Chapter Seven
The compound was nothing like Diana expected.
She'd imagined something dark. Dangerous.
A fortress full of hard men and harder edges, everything chrome and leather and hostility.
Instead, the SUV pulled through reinforced gates into what looked almost like a small village—main clubhouse at the center, smaller buildings scattered around it, and everywhere she looked, signs of life.
A vegetable garden along the west fence. A playground with swings and a climbing structure. Laundry flapping on a line behind one of the residential buildings.
And children.
Diana sat up straighter as they passed a group of kids chasing each other across the grass, their laughter carrying through the closed windows.
"Are those..."
"Compound kids." Vice's hand found her knee, warm and grounding. "Brothers' children. Some old ladies too."
Old ladies. The term should have sounded dismissive, but Vice said it with respect. Diana filed it away and kept watching the children—a mix of ages, from toddlers stumbling after older siblings to pre-teens who watched the SUV with suspicious eyes.
"How many?"
"Twelve, maybe fifteen depending on the day. Some live here full-time, some come and go with their parents."
Twelve children. The same number she cared for at Little Sprouts.
Something in Diana's chest loosened.
Maverick pulled the SUV to a stop in front of the main clubhouse, and Diana found herself surrounded before she could even open her door. Men in leather cuts, women with assessing eyes, everyone wanting a look at the woman Vice had brought home in the middle of the night.
Vice was out of the vehicle and at her door in seconds, his hand extended to help her down, his body positioning itself between her and the crowd like a shield.
"Give her room." His voice carried without shouting. "She's been through hell tonight."
The crowd parted. Of course it did—Diana was beginning to understand that when Vice spoke, people listened.
A woman approached through the gap, tall and confident with the bearing of someone who ran things. Diana recognized her from the description Vice had given.
"Diana." Jenna's smile was warm but her eyes missed nothing. "Welcome to the compound. I'm sorry it's under these circumstances."
"Thank you for..." Diana gestured vaguely, encompassing the safehouse, the rescue, all of it. "Everything."
"Don't thank me. Thank him." Jenna nodded toward Vice, something knowing in her expression. "He's the one who couldn't stop talking about the daycare teacher who stood up to three men with nothing but backbone and a panic button."
Vice's hand tightened on Diana's waist. "Jenna."
"What? It's true." Jenna's grin sharpened. "Come on, Diana. Let's get you settled somewhere that doesn't have bullet holes in the walls."
Diana let herself be led toward one of the residential buildings, hyperaware of Vice's presence at her back.
He hadn't let her out of arm's reach since they'd arrived, his hand constantly finding her—her waist, her shoulder, the small of her back.
Claiming touches. Possessive. Marking her as his in front of everyone watching.
She should mind.
She didn't.
"The children," Diana said as they walked. "The ones I saw playing—are they always here? During the day, I mean?"
Jenna glanced back at her with something like approval. "Most of them, yeah. We've got a rotation of old ladies who handle homeschooling and activities, but it's not exactly organized."
"More like controlled chaos," another woman chimed in, falling into step beside them. Younger than Jenna, with kind eyes and a toddler balanced on her hip. "I'm Sophia. This little monster is Lily."
Diana's heart clenched. Her Lily was about the same age—two years old, still calling her "Dee-Dee," probably wondering where she was right now.
"Hi, Lily." Diana smiled at the toddler, who studied her with solemn brown eyes before breaking into a gummy grin. "Oh, you're a charmer, aren't you?"
"She knows a sucker when she sees one." Sophia shifted the baby to her other hip. "Jenna mentioned you run a daycare?"
"Little Sprouts. Twelve kids, ages two to five." Diana's voice caught. "They're the reason I'm here. The reason any of this happened."
"Then they're lucky to have you." Sophia's tone was matter-of-fact. "Not everyone would fight this hard for other people's children."
Diana didn't know how to respond to that, so she just nodded and kept walking.
The residential building Jenna led her to was simple but comfortable—a bedroom with an actual bed instead of a safehouse couch, a bathroom with towels that matched, a window overlooking the compound's central yard where children were still playing despite the early hour.
"Rest if you can," Jenna said from the doorway. "I know you won't, but I had to say it. Breakfast is in the main hall whenever you're ready."
"Jenna." Diana stopped her before she could leave. "The children out there—do they need... I mean, is there anything I could help with?"
Jenna's smile turned knowing. "You can't turn it off, can you? The caretaking."
"It's who I am."
"I figured." Jenna leaned against the doorframe. "Tell you what—get a few hours of sleep, eat something, and then I'll introduce you around. Fair warning: the kids will probably adopt you before lunch. They're shameless that way."
Diana found herself smiling despite everything. "I'm counting on it."
She slept for three hours, woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the sound of children's voices floating up from below. The normalcy of it—kids laughing, playing, being kids—made her eyes sting.
Vice was waiting in the hallway when she emerged, leaning against the wall like he'd been there the whole time. Probably had been.
"Sleep?"
"Some." Diana studied his face—the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. "You didn't."
"I will." He straightened and reached for her, his hand finding her waist like it belonged there. "Breakfast first. Then I've got Church—club business. Jenna's going to look after you."
"I don't need looking after."
His mouth quirked. "Humor me."
"Vice—"
"Diana." He stepped closer, crowding her against the doorframe, his body a wall of heat and leather. "Six men tried to kill you last night. Until I put Barron in the ground next to his fixer, you don't leave my sight or the sight of someone I trust. That's not negotiable."
She should argue. Should assert her independence, remind him she'd survived thirty-three years without a motorcycle club bodyguard.
But Vice's eyes were fierce with something that looked almost like fear, and Diana remembered what he'd told her about the faces that visited him at night.
The people he couldn't save.
"Okay," she said softly. "Not negotiable."
Something in his expression eased. He leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me for being reasonable."
"I'm thanking you for being you." He pulled back, but his hand stayed on her waist. "Come on. Let's feed you."
Breakfast in the main hall was chaos in the best way—men shouting across tables, women herding children, food appearing and disappearing in quantities Diana could barely track.
Vice sat her at a table near the wall, put a plate in front of her piled with eggs and bacon and toast, and glared at anyone who looked at her too long.
It should have been ridiculous. Instead, it made her feel precious.
"So you're the daycare lady."
Diana looked up to find a boy of about ten standing at her elbow, arms crossed, expression suspicious.
"I run a daycare, yes."
"Vice killed a bunch of guys for you last night."
"He did."
The boy considered this. "That's pretty badass. You must be important."
Diana bit back a smile. "I like to think so."
The boy nodded, apparently satisfied, and wandered off to rejoin a group of kids his age. Diana watched him go, something warm spreading through her chest.
"That's Maverick's nephew," Vice said from beside her. "Kid's got no filter."
"I noticed."
Jenna appeared at their table, Sophia trailing behind with Lily still attached to her hip. "Vice, Church in ten. Diana, you want to meet the rest of the crew?"
Vice's hand found Diana's under the table, squeezing once. "Stay close to Jenna."
"I will."
He stood, hesitated, then bent to press a kiss to the top of her head. The gesture was simple—almost casual—but Diana felt the weight of it. The claim.
Everyone in the hall saw it too.
Vice walked away toward the back of the building, and Diana watched him go until Jenna cleared her throat.
"Come on, daycare lady. Let's introduce you to the monsters."
The monsters, as it turned out, were wonderful.
By mid-afternoon, Diana had learned the names of every child on the compound.
There was Tyler, seven years old with skinned knees and an obsession with dinosaurs.
There were the twins, Cody and Carter, who were apparently Wraith's sons and had inherited their father's ability to appear silently out of nowhere.
There was baby Lily in Sophia's arms, and three-year-old Emma who'd immediately claimed Diana's lap and refused to vacate it.
And there was Maya. Sophia's daughter, four years old, with her mother's kind eyes and a gap-toothed smile that made Diana's heart clench.
"Read it again," Maya demanded, pointing at the picture book Diana had found in the common room's overflowing shelves.
"That's three times, sweetheart."
"Again. Please."
Diana laughed and started the book over, surrounded by children who didn't know her but had accepted her anyway. The way kids always did when they sensed someone safe.
The older children drifted in and out, some listening from a distance, others flopping onto nearby couches to pretend they weren't interested. The adults watched from the edges—old ladies assessing the newcomer, deciding if she belonged.
Diana just kept reading.
By the time she reached the end of the fourth repetition, Maya was curled against her side, eyelids drooping. Emma had fallen asleep in her lap, thumb in her mouth. Even the older boys had stopped pretending disinterest, sprawled across the floor with expressions of reluctant contentment.
"You're good at this."
Diana looked up to find Sophia watching from the doorway.
"It's what I do."
"No." Sophia crossed the room and settled into a nearby chair, her own Lily dozing against her shoulder. "What you do is run a daycare. This is something else. This is..."
She trailed off, searching for words.
"A gift," Jenna finished, appearing beside her. "That's what it is. Some people just know how to make children feel safe. You've got it."
Diana blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. "I just like kids."
"It's more than that." Jenna's voice was matter-of-fact.
"These children have seen things. Their parents live dangerous lives.
They know, on some level, that the world isn't always safe.
" She nodded toward Maya, now fully asleep against Diana's side.
"But look at them now. Relaxed. Trusting. That's you."
Before Diana could respond, Maya stirred. Her small hand found Diana's sleeve and gripped tight.
"Diana?" The little girl's voice was sleepy, uncertain.
"I'm here, sweetheart."
"Are you gonna stay forever?"
The question hit Diana like a physical blow. She thought of her own kids—Matty and Sophie and the twins, baby Lily who called her Dee-Dee. Thought of the building someone had tried to take from her, the life she'd built, the war she'd been dragged into.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I'm here right now. Is that okay?"
Maya considered this with the gravity only a four-year-old could muster. Then she nodded and snuggled closer.
"That's okay."
Diana held her tighter and blinked back tears.
Evening painted the compound in shades of gold and amber, the setting sun turning everything soft.
The children had been collected by their parents for dinner, leaving Diana alone in the common room with only the scattered evidence of the afternoon's activities—abandoned toys, crumpled drawings, a single sock that reminded her painfully of Little Sprouts.
Vice found her there.
He settled onto the couch beside her without speaking, his arm coming around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. They sat in comfortable silence, watching through the window as the last of the children chased fireflies across the lawn.
"Jenna says you spent the whole afternoon with the kids."
"They needed someone to read to them." Diana leaned into his warmth. "And I needed... this. Normalcy. Children being children."
"Did it help?"
"More than you know."
Vice's hand traced lazy patterns on her shoulder. "You fit here. Surprised me."
"It surprised me too." Diana watched a little boy catch a firefly and show it triumphantly to his father—Maverick, she thought, though it was hard to tell in the fading light. "I didn't expect outlaws to have story time."
Vice huffed a quiet laugh. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Not this." She gestured at the peaceful scene—fathers playing with children, mothers chatting on porches, the compound settling into evening like any normal neighborhood.
"Not families. Not kids who need someone to read them books and tie their shoes and tell them everything's going to be okay. "
"Everyone needs that."
Diana turned to look at him, this dangerous man who'd killed for her, who watched her like she was something precious, who'd brought her to a place full of children because he'd known—somehow—that she'd need them.
"Even outlaws?" she asked softly.
Vice's gray eyes held hers. "Especially outlaws."
Diana leaned up and kissed his cheek, feeling him go still beneath her touch.
"I didn't expect outlaws to have story time," she murmured against his skin. "Or to need it so much themselves."
Vice's arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and Diana let herself sink into his warmth as the fireflies danced outside and the compound settled into the kind of peace she hadn't known she was searching for.