Blade’s Protection (Pike Creek Riders MC #3)

CHAPTER 1 TIFFANY

The syringe trembled in my grip as I prepared Mrs. Hunter’s B12 injection. Third attempt this morning, and I still couldn't draw the vitamin steadily. My hands hadn't stopped shaking since finding that note shoved under my apartment door.

Time's running out, nurse. Those pills better start walking out of that clinic, or you will know about it.

"Everything alright, Tiffany?"

Dr. Tad's voice sent the syringe clattering onto the metal tray.

"Fine." The lie tasted bitter after two weeks of repetition. "Just tired."

Dr. Tad Shuman's sharp gaze missed nothing—sixty-something years in Pike Creek had taught him to read what patients wouldn't say. He stepped closer, voice dropping below Grace Henry's hearing at reception.

"You've been jumpy all week. Those bags under your eyes aren't from overtime. And that's the fourth time you've checked the back door since we opened." Concern creased his weathered face. "Whatever's happening, you need to tell someone."

The words lodged in my throat like glass. Three months in Pike Creek, fresh from nursing school, trying to prove I belonged in this small Montana town. Admitting defeat meant failing before I'd started.

But last night changed everything. Footsteps matching mine from the Quick Stop to my building. That car crawling behind me down Maple Street, headlights washing over me like searchlights. My apartment door standing open when I'd triple-checked the lock.

"Someone wants me to steal drugs." The confession tumbled out, unstoppable now. "OxyContin, fentanyl, anything controlled. They call constantly, leave notes, follow me home. Last night someone was inside my apartment while I was at work."

Dr. Tad's expression shifted from concerned to volcanic. "How long?"

"Two weeks."

"Jesus Christ, Tiffany. Why stay silent?"

"I thought they'd give up. Find an easier target." The syringe rattled as I set it aside. "But they're escalating. Calls at three AM. They know my schedule, where I shop, which parking spot I use."

"The sheriff?—"

"Would need evidence I don't have. Different voices, probably burners. I threw away the first notes thinking ignoring them would make it stop."

Dr. Tad's phone appeared, thumb already scrolling. "The law can't touch this, but I know people who can."

"Please don't make this bigger than?—"

"Non-negotiable." His tone killed any argument. "These men handle problems that exist in shadows. Protection, security, resolution." The phone rang twice before a gravelly voice answered. "Viper? It's Tad. Got a situation at the clinic. One of my nurses is being threatened... Yeah, serious enough... Twenty minutes works."

The call ended with finality. "Pike Creek Riders are coming."

My stomach plummeted. The motorcycle club—leather and danger, the kind of men nursing school friends would have called walking red flags. Sure, Bea at the diner sang their praises after they'd handled Tara's ex-husband situation, but standing in the clinic's fluorescent brightness, the idea of bikers as saviors seemed insane.

"I don't think?—"

"They're good men beneath the leather." Dr. Tad's voice gentled. "They understand threats that exist outside normal channels. Trust me."

Twenty minutes stretched like hours. I attempted normalcy—inventory counts, chart updates, anything to occupy my hands while my mind spiraled. Grace's curious glances said she sensed something brewing. The front door's chime announced heavy boots on linoleum.

The man in the doorway stole all the oxygen from my lungs.

Six-three minimum, built like violence had been his profession and he'd excelled at it. Military-short dark hair revealed a face carved from stone and scarred from surviving whatever had tried to break him. A jagged line crossed his jaw, another disappeared into his hairline—stories written in damaged tissue. The black thermal stretched across shoulders that blocked light, fighting to contain arms that had clearly seen gym time and real-world application. His leather cut declared him Pike Creek Riders, Sergeant at Arms, the patches worn with pride.

He studied me with laser focus, cataloging every detail with military precision. The assessment should have felt clinical, but something in his expression made my stomach flip with anticipation rather than anxiety.

My pulse stuttered, then raced. Not from fear—something else entirely. My body recognized him before my brain caught up, every nerve ending suddenly awake and aware. My scrubs felt too thin, too revealing, like he could see straight through the fabric to skin that flushed under his assessment.

Safe.

This scarred warrior with hands that had clearly dealt damage made me feel protected. Which made no sense—I'd known him for thirty seconds, and everything about him screamed danger. But my body had already decided to trust him, pulse slowing from panic to something else entirely. Something that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the way he filled that doorway like he owned it.

"Dr. Tad." His voice rumbled through the small space, all gravel and command, but that penetrating gaze never left mine. "This the nurse?"

"Tiffany Glover, meet Blade Beckett." Dr. Tad made introductions like he hadn't just summoned a predator into the room. "Someone's trying to force her to steal prescriptions. Threats, stalking, broke into her place last night."

His expression went lethal. "Timeline?"

"Two weeks." My voice came out steadier than my racing heart suggested.

"Descriptions? Plates? Voice patterns?"

"Different people each time. Distorted voices on the calls. Sedan one day, pickup the next." My arms wrapped around my middle, suddenly hyperaware of how the gesture pushed my breasts up. His gaze tracked the movement before snapping back to my face. "They're organized."

Blade entered fully, his presence expanding to fill every corner. The small room suddenly felt smaller, charged with masculine energy. My skin prickled with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly hyperalert. He moved with controlled power, each step deliberate, economical. Military training in every line of his body.

He studied me with an intensity that made my skin flush. Not the quick assessment of a bodyguard cataloging a client—this was deeper, more personal. Like he was memorizing me.

"Living situation?"

"Alone."

"Family here?"

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"No. Just me, three months out of Billings nursing school."

Each rapid-fire question darkened his expression further. Young woman, alone, no support system—I might as well have worn a neon 'victim' sign.

"Pack your things. You're moving in with me."

The declaration landed like a flashbang. "Excuse me?"

"Your apartment's compromised. Next time they won't stop at threats." His phone appeared, fingers already typing. "Someone will get your stuff. You stay with me until this resolves."

"I can't just move in with a stranger." Even as protest formed, relief flooded through me. Someone else taking control, standing between me and danger.

"Then the clubhouse. Multiple eyes on you."

"A biker clubhouse is supposed to be better?"

"Then my place stands." The phone disappeared, decision final. "I'll escort you home after shift for essentials. Everything else moves tomorrow."

That casual authority should have triggered every independent instinct I'd developed through nursing school. Instead, two weeks of fear started unwinding. Someone else would handle the darkness so I could breathe again.

"I don't need a babysitter." The weak protest fooled no one.

"Never said you did." No condescension, just facts. "Protection means someone else handles threats while you live your life."

"You don't even know me."

"Dr. Tad vouches for you. In Pike Creek, that's everything." He moved closer, forcing my chin up to maintain eye contact. My body responded immediately—nipples tightening against cotton, thighs pressing together. The attraction hit like a sledgehammer, wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything, but undeniable. "These people hunting you expect isolation and fear. Taking that away changes their game."

"What about your life? Your job? You can't shadow me indefinitely." My voice came out breathier than intended, and his eyes tracked to my mouth for a split second before returning to my face.

Something like amusement flickered across his harsh features. "My job is protecting club interests. Dr. Tad asked, that makes you my priority." He leaned slightly closer, and my breath caught. "And princess, I don't babysit—I eliminate problems."

The casual violence in those words sent liquid heat straight to my core. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything to develop a thing for a dangerous biker, but my body had already decided.

"Seven o'clock." The capitulation escaped before logic could intervene.

"I'll be waiting." His attention shifted to Dr. Tad. "She doesn't leave alone. Not for lunch, not for supplies, nothing."

"Understood."

His attention returned to me, the intensity of it making my skin flush. "Phone."

I fumbled it from my pocket. Our fingers brushed in the exchange, and my whole hand tingled from that brief contact. His jaw clenched—he'd felt it too.

He programmed his number and returned the phone. "Any hint of trouble—weird call, someone watching, even just a bad feeling—you contact me immediately."

"This seems excessive for just threats?—"

"Two weeks of escalation ending in home invasion isn't just threats." His voice went lethal. "It's foreplay before something worse. Seen this pattern before."

"In Pike Creek?"

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Shadows crossed his features before disappearing behind control. "Predators hunt the same everywhere. Isolation, fear, pressure until the target breaks. Not happening on my watch."

Grace called from reception. "Mrs. Gray is here for her appointment."

"Go." Blade stepped aside, but the doorway meant brushing against him. That brief press of my body to his solid chest made me bite back a whimper. "Do your job. I'll be around."

"Thank you," I whispered, meaning everything—the protection, making me feel less alone, the way his presence made my body sing.

"Don't thank me yet, princess. We're just starting."

The rest of my shift passed in hyperawareness. He didn't hover, but I caught glimpses—checking windows, quiet words with Dr. Tad, materializing whenever I entered an empty room. Should have felt suffocating. Instead, my body stayed in a constant state of arousal, knowing he watched, protected, commanded the space around me.

When I bent to retrieve dropped supplies, I felt his attention like a physical touch. When I reached for high shelves, my scrub top riding up to reveal a strip of skin, his presence seemed to intensify. By afternoon, I was fumbling simple tasks, fingers unsteady not from fear but from the building tension between us.

Even Mrs. Gray noticed. "You're flushed, dear. Coming down with something?"

If only she knew. What I was coming down with had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the dangerous man shadowing my every move.

At six-forty-five, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Running out of patience, nurse. Pills better start moving tonight.

My hands shook as I forwarded it to Blade's number.

He appeared in the doorway within seconds, expression murderous. "When?"

"Just now."

He examined my phone with practiced efficiency. "Burner, bounced signal, but they're getting sloppy." His expression turned grim. "They'll likely move tonight."

"Move?"

"Grab you. Hurt you. Make their point." The casual tone made it worse. "Why you're not going anywhere alone."

Seven o'clock arrived too fast. Grace's knowing looks between Blade and me guaranteed the entire town would know by morning. Small-town gossip traveled at light speed.

Outside, his motorcycle waited—all black chrome and barely contained power, matching its owner. My beat-up car looked pathetic beside it.

"Follow close," he commanded. "Don't stop for anything. Someone tries to flag you down, keep driving. Someone cuts you off, horn and accelerate. Clear?"

"Clear."

The five-minute drive stretched endlessly. Every car became a threat, every shadow a potential attacker. But Blade stayed right ahead, steady and solid.

At my building, he reached my door before I'd killed the engine. "Stay close."

Inside, he swept the apartment systematically while I stood frozen, seeing my space through his eyes. Secondhand furniture that had seemed cozy now looked shabby. Nursing textbooks scattered on surfaces like I was still a student, not a professional. The small touches trying to make it home—throw pillows from Target, struggling plants I forgot to water, graduation photos where I looked so young and naive.

"Bedroom?" His voice made me jump.

"End of the hall."

Watching him enter my most private space, seeing him assess where I slept, where I dressed—my whole body flushed hot. Those big hands touching my doorframe, checking window locks, moving through my space with protective intent.

"Pack for a week," he ordered, finishing his inspection. "Clothes, work stuff, toiletries. Rest comes later."

I packed mechanically—scrubs that suddenly seemed to show too much when I imagined his eyes on me at work tomorrow, regular clothes that revealed how much online shopping I'd done to fill lonely evenings, basics that felt too intimate for a stranger to see. My favorite sleep shorts, worn soft from too many washes. The oversized t-shirt I slept in, imagining his reaction to seeing me in it.

The graduation photo went in last, reminder of life before threats and dangerous bikers who made my body betray logic. Before I'd known what it felt like to want someone this immediately, this intensely.

"Ready?"

He filled my bedroom doorway, and the sight of all that controlled power in my intimate space made my thighs clench. Tomorrow I'd wake up in his home. Sleep in his space. Exist in his orbit.

"Ready as I can be for moving in with someone I just met."

That almost-smile appeared. "Not strangers anymore, princess. I'm your protection. Get used to having me around."

Following him out with my hasty bag, that unwelcome attraction burned hotter. Blade Beckett was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with the threats against me.

The danger he posed was to my self-control, my independence, my carefully constructed walls.

And my traitorous body had already surrendered.