Page 8 of Slash
"Mommy!" Kayleigh burst through the door, followed by a laughing Savannah. "This place is so cool! Aunt Savannah showed me the kitchen and there's a pool table and everything!"
"That sounds amazing, baby," Nicole said, catching her daughter as she launched herself into a hug. The solid weight of her child in her arms grounded her, reminded her why she'd run, why she kept fighting. Kayleigh still smelled like the strawberry shampoo from their old apartment, one small piece of normal in this surreal new world. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving," Kayleigh announced dramatically. "Can we have pancakes?"
"It's one in the afternoon," Nicole pointed out.
"So? Pancakes are good anytime!"
"She's got a point," Slash said, and Nicole was surprised to hear amusement in his voice. It transformed him, that hint of humor. Made him look younger, less dangerous. Almost approachable.Almost."Kitchen's always open here. Why don't we see what we can find?"
As they made their way through the clubhouse, Nicole tried not to stare at the men they passed. They were all big, all dangerous looking, all wearing the patches that marked them as members of the Spartan Watchmen MC. But they nodded respectfully when they saw Slash, and more than one smiled at Kayleigh as she skipped along beside them.
One particularly intimidating biker with a full beard and arms like tree trunks actually got down on one knee when Kayleigh approached him, letting her examine his patches with patient explanations. "This one means I fix the bikes," he rumbled, his voice gentle. "Like a doctor for motorcycles." Kayleigh's delighted giggle echoed through the hallway, andNicole felt something in her chest loosen slightly. These men might be dangerous, but they weren't cruel. Not to children. Not to women. They were protectors.
"These are good men," Savannah said quietly, falling into step beside Nicole. "I know it's hard to believe, looking at them. But they've got honor. And they protect what's theirs."
"I'm not theirs," Nicole murmured. The words came out automatically, a defense mechanism she'd developed. Don't belong to anyone. Don't owe anyone. Don't give anyone that power over you again.
"Aren't you?" Savannah's smile was knowing. "Because Slash sure seems to think you are."
Nicole's cheeks heated. "We just met. He doesn't even know me."
"He knows enough." Savannah's expression grew serious. "Nicole, I've seen him around other women. He's polite, professional, but distant. Cold, even. But with you..." She shook her head. "I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looks at you."
"He looks at me like a problem to be solved," Nicole protested.
"He looks at you like a treasure to be protected." Savannah caught her arm gently. "Sis, I know you're scared. After Brock, after everything... But Slash isn't him. He won't hurt you. I know what it’s like to fall in love instantly and be scared of it. I didn’t know what was happening with me and Savage. It was fast and intense and right. Just… let go while you are here. Let those walls down."
Nicole wanted to believe that. God, she wanted to believe that there were still men in the world who could be trusted with fragile things. But trust was a luxury she'd learned not to afford. Trust had gotten her a broken rib that still ached when she slept on it. Trust had gotten her those late-night emergency roomvisits where she'd lied about falling down stairs. Trust had nearly gotten her killed.
"I don't know how to let the walls down anymore," Nicole admitted quietly. "I built them so high, I'm not sure I remember what's on the other side."
Savannah squeezed her hand. "That's okay. Slash is patient. And he's got a thing for complicated projects." Her sister's wink was playful, but her eyes were serious. "Just... try to be open to the possibility that you deserve to be happy. That you deserve to be taken care of."
The kitchen turned out to be industrial-sized, designed to feed a small army. Slash moved through it with easy familiarity, pulling ingredients from cabinets while Kayleigh "helped" by chattering about everything she'd seen.
Nicole watched him navigate the space with the same tactical precision he'd probably used in combat zones. Everything had its place, every movement had purpose. It should have made him seem rigid, controlling. Instead, it made her feel safe. Here was a man who had systems, who had control, who wouldn't fly into unpredictable rages because dinner was five minutes late.
"Can I crack the eggs?" she asked, bouncing on her toes.
"Think you can handle it without getting shells everywhere?" Slash asked seriously.
"I'm very good at cracking eggs. Mommy lets me help all the time."
"Alright then. But we do it my way, okay? I'm the boss in the kitchen. I don’t want you to get hurt."
Something in Nicole's chest fluttered at the casual way he asserted authority. It should have annoyed her. She'd spent the last year making every decision, handling every crisis. But instead, it felt like relief. Like setting down a weight she'd been carrying too long. There was almost a freedom in letting go and letting someone else take charge. She didn’t even mind that thisman was bossing around her child. She knew instinctively he wouldn’t cross any lines.
"What's your way?" Kayleigh asked, tilting her head curiously.
"First rule: clean hands," Slash said, guiding her to the sink. "Second rule: crack against the flat counter, not the edge of the bowl. Third rule: if you make a mess, you clean it up. Deal?"
"Deal!" Kayleigh agreed enthusiastically. Nicole watched as Slash lifted her daughter onto a step stool so she could reach the counter properly, his hands hovering nearby in case she wobbled. The casual protectiveness made her throat tight.
"Yes, sir," Kayleigh said solemnly, and Slash's scarred mouth quirked in a small smile.
"Good girl."
