Chapter 3
NICOLE
T he room Slash showed her to was sparsely furnished but clean. There was a giant king bed, a dresser, and a small desk by the window. It could have been any other hotel room except for the heavy curtains and the fact that the window had been reinforced with security film.
Nicole ran her fingers along the window frame, noting the subtle security measures with a mixture of relief and unease. How many women had needed this level of protection? How many had stood exactly where she was standing, running from men who claimed to love them?
"Kayleigh's room is right through the connecting door," Slash explained, setting her duffle bag on the bed.
His movements were careful, deliberate, like he was trying not to spook her.
She appreciated that more than she could say.
"Bathroom's shared, between you two. She might want to sleep in here with you, but we figured she could use her own room too. I’m sorry that there’s not much in here.
The girlfriends are going to go shopping later to fill it.
You let me know what you need and what you might want for Kayleigh. "
"This is more than enough," Nicole said, running her hand over the simple blue comforter. The fabric was soft, well-worn but clean. It reminded her of the quilts her grandmother used to make, before everything went wrong. Before Brock. Before the running. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me for keeping you safe." There was something in his voice that made her look up sharply. "It's what you do for people who matter."
People who matter. The casual way he said it, as if she and Kayleigh had automatically fallen into that category simply by existing, made her throat tight.
When was the last time she'd mattered to someone without conditions?
Without having to earn it through compliance or silence or pretending everything was fine?
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"Shoot."
"The scar." She gestured vaguely toward his face, then immediately felt heat creep up her neck. "I'm sorry, that's probably rude?—"
"Afghanistan," he said simply. "IED took out half my squad. I got off easy."
The matter-of-fact way he said it, as if losing friends and carrying shrapnel scars was just part of life, made her chest ache.
She recognized that tone. It was the same one she used when people asked about the faint marks on her arms, the ones Brock had left.
You learned to talk about trauma like it was weather, something that happened to you rather than something that changed you forever. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Made me who I am." His storm-gray eyes met hers. "Sometimes the worst things that happen to us end up being exactly what we needed."
There was weight behind those words, meaning that she didn't quite understand but felt in her bones anyway.
Maybe he was right. Maybe without Brock's cruelty, she never would have found the strength to run.
Never would have discovered she could survive on her own, even if barely.
Never would have ended up here, in this strange sanctuary with this scarred guardian who looked at her like she was worth protecting.
"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, and Nicole 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 room visits 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 this man 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."
The simple praise made Kayleigh beam, and Nicole found herself thinking about the romance novels she'd devoured over the years. The ones where strong, dominant men took charge and made everything better. She'd always thought they were fantasy, too good to be true.
But watching Slash guide her daughter through making pancakes with the same military precision he probably applied to everything else, Nicole found herself wondering if maybe, just maybe, she'd been wrong.
"You're staring," Savannah murmured beside her.
"I'm not staring," Nicole protested, but she was.
She was staring at the way Slash's hands dwarfed Kayleigh's as he showed her how to flip pancakes. At the patience in his voice when she got flour on everything. At the way he seemed to instinctively know what a little girl needed to feel safe and valued. And how he praised her without hesitation. A lot. He definitely wasn’t stingy with positive reinforcement.
"Perfect flip, princess," he told Kayleigh when she successfully turned a pancake. "You're a natural." The casual endearment made Nicole's heart skip.
"He's good with her," Savannah continued. "Could be with both of you. If you let him."
Nicole's throat tightened. "I can't just let some man take over our lives because he makes good pancakes."
"No," Savannah agreed. "But you could let him take care of you, at least for now. I know it sounds like I’m pushing you. I’m not. I just see how he looks at you and I’ve gotten to know him, actually all of them, since coming here.
They are good men. Honorable. Strong. Protective.
And, I can see the way you are looking at him. "
"How am I looking at him?" Nicole asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
"Like you're drowning and he's the first solid ground you've seen in a year," Savannah said gently. "And honey, there's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes we need someone to pull us to shore."
Before Nicole could respond, a commotion erupted from the main room of the clubhouse. Voices raised in anger; the scrape of chairs being pushed back. Slash immediately stepped in front of Kayleigh, his entire body language shifting from gentle to lethal in the space of a heartbeat.
"Stay here," he ordered Nicole, his voice carrying the kind of authority that brooked no argument. "Both of you."
But Nicole was already moving, maternal instinct overriding everything else. "Kayleigh, come here baby?—"
"No." The single word stopped her cold. Slash's eyes had gone flat and dangerous, the scar on his face standing out white against his suddenly pale skin. "You stay put. I’ll handle this."
"She's my daughter?—"
"And she's under my protection." His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than shouting would have. "That means you follow my rules, little girl. Or people get hurt."
The endearment should have offended her. Should have made her bristle with independence and feminist outrage. Instead, it sent heat flooding through her veins and made her knees weak.
Little girl.
God help her, but she wanted to be someone's little girl again. Wanted someone else to make the hard decisions and shoulder the responsibility and tell her everything was going to be okay.
"Okay," she whispered.
Something shifted in Slash's expression, surprise and approval warring with the cold readiness for violence. "Good girl. Stay with Savannah. I'll be right back."
As he strode out of the kitchen, Nicole sank into one of the chairs, her hands shaking.
"Breathe," Savannah said gently, rubbing her back. "It's probably nothing serious. These guys are super competitive and it’s probably a game of chess gone wrong or pool. It’s literally nothing. I’ve not seen Slash respond like that before. Interesting."
But Nicole wasn't thinking about whatever was happening in the main room.
She was thinking about the way Slash had looked at her when she'd submitted to his authority.
Like she'd given him something precious.
A gift he'd been waiting for his entire life.
A little boy on Christmas morning, seeing a bike under the tree with a big bow.
"What's happening to me?" Nicole whispered, pressing her palms against her heated cheeks. "I don't even know him, and I'm already..."
"Already what?" Savannah prompted gently.
"Already imagining what it would be like to be his," Nicole admitted, the words barely audible. "To really be his little girl. To let him make the rules and know they'd keep me safe instead of trapped. God, what's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong with you," Savannah said firmly. "You're a submissive who's been forced to be dominant for survival. You're exhausted from being strong all the time. And you've just met someone who sees that in you and wants to give you what you need. That's not wrong, Nicole. That's recognition."
"I'm in so much trouble," she whispered.
Savannah's laugh was soft and understanding. "Yeah, you are. But the good kind of trouble, I think."
Nicole hoped she was right. As she watched Kayleigh finish cooking pancakes with Savannah, she realized she was already starting to think of this place as safe, and they’d only been here for an hour.