Page 45 of August 20

"How do I fix that?" he whispered, catching the cough before it could escape and wake his daughter.

Brooke's gaze softened. "You don't fix it. You hold her because one day soon, she will be too big to hold. And, she'll be older and won't tell you when her days are tough, but she'll remember how you comforted her, which will get her through all the hard days in her future."

He took her advice, glanced at Skye again, and then turned away.

Brooke caught his hand and squeezed. "You did everything right," she whispered.

He needed to get out of there, or he'd bend Brooke over and fuck her. She'd approached him. She'd put her hand on him in the garage. She was being nice.

He only had a few hours to get his shit together before he had to sleep in the bed with her.

Tilting his face to the ceiling, he closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, stretching his neck. He wondered if Brooke ever had someone hold her. Comfort her. Help her through the hard days.

Chapter Twenty Four

In the Havlin Motorcycle Parts shop, Brett played Solitaire on the other side of the counter. Brooke sat on a stool, looking around at all the shelving units and neatly organized parts in the aisles. Having only been in the clubhouse at the back of the building, the shop took her by surprise.

The parts shop appeared to be a legit business. There was even an open sign hung in the front door.

"If you're wondering why nobody is here, it's because most of our business is online." Brett shuffled the playing cards. "People order, and we ship."

She raised her brows as if motorcycle club business interested her. When the opposite was true. She was thinking of ways to ask someone for help if they walked through the door without Brett overhearing her.

With Skye in school, there wasn't much she could do to escape Maverick. It wasn't like she was going to run away without her niece. And Maverick knew that. It put her at a disadvantage.

"Maverick hasn't been around lately." Brett set out the cards on the table. "Does he talk to you?"

She looked at Brett, trying to gauge why he'd ask.

"You know, 'cause he doesn't talk around here." Brett shrugged. "And then with the scars on his back. I don't know what happened to him. No one talks about it."

Dio walked out from between the shelving units. "Shut the fuck up."

"Sorry, sir." Brett dropped his gaze and went back to playing Solitaire.

She looked between the two men. There was a huge power struggle going on. Brett was young, and they called him a prospect—instead of referring to him as a brother. She assumed he wasn't a member yet.

Dio met her gaze. "You're free to go into the clubhouse now."

She stood from the table and walked through the parts shop to the back door that led to the clubhouse. Once she stepped through, she let her eyes adjust. It was darker and windowless in the clubhouse.

Men surrounded the large table on the far side of the room. She ambled, not wanting to approach them if they were having a meeting.

Maverick stepped away from the others and motioned for her to approach him. Once she reached him, he hooked her neck and guided her toward the back door.

"Grab my duffle." He cleared his throat. "From the car."

"Now?"

He nodded.

She hid her surprise. He'd never allowed her outside the house by herself, much less outside the clubhouse. There were businesses all around. She was in town. There could be someone walking their dog or the mailman delivering mail nearby. She could yell for help. The police could be here before Maverick even leaves the building.

He lifted his chin, motioning for her to go. She backed away, taking the freedom to go. The shot of adrenaline made her clumsy.

Every step toward the door, she prepared for him to grab and pull her back, forbidding her from leaving. Pushing outside, the salty air made her lightheaded.

She hurried past the long line of motorcycles and the bikers lingering outside to her Honda. Without hesitating, she opened the driver's door and slipped into the driver's seat. Automatically, she reached for the keys and found an empty ignition.

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