Page 8 of Property of Spike

My expression hardens as I weigh the risks. Bringing her inside could invite trouble, but turning her away... That’s not happening.

“Come on in,” I say, punching in the code to open the gate. My voice is gruff, but I keep it steady.

She hesitates, glancing toward Pinkie like she expects him to stop her.

I follow her gaze and scowl. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t be a problem again.”

The relief on her face is subtle, just a flicker, but enough to make me feel like I’ve made the right call. She steps through the gate, her grip on the baby carrier still tight. I motion for Tank to follow as we lead her toward the compound.

“Tank, have someone set up a room for our guest,” I mutter under my breath. “She’s gonna sleep, then we’ll have a talk with her about what’s scaring her bad enough to ask for help from the fucking monsters.”

Tank nods, already pulling out his phone to send a message.

“And send Max to my office,” I add before he gets too far. “He needs to deal with Pinkie before I do.”

Max is my Prospect Leader. It’s his job to weed out idiots like Pinkie before they become a problem. I don’t know what the hell he was thinking letting that little shit in, but if he doesn’t fix it, I will, and it won’t be pretty.

Turning back to the woman, Riley, I gesture toward the main building. Our clubhouse. She looks like she’s running on fumes, and I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna hold up.

“This way,” I say, keeping my voice steady as I lead her inside and through the main rooms until we reach my office.

Once inside, I gesture to the couch in the corner. I don’t use it much for sitting, but it’s damn good for the nights I crash here instead of going home.

“Have a seat, Riley,” I tell her, grabbing a bottle of water from the small fridge in the corner. I make sure it’s sealed before handing it to her. Don’t need to add fear of being drugged to her shoulders. “I have someone getting a room ready for you. It shouldn’t be long.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice so soft I almost miss it. She opens the bottle and takes a cautious sip. “I can offer a little bit of money for your generosity, but I’m afraid it’s not much.”

“Don’t want your money, babe,” I say, leaning back against the desk. “You do realize who we are, right?”

“The Iron Shadows,” she nods, her voice steady now. “Yes, I know.”

“We’re not good people,” I admit, watching her carefully for a reaction. “We have a bad reputation.”

“I’m aware,” she says with a small smile that catches me off guard. “Which is why I asked for your help. I’m hoping you’re scary enough to keep the monsters away long enough for me to get some sleep.”

I bark out a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Babe, we are the monsters.”

“Nah,” she chuckles softly, and the sound is so unexpected it makes me pause. “I’ve seen monsters. I’ve lived with them. You and your friends may not do things legally; you may even kill people, but you’re nowhere near the monsters I know.”

Her arms tighten around the baby carrier, pulling it closer to her chest. The slight tremor in her hands doesn’t escape my notice, nor does the way her entire body seems to shiver at whatever memory is clawing its way to the surface.

“Trust me on that,” she adds quietly, her eyes downcast now.

I don’t reply right away. She’s got a story. Something dark enough to bring her to our doorstep, clutching a baby and looking for sanctuary. Whatever it is, I’ll get it out of her. But not now. For now, I give her what she needs: space and time to breathe.

“You need to rest,” I say, my tone softening. “We can talk about what has you running when you wake up.”

She nods, her grip on the carrier never loosening, her knuckles white with tension. It’s a hell of a thing to watch, someone so fragile carrying so much weight. I step out of the room, giving her the privacy she clearly needs to gather herself.

“Room’s ready, Prez,” Tank says, appearing around the corner a few minutes later.

I nod in acknowledgment and head back into my office, ready to let Riley know she has a place to crash. But the words freeze in my throat when I see her.

She’s slouched against the arm of the couch, her head tilted awkwardly to the side, fast asleep. The baby carrier strapped to her chest keeps the infant snug and secure, but the tension in her hands as they grip the straps hasn’t eased, even in sleep.

Tank steps in behind me, his voice low and sharp. “Either she has no situational awareness, or she thinks she’s safe.” He pauses, then adds, “Not sure which one is worse.”

I glance back at him, my jaw tightening. “She is safe,” I say, my voice cold and edged with steel. I look toward the doorway, where a couple of guys are lingering. Nosy fuckers. “And if any of you so much as breathe wrong around her, you’ll answer to me. Then to Bones.”

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