He seemed to consider how to answer, then pointed to Percy's window on the second floor of the clubhouse.
The realization hit me. "You mean when Biggins tried to take Percy?"
Liam nodded emphatically.
Christ. That had been over a month ago—a nasty situation when Alpha Biggins had tried to forcibly reclaim Percy as part of his fox skulk. If this kid had been watching us even back then...
"Did you see what happened?" I asked, genuinely curious.
Liam made a series of quick gestures—pointing to his eyes, then to various positions around the yard, pantomiming someone sneaking around, then being confronted. The kid had a talent for silent communication.
"You saw it all," I said, and it wasn't a question. "From hiding."
He nodded, a flicker of something like pride crossing his features.
"Listen," I said, leaning forward slightly but careful not to crowd him, "I want you to know something. You're welcomehere. The food I leave out? That's for you. On purpose." I tapped the table. "This is your table as much as anyone's."
Liam's brow furrowed slightly, obviously skeptical.
"I mean it. But I'd appreciate it if you'd let us know when you see people who shouldn't be here. Like you did today." I gestured toward the clubhouse. "We've got people inside who've been hurt before. People who need protecting."
Something in his expression shifted—a flash of understanding, maybe even empathy.
"Deal?" I asked.
After a moment's hesitation, he gave a single nod.
"Good." I drained the last of my beer, feeling strangely satisfied with our silent conversation.
I couldn't quite figure out why this particular homeless kid had caught my interest so thoroughly. I'd helped plenty of people over the years—the MC had a soft spot for strays and outcasts—but something about Liam pulled at me differently.
Maybe it was those golden lynx eyes, or the careful way he ate what I provided, or how he'd risked his own safety to protect our club from an intruder.
Over the months, I'd noticed his preferences in the food I left out. He devoured anything with protein—chicken, beef, eggs—and had a surprising fondness for sweet things. Fruit disappeared quickly, especially berries. Vegetables were hit or miss; he liked potatoes and carrots but left broccoli untouched. I'd started adjusting my offerings accordingly, making sure to include the things he seemed to enjoy most.
It was strange, this one-sided relationship we'd developed. I knew his eating habits better than those of some club members I'd known for years, yet I'd barely heard him speak a word.
"Winter's coming," I said, nodding toward the darkening sky. "Temperatures drop fast up here. You got somewhere warm to stay?"
Liam shrugged, his expression carefully blank.
Not a good sign.
"The clubhouse has extra rooms," I offered, trying to sound casual. "You helped us out today. Least we could do is give you a warm place to sleep when the snow hits."
He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the suggestion.
"Just think about it," I said. "No pressure. But Montana winters are brutal, especially if you're sleeping rough."
I was about to continue when Liam's head suddenly snapped up, his body going rigid with attention. His eyes, reflecting the security lights, narrowed as he scanned the yard with an intensity that reminded me of a predator sensing danger.
"What is it?" I whispered, immediately on alert.
Liam pressed a finger to his lips in the universal sign for silence, then pointed toward the tree line at the edge of the property. I squinted into the darkness, but saw nothing.
Before I could question him further, his hand shot out and wrapped around my wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone so thin. With a quick jerk of his head toward Gearhead's workshop, he pulled me to my feet.
I followed his lead, letting him guide me into the shadows beside the building. He moved with absolute silence, feet barely seeming to touch the ground as he found a position behind a stack of old tires that gave us a clear view of the yard while keeping us hidden.
