spike asks.
The question lands heavily.
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I trust her. I just don’t trust the world.”
Spike nods once.
“Then protect the world around her,” he says. “Not her from the world.”
That hits.
Because that’s the difference.
Locking her inside these walls keeps her safe… and smaller.
Securing the street around her shop? Installing additional surveillance?
That keeps her safe without dimming her light.
“I’d have agreed, though,” he says. “Moving her shop within our walls would lessen my own anxiety about her safety. But we can’t do that to her. Instead, we’ll spare no expense to secure her shop.”
“We need to buy the block,” I say as the men approach us. “Set up security on all the buildings and have a detail on her at all times.”
Spike nods, and I can see his eyes are working through ways to keep his baby sister safe, just as Maverick and his brother stop in front of us.
“Gentlemen,” Stefano greets.
“Stefano,” Spike accepts the man's outstretched hand. “Maverick. Let’s head inside.”
I force myself to switch gears and focus on the immediate problem at hand.
Still, as we move toward the clubhouse, my gaze drifts to Max’s house. The windows are lit. Curtains drawn. From the outside, it looks like any normal evening on the compound.
It’s not.
Prospects are scattered across the grounds, pretending to be casual. One leans against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Another walks slow laps past the houses. Two more stand near the pool talking.
To anyone watching from a distance? Just a bunch of bikers killing time.
To me?
A perimeter.
No one strays too far from our precious family.
No blind spots.
No weak angles.
I nod at Mike as we pass. He’s planted in Max’s porch rocker like he hasn’t a care in the world, boot propped up on the railing, hat tipped low. Lazy. Relaxed.
But I see the way his eyes track movement without moving his head.
Good.
Inside that house is Riley. Asher. Sunny. Lila. Eli. Micah. Bree.
And Abby.
