Protector Daddy

by Roberts, Laylah

“Uh, no thank you. Manuel is already here. I can’t turn him away. Besides, we’re neighbors.”

  They were neighbors? That made him feel a bit better. Obviously, she knew him and was trying to help him in his new business venture. Fuck it. He really had other places to be right now.

  She slid out of his hold and turned to look at him. “Nice to meet you.”

  Was she nuts?

  She must have realized what she’d said was kind of ridiculous because she turned away and walked quickly towards the ‘taxi’ while he stood there and ground his teeth together.

  Not your girl. Not your problem.

  As she reached the back of the car, he found himself stepping forward and grabbing hold of the door, opening it.

  “Oh, thank you.”

  He was an idiot. Why didn’t he just walk off?

  “Hey there, big man,” the driver said. “You want a ride as well?”

  Spike turned and glared at the guy. He sat back in his seat. “You fucking drive her home safely.”

  “Sure. Sure. I always drive safe.”

  “Safer than you were just driving?”

  “Yeah, yeah, man, for sure!”

  He took a step back as she wound down the back window. “Oh, wait, I forgot to tell you about…”

  Turning, he strode away. Without a backward glance.

  Thank God he’d never see that crazy lunatic again.

  6

  She paced up and down the motel room.

  How the hell had tonight gone so wrong? She’d gone to Reaper’s to tell Spike about the risk and she’d completely failed.

  Not that it had been entirely her fault. After all, the man hadn’t exactly wanted to listen to her.

  “So rude,” she said to Mr. Fluffy who was stretched out on the new dog bed she’d bought him.

  Before going out tonight she’d gone to the pet store and bought one or two things for Mr. Fluffy. Just a bed. And those puppy pads for toilet training. Food. And some toys. A couple of outfits, because they were too irresistible to ignore.

  Maybe she’d spent a bit more money than she’d intended. But they were all necessities.

  Well, perhaps the blue and white onesie pajamas he was currently dressed in was overkill. But it almost matched her own onesie that she was wearing, so how could she resist?

  She may also have taken a few selfies of the two of them and sent them home to Mrs. Spain.

  Speaking of home . . . with a groan, she pulled out her laptop and brought up Skype. It didn’t take long for them to pick up on the other end.

  Millie had to smile as five people crowded into the shot. Happiness filled her, pushing aside her anxiety.

  “Hi, guys. You didn’t all have to stay up so late to talk to me.”

  She settled on the bed. Her onesie was one she’d sewn herself. It was pale blue with white stars on it and had a hood with white ears. She’d also added a detachable tail and a drop seat so she didn’t have to pull the whole thing off to pee.

  Overall, she thought it was damn cute.

  Sewing was her stress reliever. She made most of her clothes and all of her Little outfits, like her onesies and her skirts and dresses. She rarely wore pants or shorts.

  Doug had told her that she was too big to wear those outfits. That she looked ridiculous dressed up like a little girl.

  But Doug isn’t here anymore. And after he’d broken up with her, she’d pulled all her old outfits from storage. She didn’t wear them in front of anyone else. Well, except for the onesies, but they could pass for pajamas.

  And they were like a security blanket to her. They helped soothe her when she was stressed.

  “Hello dear,” Mrs. Spain said. She frowned slightly. “You look upset. Harold, doesn’t she look worried?”

  Her husband peered into the computer. He was near-sighed and almost completely deaf. “I can’t hear her speaking,” he yelled.

  “That’s because she’s not saying anything, you old fart,” Mrs. Spain replied.

  Millie had to bite her lip as the pair of them started arguing.

  Yeah, she missed this.

  “Hush, you two, poor Millie can’t get a word in.” Mrs. Larson shushed them all. “Millie, dear, are you all right? How is your mission going?”

  “Not so great,” Millie told them. She explained everything that had gone on, including going to Reaper’s bar to find Spike tonight. “I left without telling him about the threat.”

  “I am not sure it was a good idea to go to a bikers bar alone, dear,” Mrs. Spain said worriedly.

  “There were other women there.” How nice would it be to have friends like the women she’d met tonight? “But I wish I’d been able to warn Spike.”

  “Sounds to me like he didn’t want to hear what you had to say,” Reverend Pat said. At seventy-three, he was the youngest of the group.

  “Reverend Pat are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She’d just never seen him look so relaxed. “Have you done something different with your hair? You look younger.”

  “I’m stress-free for the first time in twenty-three years.”

  Okay. That was odd. He’d retired several years ago, why would he only be stress-free now?

  “But I should have tried harder. He could be in danger.” The guilt was flaying her.

  “You cannot make him drink if there is no water,” a heavily accented voice boomed.

  “That’s not even close to the saying,” Mrs. Spain said to Andrey.

  Andrey immigrated to the states from Russia at least a decade ago. And his accent was still as thick as when he’d first moved there. She was starting to think it was on purpose. He seemed to take great delight in annoying everyone around him.

  “No?” Andrey asked.

  “It’s you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink,” Mrs. Spain explained.

  “But we no talk of horses.”

  She sighed. Too much more of this and her migraine would return.

  “Hush, all of you. You’ll make Millie even more stressed. And she looks pale. Have you been eating? Did you finish Dan’s jerky? Do you need us to send you more? Are you taking your medication?” Mrs. Larson shot the questions at her.

  She smiled at the fussing. She didn’t bother to remind any of them that she was vegetarian. They all tended to forget that she didn’t eat meat. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Dan said to remember to use the cash he gave you for bribes,” Mrs. Larsen reminded her.

  She smiled and nodded.

  “We have to go now. It’s late. We’re old. Good luck, dear,” Mrs. Spain said.

  “What?” Mr. Spain barked.

  “Don’t worry about that biker, he’s not your problem,” Mrs. Larsen told her.

  Only problem was. She couldn’t forget about him. Or stop worrying.

  She ended up tossing and turning half the night. And she kept coming to the same conclusion. If he wouldn’t listen to her, then she was just going to have to make certain nothing happened to him. How, exactly, she wasn’t sure. She still had to work that part of the plan out.

  She also needed to figure out where to find this Damon Steele. Then there was her mission. There was a lot to do. But Millie could accomplish it.

  Failure wasn’t an option. Not this time.

  7

  Spike nodded to the bouncer as he walked through the front door of Pinkies. As far as strip clubs went, this one was at the higher end. And Steele looked after his girls. There was a zero tolerance of any sort of abuse. He also didn’t sell sex. Yeah, there was full nudity. You could also get private lap dances. But that was it.

  Still, it wasn’t Spike’s kind of place.

  He scowled as he made his way to the stairs that led up to Steele’s office. Some flunky he didn’t know was standing at the door at the bottom of the stairs.

  He gave Spike the once over, sneering as he took in his worn jeans, scuffed motorcycle boots and leather vest.

  “You
can’t come up here. It’s private.”

  “Get out of my way.” Spike didn’t have the patience for this. That dark-haired vixen from last night was still plaguing him. This morning, he’d found himself scouring the news for any mentions of a missing or murdered woman like some crazed stalker.

  When he didn’t find anything, he’d actually sighed in relief. What was it about her that had gotten to him? He never should have stopped to listen to her nonsense. But then she’d tripped and he couldn’t just leave her sitting on the ground.

  Or on her own in a fairly rough neighborhood. She was a sexier, more naïve version of that woman from The Sound of Music. He swore, if she’d broken into song, he wouldn’t have been shocked.

  He needed to forget about her and her bubblegum scent, her handbag dog and her over-the-top optimism. He had actual shit to worry about.

  Now he was late to his meeting with Steele. And he was in a damn bad mood.

  This flunky stood no chance.

  Spike stepped closer. “Move.”

  The dickhead stood his ground, although Spike saw a hint of worry enter his eyes. How the hell did this idiot get this job?

  “You can’t get up here without an invite. Mr. Steele is having a meeting and he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Spike would enjoy toying with him. If he wasn’t already running behind.

  “Move. Now.”

  The door behind the idiot opened. He had crap instincts considering he just stood there, glaring at Spike.

  “Jerry, what are you doing?” a smooth voice asked.

  Jerry jumped and turned to face the man standing behind him. Slim-built but muscular, he wore a white shirt with black pants. He had a neatly-trimmed short beard and dark green eyes. Thomas Grady was a man who could blend in when he wanted to or cause complete fear and chaos when he put his mind to it.

  He wasn’t a man to cross.

  “Ahh, Mr. Grady. Was just telling this idiot to move on.”

  “Really? What were my instructions to you when I left you here?” Grady asked.

  “To send up the guy Mr. Steele’s meeting with when he arrived. But this isn’t him.”

  “Why isn’t it him?”

  Jerry grew pale, seeming to realize his mistake. “You mean . . . he . . . but shit. He looks like . . .”

  “Yes?” Grady asked quietly.

  “Nothing. Sorry, sir,” he said to Grady then Spike. “Go up please.”

  Spike resisted the urge to growl at him. Barely.

  When the door was closed on the idiot, Grady turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Why didn’t you just tell him your name?”

  “He’s an idiot. He made assumptions. Steele needs someone better guarding his back.”

  “I’ll let you tell him that.”

  Spike would.

  He followed Grady up the stairs into Steele’s office. Which was actually more like a suite of rooms than just a simple office. They entered into a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out to the club below. It had its own bar as well as a lounging area and a dining table.

  A woman stood behind the bar, mixing drinks. She was wearing the tight top and short shorts that all the servers here wore. She sent him an interested, sultry look. But he ignored her. All the servers were taught to treat the patrons like that. As though they were tasty snacks to devour. It got them more tips.

  He was no snack. He was barbed wire wrapped in leather.

  Beyond the living room was a bathroom, a private office and a sleeping area. With how much time Steele spent here, he guessed it made sense to have a bedroom.

  A tall man, shoulders thick with muscle that he’d developed as a cage fighter, stood in front of the windows. He turned around, giving Spike a bored look. There wasn’t much that interested Steele anymore. Sometimes Spike thought it was like looking into a mirror.

  Maybe that’s why he didn’t like to spend time with the other man.

  Or maybe that was due to the memories. Either way, he was already itching to get out of here.

  “Spike, you’re late.”

  Spike just grunted.

  Steele, used to his ways, turned to their server. “You can go, Lucy. We’ll call you back up if we need you.”

  Disappointment filled her face. He wondered if it was the missed tips, because Steele might own the place but he was always a generous tipper or if she’d been hoping to be the filling in a Steele-Grady sandwich.

  Steele was known for that as well.

  But she was too well-trained to argue. Instead, she strode across the room, with sultry, hip-swaying steps. It struck him as false. And wrong. He turned away from her, and he noticed Steele did the same.

  He waved him to a seat and Grady took over getting the drinks. He brought them both glasses of scotch before grabbing one for himself. Spike set his down on the coffee table. He wasn’t much of a drinker.

  “What do you need?” Steele asked.

  Spike raised his eyebrows.

  “You only visit when you need something. Last time it was a meet with that asshole pimp, Frankie.” Steele grimaced. “The city is a better place without him. Wish I could congratulate the person who got rid of him.” He sent Spike a knowing look.

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Whatever. He wasn’t here to convince Steele that he didn’t kill Frankie.

  “Luther is back,” Steele told him.

  “Frankie’s son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thought he was working for Jared Bartolli in Seattle. Isn’t he married to Jared’s cousin?”

  “Hmm. Makes you wonder why he’s here.”

  “Think Jared Bartolli is trying to get a foothold in the city?” Spike asked.

  “It’s possible he’s trying to expand out. He had a link into the city with Frankie, but now that he’s gone . . .”

  Fuck. That was all the city needed. Luther Franklin buying and selling women. Spike felt ill at the thought.

  “Jared Bartolli is smarter than his father was. But he doesn’t have much interest in selling skin. Which makes him a better man than Fergus, the fucker,” Steele said.

  “You know much about the Devil’s Sinners?” Spike asked, changing the subject.

  Steele’s eyes narrowed and he gazed over at Grady. Steele had most of the city tied up. His guys ran drugs. He owned chop-shops. Underground gambling clubs. This was his only strip club. But there wasn’t much competition, just a couple of seedy clubs in a bad neighborhood, so it was popular. He also owned a restaurant and a nightclub.

  There wasn’t much that happened in the city that he didn’t know about.

  Steele’s jaw tightened. “I know they’re scum. They’re bringing in a low-grade meth that’s mixed with shit. They’re making moves into Montana, taking over territory. They’re on the outskirts of the city, trying to inch their way in. Already heard reports of several people dying from a bad batch they’ve cut. They like to target high school kids, get them selling in the schools and move up from there. Know you don’t like what I do, but we don’t target kids.”

  “They’re not just here,” Grady added. “They’re moving in on Markovich’s territory. Heard from Gray, his second in charge, that he’s fucking livid. Markovich doesn’t run drugs, though. He’s a loan shark, runs a few illegal gambling houses, but no guns, no drugs, no sex. He’s practically a saint. You know, for a criminal.”

  “They’ve been hanging around Razor’s neighborhood, tried to recruit some of his boys. Beat one up when he refused,” Spike told them.

  Steele’s jaw tightened but he didn’t say anything. However, Spike knew that was enough to start him thinking about what to do with these assholes.

  Steele nodded, opening his mouth to say something more when there was a knock at the door. He frowned as Grady rose smoothly from his chair. He walked over to the door, opening it and speaking quietly to the man on the other side.

  Then he stepped back and gestured for the idiot from downstairs t
o come in. “Uh, Mr. Steele?”

  “Yes, Jerry?”

  “There’s a woman here to see you.”

  Steele sighed. “I don’t need any company. Tell her thank you, but no.”

  Spike wouldn’t have been so polite. Especially not with how often Steele was propositioned.

  “Umm, this woman . . . she’s not . . . she’s not your usual type.”

  Steele raised his eyebrows. “I have a usual type?”

  Spike snorted. Steele turned to him.

  “Blonde, busty and tall,” Spike told him.

  “I hadn’t realized I’d become so predictable. So I’m guessing she’s a short brunette?”

  “Well, yeah, she is, but that’s not what I mean. I don’t think she’s here for a fuck. Umm, she seems like a lady.”

  Spike sat up straight. No, it couldn’t be. There were plenty of short brunettes in this city. No way it would be her.

  “My answer remains the same,” Steele said in a low voice.

  “Right, sir. Do you want to tell her yourself?”

  “No, I don’t want to tell her. Get rid of her.”

  Something didn’t sit right in Spike’s gut. It couldn’t be her. Impossible. Why would she be here? Yet he couldn’t stop himself from checking. He walked over to the windows. And caught sight of dark gleaming hair as a woman dressed in red strode towards the back room where all the strippers got ready.

  Fuck. Was it her?

  Spike watched until the woman disappeared. He turned to Jerry. “This woman, was she carrying an ugly, oversized purse? Maybe with a dog in it?”

  “A dog?” Steele asked, looking shocked.

  “I didn’t see a dog, but yeah, she did have a big purse,” Jerry replied.

  “You know her?” Steele asked curiously. There was something in his gaze. A reminder of their shared ties. “Do you want her sent up?”

  “Don’t know her. May have met her. Can’t understand why she’d be here. Or asking for you.”

  Unless she’d followed him. But why ask for Steele? Fuck.

  “Send her up,” Steele told Jerry.

  Jerry disappeared before Spike could tell him not to bother, that she’d already wandered off.

  “Tell me about this woman,” Steele said, watching him with predatory eyes. Spike just stared back at him calmly.