His little girl, whether she knew it yet or not.
His job now was to keep her safe, keep her steady, and wait.
The compound lights appeared ahead.
He felt her lift her head, taking it in.
"Almost there," he said, loud enough to carry over the engine.
Her arms tightened for just a second. Just one.
He let himself feel the full weight of that, and then he filed it away where it would keep, and he pulled through the gate.
CHAPTER 3
EMILY
The compound was not what she expected.
She didn't know exactly what she had expected to be honest. Something out of a movie, maybe. She imagined there would be dirty floors and pool tables and women in cut-off shorts draped over things. The kind of place that smelled like cigarettes and beer. It smelled like vanilla and leather, a much more pleasant smell.
She took it all in. Leather and chrome adorned the inside of the clubhouse, mirroring the style of the men occupying the space. Black leather furniture filled the spaces, with silver chrome looking tables. It was as if she’d been plunked out of reality and placed into the ultimate wide open man cave. Two large pool tables were in the back corner, a large bar with multiple stools were along one wall. Stairs led up to what she assumed were office spaces. Spread out across the room were several seating areas with couches and oversized chairs. There were flowers on the tables and throw pillows on the couches. Soft, feminine touches. Bookcases adorned the walls and among the books were stacked board games, coloring books and art supplies, colorful jars of playdough. On the opposite side of the wide-open room were four tables each seating twelve. Behindthe dining area were two large swinging doors. A man was coming through it and she could see a large kitchen on the other side.
The man named Irish, who Rampage had spoken with back at the gas station, was roughly the size of a refrigerator. She was surprised when he crouched on the floor and let an enormous, brown and black dog lick his entire face.
"That's Clover," said a woman who appeared at Emily's elbow from nowhere. Mid-twenties, hair pulled up, wearing a Watchmen hoodie three sizes too big. She had warm eyes and a kind smile. "I'm Nicole. Don't let Irish pretend he's intimidating. Clover ruins the illusion."
Irish, still being actively groomed by the dog, pointed at Nicole without looking up. "Not another word."
"I didn't say anything untrue." She shrugged.
Emily laughed. It surprised her. The sound came out a little broken around the edges, but it was real, and the tightness in her chest loosened by about ten percent.
"Come on." Nicole touched her elbow, light and careful, like she understood that right now Emily's skin was still wound too tight for anything more. "Let's get you something warm. Have you eaten?"
"I—" She tried to remember. Lunch. She'd had lunch. That felt like it had happened to a different person in a different century. "Not really."
"Okay. Food and then we'll find you some stuff for the night." She looked over at Rampage and got a quick nod of permission.
“I need to debrief some of the men and catch Lucky up on the turn of events. Then make a couple calls, let Dax know what happened tonight so law enforcement can be aware and give Phantom the head’s up. You two behave. I’ll show her upstairs in about an hour, maybe less. Are you okay going with Nicole, baby?”
Baby.
She didn’t know why, but the pet name made her stomach nice and warm. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She started to walk across the room with Nicole, very aware of her settings and all the men hanging out.
“Tater almost always has something delicious cooking in the kitchen when the other Dad, um,” she quickly corrected herself, “members aren’t cooking.”
“Tater? Irish, Savage, Lucky, Phantom… Do they all have interesting names?” Emily asked.
“Well their nicknames are interesting, they have very boring biological names that really don’t fit any of them,” Nicole told her. “They are all military veterans, special forces operators. They earned their names in a variety of ways. Well, Tank earned his by his size alone. He’s the largest man I’ve ever met. Even bigger than all of them—” she gestured to the men in the room.
“I can’t imagine,” Emily said, following Nicole towards the kitchen. The swinging doors shut behind them and she climbed onto a barstool at the kitchen island and let Nicole move around the space with easy familiarity, pulling things from cabinets, and she sat there and breathed.
The adrenaline was leaving now. She could feel it going. A horrible draining feeling, like something had been holding her up and had now quietly let go. Her hands were still unsteady when she wrapped them around the mug Nicole set in front of her. Warm chocolate milk. She hadn't even asked.
"You don't have to talk," Nicole said, settling across from her. "You can just sit."
"Thank you." Emily meant it for more than the milk.
