Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Walker
I headed to my office, leaving Lottie with Fiona. Through the partially open door, I caught a glimpse of the two women already deep in conversation, Fiona gesturing animatedly while Lottie nodded. Relief washed through me. This had been the right call.
My office was at the back of the house, a space I'd converted from a spare bedroom when I bought the place.
It was sparse but functional—a desk, ergonomic chair, and wall-mounted monitors for security feeds.
The only personal touch was a framed photo of my grandmother, taken years before my grandfather's abuse had dimmed the light in her eyes.
I had some photos of my parents and me as a baby but I could never bear to look at them, so they were somewhere in a box.
I settled into my chair and initiated a video call to Dion, Gideon, and Maddox. They answered almost immediately, their faces appearing in separate windows on my screen.
"How's she doing?" Dion asked without preamble, his expression concerned.
"Better," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Doc got her stabilized. Xavier sent Fiona around and she’s with her now, talking about management strategies."
Maddox nodded. “Fiona’s good people.”
“I learned more about Lottie’s background." I took a deep breath, organizing my thoughts, and repeated what Eric had told me.
"She told me about her uncle," I said, leaning back in my chair. "This guy raised her after her parents died, made her feel like a burden because of her diabetes, then kicked her out at eighteen with nothing."
"Sounds like a real piece of work," Maddox muttered, his expression darkening.
"Eric's background check confirms it," I continued. "Her parents died when she was young—car accident with some very suspicious elements that were never followed up on. The uncle, Stephen Mallory, became her guardian and took control of all assets."
"What assets?" Gideon asked, leaning forward.
"Three rental properties, a paid-off house in Oakwood Hills, two cars. Not massive wealth, but comfortable. But Lottie told me her parents didn't leave her anything."
Dion's eyebrows shot up, and Gideon made a disgusted sound.
"Eric's doing some more digging into the will, as he didn't think it was straightforward." I tapped my fingers against the desk. "Meanwhile, she's living in a shithole apartment near Nebraska Avenue, working minimum wage at a convenience store, and can't afford her insulin."
"While this asshole lives in her parents' house and drives a Mercedes," Dion finished, his face hardening into the expression I recognized from our military days—the one that meant someone was about to have a very bad day.
"Exactly. And now someone's broken into her apartment. Nothing was taken, but they went through all her things, reorganized everything."
"That's...specific," Gideon noted, his tactical mind already working. "Not your typical burglary."
"No," I agreed. "It feels targeted. Like someone was looking for something."
"Or sending a message," Maddox added grimly.
I nodded. "But what? The place was tidied up, if anything. And someone had to be watching her."
"Like stalkerish?" Dion asked.
"I think it's possible.”
"You think Mallory is behind the break-in?" Gideon's voice was measured.
I huffed. “Honestly? It seems too weird. If he is planning something, wouldn’t he take advantage of the crap security? The last thing he’d want would be to panic her into moving or beefing up her security.”
“Unless he’s laying a motive,” Maddox said. “Give the cops something to look at.”
“Fuck,” I said quietly. She was at an even bigger risk. "Any progress on the break-in?"
Gideon nodded, his expression shifting to what we all recognized as his tactical assessment face.
"Security footage from the building across the street shows someone entering around five the day before yesterday. Male, approximately five feet eight inches tall, baseball cap pulled low. He left approximately thirty minutes later.”
He forestalled my next question. "Couldn't get a clear look at his face," Gideon continued, tapping at something on his keyboard. "The problem is there are no cameras inside the building so he could just be a resident. He’s the only one we couldn’t get a facial ID on."
I frowned, unease crawling up my spine.
"We've got someone watching her apartment building now, but so far he hasn't returned."
"What about her work?" Dion asked. "Sunny's Mart?"
"Eric’s running background checks on the employees," Maddox said. "But it's a revolving door of minimum-wage workers. High turnover rate, spotty employment records."
"Her boss," I said suddenly, remembering how Lottie had mentioned him. "Marco. She said he's always been 'kind' to her, but something in her tone didn't sit right."
"I'll ask Eric to look into him first," Maddox promised. "What's your plan, Walker? She can't go back to that apartment."
I scrubbed a hand over my face, my fingers tightening into a fist against my jaw.
"I want to bundle her up and tell her she's staying here where I can keep her safe, period.
" My voice came out deeper than usual, rougher.
"But I'm not making that mistake again. Last time I tried to tell her what to do, she shut down completely. "
"Even if those decisions put her at risk?" Gideon's voice was carefully neutral, but I knew he was thinking of Abby.
Dion huffed. “We all make those mistakes.”
My jaw clenched. "I'm hoping Fiona can get through to her in ways I can't," I admitted, forcing my hands to unclench. "Woman to woman, diabetic to diabetic."
"Smart," Dion nodded. "But you should have a backup plan ready. If someone's targeting her specifically, they'll try again."
"I know." The thought of Lottie returning to that apartment made me want to sweep her up, tuck her against my chest, and whisper that Daddy would take care of everything—
The fuck?
The intensity of the urge didn’t shock me, but since when had I ever thought of myself as a Daddy? A Dom sure, but... "I'm working on it," I responded weakly when I realized they were all waiting for a reply.
"Whatever you need," Maddox said seriously.
"What about her insulin?" Dion asked, leaning closer to the camera.
"She's been stretching it, skipping doses. Doc says her management is dangerously inadequate." I didn't try to hide the anger in my voice. "She's been trying to access assistance programs, but something always falls through."
"I can help with that," Maddox offered immediately. "I've got contacts at three pharmaceutical companies that run patient assistance programs. And Clare's foundation has a medical fund specifically for situations like this."
“When are you going to tell Lottie what Eric found?” Maddox asked.
“As soon as he gets me something definite. I’m worried about overwhelming her even more.”
They all agreed. At least she was safe at the moment.
After ending the call, I sat staring at my grandmother's photograph. I'd promised myself I would never watch someone vulnerable suffer again. I caught myself arranging a mental schedule—when Lottie would take her insulin, what healthy meals I'd prepare for her, the soft clothes I'd buy her.
I didn’t have a Little room. But was that something she’d even want from me?
Lottie wasn't my Little. What was shocking the fuck out of me was that it was something I was even considering. I knew Lottie did, hell, that’s why she had come to the club.
But wanting a Daddy and wanting me were two entirely different things.
I had resources now, but I had to go slowly.
I knew deep down that any BDSM relationship was built on trust and consent.
Lottie had to consent to me making decisions for her, and to trust me to make the right ones.
Right now, I needed to focus on Lottie's immediate needs—stabilizing her health, ensuring her safety, and helping her find more sustainable solutions without making her feel controlled or diminished.
It was such a fine line. I found myself thinking about Gideon and Abby, how their Daddy-Little relationship worked.
On the surface, it looked simple—Gideon made the rules, set boundaries, and took care of everything from Abby's medical appointments to her bedtime. He was unquestionably in charge.
But watching them together revealed a more complex dynamic. Yes, Gideon provided structure and security, but he also gave Abby space to be herself within those boundaries. He didn't dictate her every move or thought. Instead, he created a safe framework where she could flourish.
And God, did he spoil her. Custom-built playroom with every art supply known to mankind.
Designer clothes that suited her Little aesthetic.
Weekly "adventures" carefully planned to expand her horizons while keeping her comfortable.
When she'd been scared of the dentist, he'd brought the damn practice to her to ensure she got gentle care on his terms.
The most telling thing, though, was how they interacted. Gideon—hardened former special forces commander who could make grown men tremble with a look—was completely soft around Abby. She had him wrapped around her little finger, and everyone knew it. He'd move mountains for her smile.
That's what made it work. The power dynamic wasn't about control for control's sake. It was about creating a relationship where both people got what they needed. Gideon needed someone to protect and nurture; Abby needed someone to help her navigate a world that had hurt her badly.
Could Lottie and I have something like that? The question hit me with unexpected force. I'd never considered myself Daddy material. My dominance had always expressed itself through more traditional D/s dynamics—control, pain management, sexual authority.