Page 6 of Property of Spike

“Think you’re in the wrong place, little lady.”

I glance through the small window to where a single male smirks down at me.

“I need to speak to someone, please,” I say.

“I’m someone,” he says, his eyes filled with heat.

Gross.

The man looks like he kicks puppies for fun.

“I need to talk to someone in charge, please,” I try again.

“He won’t waste time on you,” he laughs. “But, I’d be willing to help you out if you’re willing to pay me back on your knees.”

If I could reach through the glass, I’d throat-punch this man. But I don’t want to risk my baby getting hurt.

Feeling defeated, I try not to cry as I turn and walk away.

“Fucking bitch,” he yells.

But I don’t care.

I’m too tired and in too much pain to care about anything anymore. Especially not this man’s insults, his leering, or the fact that I just wasted what little energy I had left walking all the way here. All I care about is finding a safe place for my son. Just a few hours. That’s all I need.

When I had Asher via c-section, they placed a waterproof bandage of some sort over the incision, but it still hurts like crazy, and I don’t think I have any more pain pills.

Tears sting my eyes, but I keep walking, my shoulders slumping under the weight of the diaper bag. The sharp bite ofthe man’s laughter follows me, cutting through my chest like shards of glass.

Maybe I should go to the library after all. Or perhaps just... sit on another bench somewhere and pretend to read. The thought is pathetic, but desperation doesn’t leave room for pride.

“Hey!”

The shout is rough and deep, a stark contrast to the sneering tone of the man at the gate. I freeze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Slowly, I glance over my shoulder. A tall figure strides toward the gate from inside the compound.

Dark hair, a clean-cut beard, tanned skin. Broad shoulders and a body that looks like it spends more time lifting weights than resting. He’s in jeans and a black shirt, his leather vest heavy with patches I can’t quite make out from this distance.

Ruggedly handsome. Undeniably intimidating. And judging by the hard set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes…Furious.

“What the hell did you just say to her?” the man growls, and I realize he’s speaking to the guy in the booth.

The smirking asshole stumbles over his words, suddenly all sheepish and nervous. “Nothing, Spike. She was, uh, she was leaving anyway.”

“I’m not fucking blind.” The man, Spike, steps closer, and the puppy kicker’s face drains of color. “You think I don’t know what kind of shit comes out of your mouth when you think no one’s watching?”

Spike doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns his full attention to me, his dark eyes scanning me with an intensity that makes me feel even smaller than I already do.

“You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now but no less commanding.

I nod, clutching the carrier tighter against my chest. “I just... I just needed to talk to someone in charge.” My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate how weak it sounds.

“You’re talking to him.” His gaze sharpens, and I feel like he’s trying to figure me out with just a single glance. “What’s your name?”

“Riley.”

“And what do you need, Riley?”

My throat tightens, and I have to swallow hard before I can answer. “A safe place to sleep. Just for a few hours. I…I have a baby, a newborn, and we’ve been on the run. I understand if you can’t help, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

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