Page 8 of Blade's Princess

He leans down and with his lips next to my ear whispers, “You're safe here. No one will hurt you."

And then louder, so the entire room can hear, he says, “No one better lay a fucking hand on you. No one but me."

Chapter 4

Blade

Every set of eyes in the clubhouse locks onto Sophie like she's a fucking unicorn that wandered into our den of iniquity. Can't blame them. With her golden hair falling limply around her bruised and battered face, those big sea-green eyes wide with wariness, and my thermal hanging off her slender frame, I'm sure the brothers have questions.

But the way some of their gazes linger on her has my grip around her tightening, my thumb unconsciously stroking her delicate bones beneath the oversized shirt.

"You hungry?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle. The clubhouse lighting, while dim, still highlights every mark on her skin. The bruising around her eye is darkening to a deep purple, and finger-shaped contusions circle her throat reminding me again that someone tried to fucking choke her. I grind my molars together attempting to appear calm and unaffected so as not to add to her already tense demeanor.

She nods hesitantly. "Only if it's not too much trouble."

Trouble? Fuck. It's no trouble. I'd move heaven and earth for her and she acts as though feeding her is too much.

The girl's rail thin. Probably hasn't had a proper meal in days, maybe weeks. I guide her through the main room, hyper-aware of the slight tremble of her body against my side.

"Rash," I call to one of our prospects lounging near the pool table. "Food. Now."

The kid jumps to attention, nearly knocking over his beer in his haste. He hurries off to the kitchen, eager to please, as all prospects should be. Good. He's a decent kid. Knows how to follow orders.

"Let me show you around while Rash gets something together.” My lips are close to her ear, and I get a thrill when I see the slight shiver that runs through her.

She follows along with that same wary trust she's shown since I found her in that car—like she doesn't quite trust or believe this is happening. Like she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Afraid to hope. I've seen that look before, in war zones, on the faces of civilians who couldn't believe help had finally arrived.

"This is the main room," I explain, gesturing to the space. "We hang out here, have parties sometimes."

Sophie takes it all in, those expressive eyes widening at the reaper mural covering one wall.

"The club symbol?" she asks quietly.

I nod. "Our emblem. The Shadow Reapers MC."

"I saw it on the patch on the back of your vest. What does MC mean?"

Christ, she's innocent. My chest tightens at the reminder of how out of place she is here, how different from the women who usually grace our club, skanks and hoes—except Angel, of course.

"First off, it's called acut, not a vest. And MC means Motorcycle Club. We're a brotherhood. A family."

She nods like she's filing away the information, her body still pressed close to my side. I can feel every shallow breath she takes as well as the slight hitch of pain when she moves wrong. I suspect she has either bruised or broken ribs. Maybe both.

"Through there are the bedrooms," I continue, pointing to a hallway. "Some of the brothers live here full time. Others have houses nearby and just spend the occasional night here." I don't mention the rooms where our club whores entertain. I'm not keeping it a secret. Not exactly. It's just that some details can wait.

Her gaze follows my gesture, then returns to scan the room again, taking in the brothers. Most are trying to look casual while stealing curious glances at us. Like a bunch of gossipy old hens. I detect too much interest in some of those looks. They won't act on it—not now that I've staked my claim—but it still makes my fist tighten and my jaw clench.

“In there’s the kitchen.” I point through the open doorway to the large, industrial space with steel countertops, a commercial stove, and two refrigerators. Rash, over in the corner, nods and holds up a loaf of bread showing us he's working on fixing sandwiches. "It's always stocked. You're welcome to anything in here, anytime."

Her eyes widen slightly at this. Such a simple thing—access to food—and yet it clearly surprises her. More evidence of the kind of life she's been living.

"There's a small gym through there," I continue, pointing to another doorway. "And out back is a covered patio."

Throughout the tour, she seems to be absorbing everything, trying to take in this new world she's entered. But I notice other things too—the way she flinches at sudden movements, how she positions herself to keep her back to walls, her constant jitters. Signs of someone who's had to stay vigilant.

We're heading back to the kitchen when Cipher emerges from his tech cave—the room filled with computers and surveillance equipment where he works his magic.

"VP," he acknowledges me before his eyes land on Sophie. His gaze is analytical, taking in the bruising, her posture, the way she stands slightly behind me. There's nothing lecherous in his look—Cipher's not wired that way—just intense curiosity.

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