Chapter 8
The compound rose out of the mountain dark like something from another world.
Ivy saw the gates first—heavy steel that swung open at their approach, guards on either side whose faces she couldn't make out but whose presence she felt like a physical weight.
Then the buildings emerged from shadow: a massive main structure that might have been offices once, garage bays with light spilling from open doors, smaller buildings scattered around a central courtyard.
And everywhere—everywhere—the rumble of bikes and the sharp assessment of hard-eyed men.
Mae pressed tighter against her chest, small arms wrapped around Ivy's neck like she was afraid to let go. The blanket they'd wrapped her in at the safehouse was damp with tears she'd cried silently during the drive, her face buried against Ivy's shoulder.
"It's okay, baby," Ivy murmured, though she wasn't sure who she was reassuring. "We're safe now."
The truck rolled to a stop, and suddenly there were people everywhere. Men in leather cuts, women moving with purpose, voices calling out in tones that mixed relief with business. Someone opened Ivy's door before she could reach for the handle.
Splinter was there.
Blood still streaked his face despite the cleanup attempt at the safehouse, and his shoulder was wrapped in something that might have been a torn shirt. But his eyes found hers immediately, and the intensity in them made her breath catch.
"I've got you," he said. "Come on."
He helped her down from the truck, one hand steadying her elbow while the other hovered near Mae's back—protective, possessive, present. The little girl lifted her head at the sound of his voice.
"Splinter?"
"Right here, little one."
"Are we at the castle?"
Something softened in his expression. "Something like that. There's people here who want to meet you. Nice people. They're gonna take care of you and your mama while I go get cleaned up."
Mae's grip on Ivy tightened. "I want to stay with you."
"I know." He reached out and smoothed a strand of hair from her face with surprising gentleness. "But I need to wash off all this dirt, and you need some food and a warm bed. I'll come find you after, okay? Promise."
The hesitation in Mae's face lasted only a moment before she nodded. Trusting him. The way she'd trusted him since that first morning at the diner, when he'd left a tip too big and looked at her like she mattered.
Ivy understood the feeling.
The women appeared as if summoned.
Two of them, moving through the crowd with the easy confidence of people who belonged here, who'd navigated this world long enough to know its rhythms. One was tall and athletic, dark hair pulled back, medical bag over her shoulder.
The other was softer, blonde, with the kind of warmth in her face that made you want to tell her things.
"You must be Ivy." The dark-haired one reached them first, her gaze sweeping over both of them with professional assessment. "I'm Rachel. This is Beth. We're going to get you settled."
"I—"
"Don't argue." Beth's voice was gentle but firm. "You've been through hell tonight, and so has your little girl. Food, warmth, and somewhere safe to sleep—that's the priority. Everything else can wait until morning."
Mae stirred in Ivy's arms. "Mama? Who are they?"
"Friends, baby." Ivy hoped it was true. "They're going to help us."
Rachel crouched down to Mae's level, her expression shifting from clinical to kind. "Hey there, sweetheart. I'm Rachel. I have a little girl about your age—her name's Diana. I bet she'd love to meet you tomorrow."
"Does she have horses?"
"Stuffed ones. About a hundred of them." Rachel smiled. "She's obsessed."
Mae considered this seriously. "I have a real horse. Splinter made her for me. She's made of wood and her name is Brave."
"That sounds beautiful. Is she with you now?"
Mae's face crumpled. "I left her. At the other place. When the bad men came."
The words hit Ivy like a punch to the gut. She'd forgotten—in the chaos of the attack, the flight to the truck, the convoy through mountain roads—she'd forgotten Mae's wooden horse. The one Splinter had spent hours carving. The one Mae had clutched like a lifeline.
"We'll get her back." Splinter's voice came from behind them, and Ivy turned to find him still there, still watching, despite the blood and the obvious need for medical attention. "Promise. First thing tomorrow, I'll go back and find her."
"Really?" Mae's voice wobbled with hope.
"Really. Brave horses don't get left behind."
Beth stepped forward, producing something from her pocket with the casual magic of a woman used to handling upset children. A lollipop, cherry red, still in its wrapper.
"How about something sweet while we get you settled? I know it's late for candy, but I think tonight we can make an exception."
Mae looked at Ivy for permission. When Ivy nodded, the little girl reached for the lollipop with a solemnity that made Beth's smile widen.
"There we go. Now, let's get you two inside where it's warm."
The compound's interior was nothing like Ivy expected.
She'd imagined something rough, industrial—the kind of space that matched the leather and chrome and hard faces outside.
Instead, she found worn couches and warm lighting, a kitchen that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, hallways with photographs on the walls showing people laughing, celebrating, living.
It looked like a home.
Rachel directed them to a small clinic first—a converted office with an exam table, cabinets of supplies, and equipment that looked more sophisticated than anything in the county hospital.
She checked Mae over with gentle efficiency, pronouncing her scared but unharmed, then turned her attention to Ivy.
"Any injuries? Cuts, bruises, anything that needs attention?"
"I'm fine."
"You're in shock." Rachel's tone was matter-of-fact. "That's not the same as fine. But we can work with shock. Shock just needs time and safety and someone to tell you that what you're feeling is normal."
"Is it?" Ivy heard the crack in her own voice. "Is any of this normal?"
Rachel paused, something complicated moving behind her eyes.
"Normal's relative around here. What I can tell you is that you're not the first woman to come through those gates scared and overwhelmed, and you won't be the last. What I can also tell you is that the men out there—they take care of their own. And right now, that includes you."
"Because of Splinter."
"Because of Splinter." Rachel held her gaze. "That man walked into a room full of brothers tonight and claimed you in front of God and everyone. Do you understand what that means?"
Ivy's pulse stuttered. "I'm not sure I do."
"It means you're protected. It means anyone who comes for you has to go through the entire club first." Rachel's voice softened. "It means he's putting everything on the line for you. His patch, his place here, his future. That's not something these men do lightly."
The words settled into Ivy's chest, heavy and warm and terrifying.
Claimed.
She'd heard the word at the safehouse, in the aftermath of violence. Timber calling her your woman. Grit talking about the kind of woman who belongs with a Reaper. But she hadn't let herself think about what it meant—not really. Not beyond the immediate crisis.
Now she couldn't avoid it.
Splinter had claimed her. In front of his brothers, in the middle of a fight, without hesitation or apology. He'd made her his, and she hadn't even been given the chance to decide if she wanted to be claimed.
The strangest part was realizing she didn't mind.
Beth found them in the clinic, bearing plates of food that made Ivy's stomach growl despite everything.
"Soup and sandwiches. Nothing fancy, but it'll stick to your ribs." She set the plates down on a side table and crouched next to Mae, who had curled up on the exam table with her lollipop and the exhaustion of a child who'd been through too much. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"
"Tired." Mae's eyes were drooping. "Is this a castle? It looks like a castle."
Beth glanced at Ivy with a smile. "What do you think, Mama? Is it a castle?"
Ivy looked around the clinic—at the medical supplies and the worn furniture and the photographs on the walls of people who'd built something here, something worth protecting.
"I think it's something like that," she said softly. "A castle where the knights protect people who need help."
Mae nodded sleepily. "Splinter's a knight. He saved us from the bad men."
"He did." Beth's voice was gentle. "And knights need rest too, which means it's time for both of you to get some sleep. We've got rooms ready—right next to each other, so you can hear your mama through the wall if you need her."
"I want to sleep with Mama."
"How about this," Ivy said, her exhaustion finally catching up. "We'll start in our rooms, and if you get scared, you can come find me. The door will be right there. Close enough to hear me if you call."
Mae considered this with the gravity of someone negotiating a major treaty. "Promise you'll come if I call?"
"I promise."
"Okay."
Beth led them through quiet hallways to a pair of doors at the end of a corridor. The rooms were small but clean—single beds, basic furniture, windows that looked out on the compound courtyard. A lamp glowed on the nightstand in Mae's room, casting warm shadows across walls painted a soft yellow.
"There's fresh towels in the bathroom. Clothes in the dresser—they might not fit perfectly, but they'll do until we can get your things." Beth paused at the door. "And Ivy? Try to sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a big day, and you'll need your strength."
"For what?"
Beth's smile carried an edge of understanding. "For figuring out who you're going to be now. That's always the hardest part—realizing the life you had isn't coming back, and deciding what the new one looks like."
She was gone before Ivy could respond.
Mae was already half-asleep by the time Ivy got her into bed, the borrowed pajamas too big but warm enough. Ivy tucked the blankets around her, kissed her forehead, and stood in the doorway for a long moment just watching her daughter breathe.
Safe.
For the first time in weeks, truly safe.
The realization hit her hard enough to buckle her knees. She caught herself on the doorframe, tears she hadn't known she was holding back spilling down her cheeks in hot, silent streams.
We're safe. We're actually safe.
She made it to her own room before the sobs came. Pressed her face into the pillow and let herself fall apart the way she hadn't been able to with Mae watching, with danger pressing in, with no space for weakness.
When the tears finally stopped, she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.
Claimed.
The word kept circling back, settling into her bones.
He's putting everything on the line for you.
She thought about Splinter—about the blood on his knuckles and the determination in his eyes. About the way he'd looked at her across the common room, like she was something worth fighting for. About the way he'd said I've got you like it was a promise he intended to keep.
About his hands.
Always his hands.
The memory of them rose unbidden—carving wood, smoothing Mae's hair, steadying Ivy's elbow as she climbed down from the truck. Strong and capable and gentle when they needed to be.
What would they feel like on her skin?
Heat crept through her body despite the exhaustion, despite the tears still drying on her cheeks. She shifted in the bed, pressing her thighs together against the sudden pulse of arousal.
Stop.
But she couldn't stop. Her body was awake now, alive with a need she'd suppressed for so long she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. And in the dark, in this unfamiliar room, with safety wrapped around her for the first time in weeks—
Her hand slid beneath the covers.
Just to take the edge off, she told herself. Just to release some of the tension.
But when she slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her borrowed pajamas, it wasn't tension she was thinking about.
It was him.
She imagined his hands instead of hers—rough with calluses, confident, knowing. Imagined him slipping into her room, crossing to her bed, sliding under the covers without a word.
Her fingers found her clit, already swollen with wanting.
Ivy. His voice in her mind, low and rough. Been thinking about this all day.
She stroked herself slowly, building the pleasure in lazy circles. In her fantasy, his fingers replaced hers—thicker, rougher, better. He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly when to push inside.
That's it, the imaginary Splinter murmured against her ear. Let me make you feel good.
She slid two fingers inside herself, gasping at the stretch. She was so wet—embarrassingly wet, soaking the cotton of her pajamas—and the sound of her own arousal made her flush in the darkness.
So wet for me. His voice again, thick with satisfaction. All this just from thinking about my hands?
She fucked herself on her fingers, hips rolling to meet each thrust. Her other hand found her clit, rubbing in fast circles while she imagined his weight pressing her into the mattress, his cock filling her where her fingers couldn't reach.
Mine, the fantasy Splinter growled. You're mine now.
The orgasm built fast and crashed hard—waves of pleasure radiating from her core, her inner walls clenching around her own fingers, a moan escaping her lips that she had to muffle with the pillow.
She rode it out, trembling, gasping, coming harder than she had in years.
When it was over, she lay in the darkness, hand still cupped between her thighs, heart pounding against her ribs.
Jesus.
She'd just gotten herself off thinking about a man she barely knew. A man who'd claimed her without asking. A man who was probably sleeping somewhere in this compound, completely unaware that she'd just come with his name on her lips.
She should feel embarrassed. Ashamed, even.
Instead, she felt hungry.
The orgasm had taken the edge off, but it hadn't satisfied the deeper want—the need for connection, for touch, for someone else's hands on her body. She wanted the real thing. Wanted him.
And tomorrow, when she saw him again, she was going to have to pretend that want didn't exist.
She cleaned herself up with tissues from the nightstand and pulled the covers tight around her shoulders.
Sleep came eventually.
But in her dreams, she wasn't alone.