Chapter Seven
Riley
The guest room is small but comfortable. It has a soft bed, fresh linens, and a cot for Asher. It was more than I could’ve hoped for when I ran. But even with the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and the steady rhythm of Asher’s breathing, I can’t relax. I don’t feel safe enough in this room, even though I know I am.
Something about these men, especially Spike, makes me feel safe. I don’t care if they do illegal things or not. I know deep in my heart that Spike isn’t the monster he says he is.
Voices seep through the thin walls, low and muffled but still clear enough to send a chill down my spine.
“She’s put us all at risk,” one of them says, his deep voice sharp with irritation.
“Spike should’ve said no. Now we’ve got the goddamn police commissioner breathing down our necks. For what? A woman and her kid?”
“She’s got nowhere else to go,” another replies, but there isn’t much conviction in his tone.
“Yeah, and now we might lose everything. You think she’s worth that?”
My chest tightens, my pulse thundering in my ears. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to ruin their lives.
Asher stirs in the cot, and I go to him, brushing my fingers across his tiny hand. His warmth grounds me, even as my thoughts spin. We can’t stay here. We won’t.
Moving quickly, I shove the few things I took out of my bag, diapers, wipes, and the blanket Asher had been wrapped in at the hospital, back into it.
When I have everything packed, I tuck Asher into his carrier, slinging the strap over my shoulder. His soft coo almost shatters my resolve, but I force myself to stay strong. I can’t be the reason all of these men go to prison. I just can’t. I’ll find another place to hide. I have enough money to buy a bus ticket out of Palm Springs, but where would I go? What would I do when I got there?
The building is quiet as I make my way outside and to the gate, the darkness cloaking me. The cool night air nips at my skin, but I welcome the sting.
Inside the four solid walls of the compound are houses. A few windows are lit up which tells me that the reason the main building was so quiet was because everyone probably went home.
As I approach the gate, I silently hope it’s not the same guy as before. A few steps closer, relief washes over me when I see it isn’t. The gate guard stands tall, his silhouette imposing in the moonlight. He’s not standing inside the booth like the guy before but is leaning on the wall. His sharp eyes lock onto me the moment I approach.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his voice steady but curious.
“I need to leave,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and even. “Please, open the gate.”
“Can’t do that,” he grunts, his stance solid as the stone wall surrounding the compound.
“Why not?” My voice cracks despite my best efforts.
“Orders from the Prez,” he replies, his expression softening just slightly. “Nobody comes in or out without his say-so.”
My stomach churns. “Am I a prisoner?”
The man steps fully into the security light, and I see his face. He looks slightly familiar. Must be one of the men we passed on our way to the guest room.
He shakes his head. “No, ma’am. But I’ve got my orders.”
Before I can say another word, the sound of heavy boots crunching against gravel makes my breath hitch. I turn to see Spike stepping out of the shadows, his expression a storm cloud of anger.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous.
I tighten my grip on the carrier strap and straighten my spine. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes narrow as he strides closer, his presence as commanding as ever. “The hell you are. Let’s get back inside before you get yourself sick. Thanks for the heads-up, Mike.”
I glance back at the guy at the gate, but he just flashes me a smug smile.
“See you later, little miss,” he says casually.
“Why does everyone insist on calling me little?” I grumble as Spike gently steers me back toward the building. “I outweigh most of you.”
Spike just grunts, not bothering to respond, as he leads me inside and back to the room he took me to when I first arrived.
With a heavy sigh, I drop onto the couch, instantly feeling some of the tension leave my body. I couldn’t relax in the other room, but I guess I just needed to clear my head.
Yeah, right.
“Want to tell me what you were thinking, babe?” Spike’s deep voice pulls my attention. He’s leaning against the desk, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on me.
“Oh, um,” I start, stalling.
“Don’t lie,” he growls, the command in his voice making me freeze.
Dang it. Why does he have to be so intimidating?
“I heard some of your men talking outside the room I was in,” I admit reluctantly. “They were saying how I’m putting everyone here at risk. They sounded angry that you didn’t just tell me to leave. I don’t want that, Spike. I don’t want to be the reason Chuck finally finds a way to toss you in prison, and I don’t want to cause problems between you and your friends.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. Something he seems to do a lot. “Did you see them? Catch the names on their cuts?”
“Cuts?” I blink at him, confused.
He gestures to the patch on his black leather vest that reads Spike , with President stitched above it.
“That’s called a cut?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Weird.”
“Riley,” he says, sighing heavily, clearly unimpressed by my tangent.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “No, I didn’t see them. I was in the room you gave me. I just heard their voices.”
“Listen closely,” he says, his tone hardening as he steps forward, crossing his arms again. “This isn’t a democracy. What I say goes. Not everyone’s gonna be happy with the decisions I make, but they, and you, need to trust that I know what the fuck I’m doing. Got it?”
I bite my lip, unsure how to respond, but his steady gaze leaves no room for argument.
“Got it,” I sigh.
“Good,” he nods. “Now, let’s get you back to your room. It’s midnight. You should be sleeping.”
Not wanting to seem ungrateful, I stand and follow him down the hallway. I’d spent most of the day holed up in my room, only venturing out a few times to find food and stretch my legs. Spike wasn’t lying when he said people would be in and out all day, but not once did I see him until now.
I don’t know why that bothers me. Why does it leave this hollow ache in my chest?
“In you go, babe,” he says, opening the door to my room. “Get some sleep. Night.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
I’m alone. Again.
I lean against the closed door, letting out a shaky breath. I tell myself not to compare this to my life with Chuck, but it’s impossible not to. He did this kind of thing all the time. Sent me away, told me to go home when I brought him lunch, and made excuses about why I couldn’t come to his work parties.
Not that it mattered much in the end. Chuck and I hadn’t so much as shared a room since I got pregnant. Five years together, and it never really felt like we were together. I was just something convenient, someone he could use when he needed and hurt when he wanted.
The truth is, I don’t think I ever loved him. I think I was just desperate. Desperate to feel wanted, even for a moment. Someone like me, someone big, someone who doesn’t turn heads, grabs onto that feeling, and clings tight, too afraid we’ll never feel it again.
But when Spike shut the door and walked away, it hit harder than I expected.
Why doesn’t anyone ever want me around?