Page 76 of Property of Spike

Bones might not say much, might not waste his breath on bullshit, but he would kill for everyone in this room. No hesitation. No remorse.

I shift my focus back to Asher, who’s still sucking away at his bottle, blissfully unaware that he’s already at the center of this chaotic, dysfunctional, but fiercely loyal family.

Chapter Twenty-One

Riley

I stare in absolute disbelief at the destruction around me. The clubhouse is wrecked. Some doors were kicked in, even though they had full access to every room. Furniture overturned, drawers yanked out and dumped, their contents scattered like someone took a snow globe of our lives and shook it violently.

And it’s not just the clubhouse. Every single home inside the compound, occupied or not, has been torn apart. Even the garages, the vehicles, and the storage building where they keep old motorcycles weren’t spared.

They made us sit outside for hours while they tore through everything, leaving nothing but chaos in their wake.

“Surely there’s some rule stating they have to clean up after themselves,” I mutter to myself, nudging aside a pile of clothes and papers that used to be neatly packed away.

The mess is so outrageous, so excessive, that I don’t even know where to start. It’s like they weren’t just searching for something – they wanted to make a point. And they wanted us to feel it.

A heavy weight settles in my chest as I take in the destruction of Spike’s house. This wasn’t just a search. It was a message. A warning. Chuck must have told them to be extra destructive because there’s no way this was just protocol.

I step carefully over the mess, my shoes crunching against shattered glass and scattered debris. It’s not just overturned furniture or drawers yanked out. It’s pure carnage. Mattresses slashed open, clothes ripped apart. Even the bathroom wasn’t spared.

But when I reach Asher’s room, the breath leaves my lungs.

The brand-new crib that Spike put together himself? Splintered into pieces. The soft mattress he picked out so carefully is sliced straight down the middle, its insides spilling onto the floor. His tiny blankets are crumpled and smeared with dirt like someone deliberately stomped over them.

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away, rage burning through the sadness.

This wasn’t just about finding something. It was about breaking something. About making sure we knew that nothing –no one– was off-limits.

Below me, I hear some of the men enter my new home. Then I hear Spike cursing under his breath, the sharp edge of fury in his voice. Tank says something and I hear Spike respond, but I can’t hear what it is they said. It doesn’t matter though. I don’t have to look at him to know his jaw is locked tight, his fists clenched.

They’re all pissed. But when Spike sees this room?

I don’t think even hell will hold him back.

Moments later, I feel them enter the room. I hold Asher tightly against my chest, knowing that he’s feeling the tension.

Spike’s footsteps are heavy, his boots crunching over the same broken glass I’ve been carefully avoiding. I hear him pause behind me, and I brace myself, knowing what’s coming.

The silence stretches, and I can almost feel the rage building behind him. His breathing is shallow, controlled, but the anger in the air is suffocating. Then, it happens – he lets out a low growl, the kind that sends a shiver up your spine.

“What the fuck?” His voice cracks like thunder in the stillness of the room.

I turn to face him, and the sight of his eyes, narrowed, burning with a mix of fury and heartbreak, hits me like a punch to the gut. His gaze flickers to the shattered crib, the ruined mattress, and then to me, clutching Asher protectively.

He takes a step forward, his hands tightening into fists. But before he can say another word, Tank’s deep voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm.

“We need to focus, Spike. We’ll deal with the anger later.”

Spike doesn’t answer, but I know his mind is a hurricane of thoughts, each one more dangerous than the last. Bones, ever the silent observer, stands at the doorway, his face unreadable but his body stiff with tension.

I can see it in their eyes. They all want revenge.

I step forward, holding Asher tighter. “Spike… it’s just stuff. We can fix this.”

But the words feel hollow, even to me.

Spike looks at me then, his expression softening just a little. “It’s not just stuff, baby,” he mutters. “It’sourlife. It’s our family.”

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