Chapter Eight
The Ridgerunner compound looked like a summer camp designed by outlaws.
Several dogs, actually.
Her three rescues went absolutely wild.
Professor howled—his ancient basset lungs producing a sound that shook the van windows. Ginger pressed against the cargo gate, barking frantically at the compound dogs investigating their arrival. Waffle tucked himself under Penny's seat and refused to come out.
"Easy," she murmured, though she wasn't sure if she was talking to the dogs or herself. "We're safe here. This is safe."
She didn't quite believe it.
Eddy's bike pulled up beside her van, engine cutting to silence. He swung off and was at her door before she could open it herself, pulling it wide, offering his hand to help her down.
"Welcome to the compound," he said.
She took his hand. His grip was warm and firm, and he didn't let go when her feet hit the gravel.
"It's... a lot."
"Gets easier." He tugged her forward, not releasing her fingers. "Come on. I'll show you where you're staying."
They walked through the compound with his hand wrapped around hers, and Penny felt every eye in the place track their movement.
Brothers on the lodge porch, coffee cups in hand, watching over their mugs. Prospects washing bikes who stopped mid-scrub to stare. A cluster of women near the pavilion who went quiet as Penny and Eddy passed.
She'd never felt so visible in her life.
"They're staring," she murmured.
"They're curious." Eddy's thumb brushed across her knuckles, casual and possessive. "Brother brings a woman onto compound property, it means something. They're trying to figure out what."
"And what does it mean?"
He glanced at her, something heated flickering in his expression. "You really want to know?"
Before she could answer, the compound dogs arrived.
A motley pack of five or six descended on them—hounds and mutts and one enormous shepherd mix who immediately tried to sniff Penny's pockets. She laughed despite herself, crouching down to greet them properly.
"Hey there. Hey. Who's a good—oh, you're all good, aren't you?"
The dogs swarmed her, tails wagging, tongues lapping at her hands and face. Behind her, she heard Eddy make a sound that might have been a chuckle.
"You just made friends with half the compound."
"Dogs are easy." She straightened, wiping her hands on her jeans. "People are harder."
"Not these people." He nodded toward a cabin at the edge of the tree line, close to the water. "That's you. Let's get your pack settled before they tear your van apart."
The cabin was small but clean. One bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchenette barely big enough to turn around in, and a living area with a view of the lake through sliding glass doors. Penny walked through it slowly, taking inventory the way she always did—exits, sight lines, defensible positions.
God. She was thinking like someone in a war zone.
"It's not much," Eddy said from the doorway. "But it's secure. Nobody comes down to this end of the compound without being seen."
"It's perfect." She turned to face him. "Really. Thank you."
He nodded, but didn't move. Just stood there in the doorway, filling it with his presence, watching her the way he'd been watching her since the moment they met.
"I need to unload the dogs," she said.
"I'll help."
They worked in comfortable silence, carrying crates and bowls and bags of food from the van to the cabin.
Professor immediately claimed the couch, sprawling across the cushions like he owned the place.
Ginger did her anxious laps until Penny gave her a job—guarding the sliding glass door, which the border collie took very seriously.
Waffle attached himself to Penny's ankle and refused to be dislodged.
By the time they finished, the cabin looked less like a safe house and more like a chaotic pet rescue.
Penny loved it.
"You good?" Eddy asked.
"Getting there." She straightened from arranging Professor's arthritis bed. "What happens now?"
"Church at nine. I brief the brothers on last night. You—" He paused, considering. "You should meet the old ladies."
"The what?"
"Brothers' women. Claimed women." Something shifted in his expression. "They'll want to meet you. Make sure you're settling in."
"Make sure I'm good enough, you mean."
"Make sure you're handling it." He crossed the room, stopping close enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his eyes. "They've been where you are. Pulled into club business, not sure what the rules are. They'll help."
She studied his face. "And what am I supposed to tell them? About us?"
"Whatever you want."
"That's not an answer."
His hand came up to cup her jaw. Gentle this time, not like the desperate grip before the battle. His thumb traced her cheekbone.
"Tell them the truth," he said quietly. "You're here because I brought you. You're protected because I said so. The rest of it—" His eyes dropped to her mouth. "The rest we figure out together."
Penny's heart was pounding. She should step back. Should establish boundaries, maintain distance, remember that she'd known this man for less than a week.
Instead, she leaned into his palm.
"Okay," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her—could feel the tension coiling between them, the air going thick and electric.
Then voices outside. Female voices, getting closer.
Eddy dropped his hand and stepped back, the heat in his expression banking to something more controlled.
"That'll be them," he said. "I'll be back after church."
He was out the door before she could respond.
Three women appeared on her porch within sixty seconds.
The first was tall and silver-haired, with the kind of weathered beauty that suggested a lifetime of hard work and no apologies.
The second was younger, dark-haired, carrying a basket that smelled like fresh bread.
The third had practical hands and kind eyes, and she was looking at Penny like she was a stray that needed evaluating.
"You must be Penny." The silver-haired woman didn't wait for an invitation, just walked into the cabin like she owned it. "I'm Maggie. Still's old lady. These are Darcy and Tessa."
The dark-haired one—Darcy—held up the basket. "Brought breakfast. Figured you wouldn't have had time to eat."
"I—thank you." Penny accepted the basket, slightly overwhelmed. "You didn't have to—"
"We know." Tessa, the one with the kind eyes, crouched to greet Professor, who'd lifted his head from the couch to investigate. "But compound rules. New woman shows up, we check in. Make sure you've got what you need."
"And make sure you're not going to cause problems," Maggie added bluntly. "Though if Eddy brought you in, you've already passed that test."
Penny set the basket on the counter, buying herself time to think. These women weren't hostile, exactly. But they were assessing her. Weighing her against some standard she couldn't see.
"I run a pet grooming business," she said, because it was the only thing she could think to say. "Or I did. Before all this."
Tessa's expression shifted—interest now, instead of evaluation. "I run the large animal vet clinic out on Route 7. You ever work with farm animals?"
"Just dogs and cats. Occasional rabbit."
"Pity. I could use someone who's good with nervous animals."
Darcy laughed. "She's already recruiting. Tessa does that."
"I have a bakery," Darcy added. "And Maggie's got the best barbecue in three counties. We're all working women here. Understand what it means to build something."
Something in Penny's chest loosened. "They destroyed my shop. Kirby's people. Broke the windows, tore up the kennels."
"They do that." Maggie's voice was matter-of-fact. "Try to break what we've built. Try to make us feel small." She fixed Penny with a hard stare. "Does it work?"
Penny thought about Biscuit. About her mother's terrified phone calls. About Samples drowning in the lake while Eddy held him under.
"No," she said. "It doesn't work."
Maggie's lips curved into something that was almost a smile. "Good answer."
The women stayed for an hour.
They drank the coffee Penny made—weak, because she couldn't find the good filters—and asked questions that were somehow both intrusive and comforting. Where she grew up. How she started her business. What she thought of the compound so far.
Nobody asked about her and Eddy. Nobody had to.
"These men aren't easy," Maggie said eventually, leaning against the kitchen counter with her mug in hand. "They're loyal to a fault and protective to the point of suffocation. They'll move heaven and earth for the people they claim, but they don't always know how to say what they're feeling."
"Eddy's the quietest of the bunch," Darcy added. "Still waters, you know? But that doesn't mean nothing's happening underneath."
Tessa nodded. "If he brought you here, it means something. He doesn't bring people into his space. Ever."
Penny absorbed this. Filed it away with everything else she was learning about the man who'd drowned another man for threatening her.
"I don't know what we are," she admitted. "Everything's happened so fast."
"It always does." Maggie set down her mug. "But you've got time to figure it out. That's what the compound is for. Safety while you catch your breath." She headed for the door, the other women following. "You need anything—anything at all—you come find us. We take care of our own."
Our own.
Penny wasn't sure she qualified as that yet. But the offer felt genuine.
"Thank you," she said. "For the food. And the... welcome."
"Don't thank us yet," Tessa said with a grin. "Wait until you see what compound life is really like."
Then they were gone, leaving Penny alone with her dogs and her thoughts.
She spent the next hour making phone calls.
Diane first, then Philip. She explained as little as possible—family emergency, extended closure, she'd be in touch about reopening. They asked questions she couldn't answer. She promised updates she wasn't sure she could deliver.
The business she'd built from nothing was slipping through her fingers, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.
Her mother's number went straight to voicemail.
Penny tried three times, spacing the calls out, hoping Linda would pick up between them. Nothing. Not even a ring.
The voicemail was still the generic recording. The person you are trying to reach is not available.
She sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, Waffle pressed against her thigh. Through the sliding glass door, she could see the lake glittering in the morning sun. Peaceful. Beautiful. Completely at odds with the fear churning in her stomach.
Her mother wasn't answering.
Kirby knew what happened last night. Knew his man was dead, knew the Ridgerunners had made their move, knew Penny was under club protection now.
And Linda was still trapped in his house, alone, with a monster who made detailed threats about what happened to women who crossed him.
Penny closed her eyes and pressed her phone to her forehead.
Please be okay. Please, please be okay.
No answer came.
Outside, the lake stayed calm. The compound stayed quiet. And somewhere, her mother was either safe or she wasn't—and Penny had no way to know which.
She set up the dogs' beds properly, arranged their food bowls in the kitchen corner, hung up the few clothes she'd packed. Made the cabin feel like hers, because that's what she did when things spiraled. Created order. Maintained control.
But when she'd finished, when the dogs were settled and the space was organized and there was nothing left to manage—
She sat on the porch and stared at the water, her phone silent in her lap, and waited for news that might never come.