Chapter 5
NICOLE
N icole woke to the sound of voices in the hallway and sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains.
For a disorienting moment, she couldn't remember where she was, then it all came rushing back. The early morning ride, the clubhouse, Slash's scarred face and commanding presence. Last night she’d met too many people. They’d had a long, rowdy dinner with the club and everyone was there.
Tater who was the best cook. She’d met the officers which included Irish, Savage, Blade, Lucky, and Arrow.
More importantly, she met their littles.
They’d all been open and honest about their relationships and dynamics.
While she’d just met them, she felt like she’d known these ladies forever.
After dinner, the men cleared the table and the girls gathered in a sitting area of the clubhouse.
She watched as Slash and Blade sat at a table and colored pictures with Kayleigh.
The clubhouse had a lot more coloring books, building blocks and stuffed animals than she would have thought a motorcycle club would.
She chatted with Savannah, Emilee, Trinity, Mackenzie and Lily. They told her their love stories and every one of them had fallen fast.
“Do any of you read romance novels?” She’d asked them. They all shook their heads yes. “I think the trope for this is instalove.”
Would that happen for her? Would she be in the instalove club?
That was definitely on her mind. Slash had walked her to the room afterwards, Kayleigh in his arms. He’d lingered around for a bit after she’d tucked her daughter in.
They’d had small talk. The conversation bounced around like a game of fifty questions.
Favorite foods. Favorite color. Biggest pet peeve.
A conversation she might have on a first date.
As the hour grew late, he’d given her an order. “Time for bed, little girl.”
And she’d obeyed.
The way her body had responded when he'd called her little girl.
She groaned and buried her face in the pillow. What the hell was wrong with her? She was a grown woman with responsibilities, not some romance novel heroine who melted at the first sign of a strong man.
Except she had melted, hadn't she? The moment Slash had used that tone of voice, every independent thought in her head had fled. She'd wanted nothing more than to let him handle everything while she curled up somewhere safe and let someone else make the hard decisions for once.
A soft knock on her door interrupted her self-flagellation.
"Nicole?" Slash’s voice, carefully modulated. "You awake?"
"Just barely," she called back, sitting up and running her hands through her hair. "Come in."
The door opened to reveal Slash carrying a steaming mug of coffee, and Nicole felt her heart do something complicated in her chest. Unlike her, he'd clearly been up for hours.
His hair was damp from a shower, and he was wearing fresh jeans and a black t-shirt that clung to his broad chest in ways that made her mouth go dry.
"Figured you might need this," he said, offering her the mug. “I remembered from last night how you take your coffee.”
"You figured right. Thank you." Nicole accepted the coffee gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. He’d made it exactly as she’d told him. "What time is it?"
"Little after nine. Kayleigh's been up for an hour, charming the hell out of everyone in the kitchen."
Nicole's maternal instincts kicked in immediately. She’d wrongly assumed from the silence coming from the room next to here that Kayleigh was still in bed. "I should?—"
"Should drink your coffee and wake up properly," Slash interrupted, settling into the chair by her window. "She's fine. Savannah's got her making some kind of art project with enough glitter to blind a small army."
Oh. Okay. She was with her aunt. Not causing ruckus and getting into danger.
She sighed and settled back into the bed.
The casual way he'd positioned himself, as if settling in for a longer conversation, made Nicole acutely aware that she was wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear.
The bedsheet covered her legs, but she still felt exposed under his steady gaze.
"Did you need something?" she asked, taking a sip of coffee to cover her nerves.
"Need to talk to you about the situation. Got some updates from Dax this morning."
Nicole's stomach dropped. "Brock?"
"Still in lockup, which is good news. But his lawyer's making noise about bail, and our good friend Detective Dax Allard, thinks there's a chance a judge might grant it."
"Shit," Nicole whispered, setting down her coffee with shaking hands. "If he gets out, he’ll come looking for us. If he gets out?—"
"If he gets out, he still won't get near you," Slash said firmly. "But it means we need to be more careful. No leaving the compound without security. No contact with anyone from your old life until this is resolved."
"For how long?"
"As long as it takes."
Nicole laughed, but there was no humor in it. "So, I'm basically a prisoner."
"You're protected," Slash corrected, his voice hardening slightly. "There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like I've traded one form of control for another."
Slash was quiet for a long moment, studying her with those storm-gray eyes. "Is that what you think this is? Me trying to control you? Remember what I said last night? This is different."
"Is it?" Nicole challenged. "You make all the decisions about where I go, what I do, who I talk to. How is that different from?—"
She cut herself off, but the damage was done.
She was lashing out because she was scared.
Only one man had ever controlled her before.
It’d started slow and turned into complete in a short period of time.
She hadn’t recognized the signs. Now, now she knew.
She knew how it started and what it could turn into.
Slash's expression had gone cold, the scar on his face standing out white against his suddenly pale skin.
"From him?" he finished quietly. "From the man who put those bruises on your body and made you afraid to sleep at night?"
Nicole flinched. "I didn't mean?—"
"Yeah, you did." Slash stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "And maybe you're right. Maybe there isn't much difference between a cage made of fear and one made of protection."
He headed for the door, and Nicole felt panic rise in her throat. "Slash, wait?—"
"Get dressed," he said without turning around. "We're going for a ride."
"But you just said?—"
"I said no leaving without security. I am your security." He paused at the door, his hand on the knob. "Unless you'd rather stay locked up in here, thinking about how terrible it is that someone gives a shit whether you live or die."
The door closed behind him with controlled force, leaving Nicole alone with her guilt and the rapidly cooling coffee.
Fuck.
She'd hurt him. She could see it in the way his shoulders had gone rigid, in the careful blankness of his expression. He was trying to keep her safe, and she'd compared him to the man who'd terrorized her.
But wasn't there some truth to what she'd said? The situation, the absolute control he expected her to hand over. How was she supposed to tell the difference between protection and possession when the end result looked the same?
Twenty minutes later, she emerged from her room in jeans and a sweater to find Slash waiting by the front door, his leather cut over his shoulders and his helmet in his hands. His expression was professionally neutral, giving nothing away.
“Savannah and the girls are going to keep Kyleigh for a couple hours. They have an entire day planned with her. We have a playground out back and Tater is going to let her help him make lunch. I want to respect you as a mother. Is that okay?”
She answered with a slight nod. Kyleigh loved Savannah and there wasn’t another person on the planet she trusted with her daughter as much as her. "Where are we going?" she asked quietly.
"Somewhere you can think about the difference between a man who hurts you and a man who'd die before letting anyone else hurt you."
The words hit her like a physical blow, carrying more pain than anger.
Nicole realized with sinking clarity that she'd wounded something in him that probably didn't heal easily.
Men like him had the military values down to their core.
She wounded his sense of honor, took a swing at his need to protect.
"Slash, I'm sorry?—"
"Don't. Just get on the bike." His voice was flat, emotionless. He still fitted a bright pink helmet over her head. She saw Savannah’s name on it and smiled. Of course, her sister picked a bright pink helmet.
The ride up into the mountains was conducted in tense silence, Nicole's arms wrapped around Slash's waist while her mind churned with regret. She could feel the rigid tension in his body, the way he held himself apart from her even as she pressed against his back.
He finally stopped at a scenic overlook, cutting the engine and climbing off before offering to help her down.
The view was breathtaking. Rolling hills and dense forests stretching to the horizon as far as she could see, but Nicole barely noticed.
All her attention was focused on the man standing at the edge of the overlook, his back to her.