Protector Daddy

by Roberts, Laylah

  * * *

  “Right, I bet you’re ready to see the back of this place,” a nurse said cheerfully as she pushed a wheelchair into the room.

  It was the first genuine smile she’d seen on one of the nurses’ faces since she’d arrived. Not that she could blame them. Over the past week, Spike had done his best to alienate every one of them. Not that he was trying on purpose.

  He was just being Spike. Blunt. Gruff. Protective. Possessive.

  He didn’t like them touching her. And Lord help them if any of them accidentally hurt her. Changing the dressing was bad. At first, they’d tried to make him leave but he’d refused. She’d worried they were going to call security and have him forcibly removed. But there must have been something about her situation that made them hesitate. Maybe it was the guard at her door 24/7 or perhaps it was Hack’s interference, she wasn’t sure.

  But any time she cried out in pain, he’d snarl at them. He’d reminded her of a dragon. Her very own, protective, sometimes vicious dragon.

  But never with her.

  Oh no, with her he was as sweet as maple syrup. He had the gentlest touch, the softest voice.

  They’d removed the catheter a couple of days ago and he’d insisted on carrying her to the bathroom. That had been a bit embarrassing since he’d also refused to leave while she’d peed. Finally, he’d ran the water and turned his back.

  He hadn’t been joking when he said he wouldn’t leave her side. Even when he showered, he did it in the attached bathroom and only when Hack was here to watch over her.

  Thankfully, the only migraine she’d had while here had been a pretty mild one. Spike had quickly gotten on top of it, turning off all the lights and making sure no one was allowed entrance to her room.

  She was certain that endeared him to the nurses too.

  “I see you’re all dressed.” The nurse shot Spike a look of reproach.

  He simply stared back at her, his expression not changing. He wasn’t going to apologize for taking care of her.

  And she wouldn’t want him to.

  Her arm was in a sling and would likely remain in one for several weeks. She felt weak as hell. All she’d done was let Spike dress her and she was ready for a nap. Spike had bought her some new clothes online. Soft tracksuit pants, camisoles and cardigans. Things that were easy for her to wear. As well as cute pajama bottoms with matching sleeveless tops.

  He’d thought of everything.

  “Let’s just get you into this wheelchair then I can push you out,” the nurse said.

  “I’ll do that,” Spike told her.

  The nurse opened her mouth, frowned then sighed. “Fine. Fine.”

  She stomped out of the room.

  “Don’t think you’ve made any friends there,” she half-joked.

  “Not here to make friends.”

  He carefully picked her up and settled her into the wheelchair. She had to hold back a wince. The painkillers she was on now just weren’t as good as the morphine. As he pushed her down the corridor, Hack walked up to them, whistling.

  “Spike! There’s a party going on in the nurses’ lounge. You’ll never guess what they’re celebrating.”

  She had to bite back a smile as Spike growled at the doctor. She’d gotten used to Hack’s ways. He came across as carefree and irreverent. But he cared deeply about his patients. He crouched down in front of her.

  “Right, Miss Millie,” he said, giving her a firm look. “You’re going to follow all of my rules, yeah?”

  “She will,” Spike replied.

  “Don’t push too far too fast. Rest. Let the big guy do all the hard work, yeah?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Hack. For everything.”

  “Hey, you’re talking like we won’t see each other again. I’ll be over for Sunday lunch, yeah?”

  “No,” Spike told him.

  He pressed his hand to his chest. “Cuts deep, that does.”

  She giggled and he quickly kissed her cheek and jumped up, moving away with a whistle before Spike could say anything.

  With a grumble, Spike started pushing her wheelchair down the corridor again. While she might miss seeing Hack, she wasn’t going to miss being in the hospital.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, they pulled up to his gate. She was exhausted. Her body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She wanted a bath. She wanted sleep. She wanted drugs.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  “Bastards,” Spike muttered as he drove up the driveway. She looked at him, startled. Then she spotted a black sports car sitting outside the front of the house.

  “Who’s here?”

  “Steele and Grady. Knew I’d regret giving them the alarm code. They got me in a weak moment. Said they wanted to do something for you.” He sighed. “I’ll get rid of them quickly.”

  He pulled into the garage then came around and undid her seatbelt, carefully lifting her out. “I’ll take you upstairs then get rid of them.”

  “I’d like to say hello. And I have some questions for them.”

  He grumbled something under his breath. “I don’t want them upsetting you.”

  “They won’t upset me.” Then she got it. “You think talking about being shot will upset me.”

  “It should. But this is you. I don’t know what you do with all of your fear and anger, but I plan on figuring it out.”

  “Maybe I’m just weird and don’t feel things like normal people.”

  He gave her a look like he knew she was full of shit.

  Spike walked into the house with her in his arms. Instead of going up the stairs, he turned towards the kitchen. “You can be up for twenty minutes, no longer. Then you’re going to bed.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  When he carried her into the kitchen and living area, Damon was standing at the stove, stirring something.

  Grady was seated at the counter, sipping from a glass of red wine and watching Damon. He turned with a smile.

  “My dear, you’re here. Finally, we can see you. Spike has been very selfish, keeping you all to himself.”

  “Hello, Grady,” she said.

  Damon flicked off the stove and turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sweetheart, how are you?” He came over and brushed his hand over her forehead.

  Spike grumbled at him and walked away, carrying her into the living room, where a giant giraffe lay on the sofa. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at it.

  “What the fuck is that?” Spike snapped.

  “That’s a giraffe,” Damon said, picking it up so Spike could lay her carefully on the sofa.

  “I’ll go get you a pillow and blanket. Need anything else?”

  She shook her head, grimacing slightly.

  “Stay put.”

  She wasn’t planning on going anywhere. He quickly disappeared upstairs. Grady sat on one of the recliners while Damon grabbed a chair from the table and sat close to her.

  “How are you, my dear?” Grady asked.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she insisted as they gave her doubtful looks. “You brought me a giraffe?” A giant giraffe.

  Grady sighed. “I told him it was gauche. He insisted that bigger is better. I tried to point out that isn’t always true.”

  Damon sent him a cheeky grin. “And sometimes it is.”

  Not for the first time, she wondered if there was something between them. Not that it was any of her business.

  “What are you doing here?” Spike demanded as he re-entered the room. He set a pillow behind her then carefully laid the blanket over her.

  “Spike,” she chided

  “It’s all right, my dear. We’re well used to Spike’s idiosyncrasies.”

  “It’s not an idiosyncrasy,” Spike grumbled.

  Damon grinned. “He likes to pretend that he doesn’t like us, but really he would be lost without us.”

  Spike just shook his head.

  Damon lost his grin. “How are you, Millie? Spike is terrible at keeping us updated.” />
  “I’m fine.”

  Both men’s faces grew stony hard. Spike grunted. “She’s doing okay. Surgery went well. No sign of infection. We’re not sure how much use of that arm she’ll get back, though.”

  “See, fine,” she said cheerfully.

  “I can’t believe this happened on my watch.” Damon shook his head. “And then they fucking got away.”

  She sighed. “I’m surrounded by people who seem to want to feel guilty for things that are beyond their control. It’s not your fault I got shot.”

  “Any idea how they knew she was there?” Spike asked

  “Someone had to have told them,” Grady said.

  “Who?” Spike asked.

  “That’s the question,” Damon said darkly.

  “It could have been a coincidence,” she said weakly.

  All three men gave her looks that said they didn’t believe that. Neither did she.

  “Could it have been the rat?” she asked, trying to think of who might have warned Corey that she was there. “Except that doesn’t make sense unless . . .”

  “He’s been working for the Devil’s Sinners all along,” Damon said grimly.

  “That would mean Luther was too,” Spike said.

  “I know,” Damon replied. “Which is why we need to find out for sure. We’re going to set a trap using the rat.”

  “What kind of trap?” she asked.

  “Less you know the better, my dear,” Grady said.

  “But you will deal with Luther, right?” she asked. “You won’t let him take over from his father. Because if you’re not going to take care of him, I will.”

  “And how would you do that, my dear?” Grady asked in a deceptively casual voice.

  “I don’t know. Pay someone, I guess. Maybe we should do that. Do you know someone who could kill him? I can pay for it.”

  Damon shot a look at Spike. But he sat there, watching her with that too-knowing gaze of his.

  “Is there some reason you’re so adamant about Luther being taken down?” Damon asked.

  “Other than all those poor women that he abuses?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Damon said. “Because while most people would feel horror over that, they wouldn’t be willing to part with their cash to take him out. By the way, that would take a significant amount of capital to achieve.”

  “I have money.”

  “And just how does an out-of-work librarian from Nowhere, Nebraska have that sort of money?” Grady asked.

  “I won it.”

  “You . . . won it,” Grady said slowly. “In the lottery?”

  “How much money are we speaking of?” Damon asked.

  “I think it’s a little over a million now. I used a bit of it already.”

  Damon crossed his arms over his chest. “If you didn’t win the lottery, how did you win it?”

  “Well, I’m not really sure.” This was the bizarre part. “I must have entered a competition. This man came to my house with a check for two million dollars.”

  They’d all grown tense. “What? It’s not that strange, is it?” Of course it’s strange, Millie.

  “Actually, it’s very strange. Do you remember the name of this man? Or the name of the competition? Where the money came from?” Grady questioned.

  “He had some sort of normal name. Like Ken Jones. But I do remember the name that was printed on the check of the company who ran the competition because it was so unusual.”

  “What was it?” Spike spoke up for the first time in ages.

  “For Fox Sake.”

  Spike sat there for a long moment.

  That couldn’t be right.

  He had to have heard wrong. Right?

  “What did you say?” he asked slowly.

  “For Fox Sake. I remember it because it sounds like for fuck’s sake. And there was this image of a fox’s head. I guess I entered a competition that was maybe at a pet store or something. Although I hadn’t been to a pet store. Maybe it was one of those ones where you’re entered into the draw just by purchasing something.”

  Spike got to his feet, no longer able to stay still.

  “What’s going on?” Damon demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  Spike shook his head. “Nothing. I just . . . I need you guys to go.”

  Damon scowled. “Spike, if you’re in trouble . . .”

  “There’s no trouble. And if there were, I can take care of myself.”

  “We’ll go. I’m sure Millie could use some rest. She looks rather fragile right now,” Grady cautioned.

  Millie frowned at his words, but Spike knew the other man was right. She was fragile. Injured.

  Was she who she portrayed herself to be, though?

  How could someone be that innocent? And what about the strange way she reacted to things? Was there something more to it than having a warped processing system? Fucked if he knew, but he had to find out.

  “I made you lasagna and put it in the fridge. You just need to heat it up. On the stove is some caramel sauce to go with the ice cream for dessert,” Damon told him.

  “Thank you.”

  He waited for them both to say goodbye to Millie then he walked them out.

  “You sure there’s nothing we can do?” Damon asked.

  “When’s the trap being set?”

  “Don’t know. Soon. You want to be there for it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll find someone to stay with Millie.”

  Damon whacked him on the back and Grady nodded to him before they left.

  He took a moment to gather himself. Had it all been a lie? No, it couldn’t have been.

  Then what was going on?

  Well, there was only one way to find out. He walked back into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of Millie. She was staring at the giraffe. “What am I going to do with him?”

  “Don’t worry about the giraffe. Millie, be honest with me.”

  “No good conversations usually start that way, but okay. Honest about what?”

  “Just how do you know the Fox?”

  Umm.

  Had he lost his mind?

  Was he tricking her or something? Was fox a code word for something?

  “How do I know the fox?”

  He stood and paced back and forth in front of her, which was bizarre in itself. Spike wasn’t a pacer. He sat back. He observed. He looked for weaknesses.

  Then he pounced.

  The fact he was pacing, well, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

  “Just tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it,” he told her.

  “Whatever what is?”

  “Your connection to the Fox.” He stopped and stared down at her. She hadn’t seen such a cold look on his face since the first night she met him. And it stole her breath.

  “Spike, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Whatever it was, it was something he felt deeply about. He was masking his feelings. She attempted to do the same. To push her hurt deep. But it wouldn’t go. It danced just below the surface, punching at her with a staccato beat.

  “I don’t know any foxes. I told you it must have been one of those competitions that—”

  “I know what you said.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But it has to be him. That’s not a coincidence. But if you know him you wouldn’t give me the name of the company so that means . . .”

  “Who is it I’m meant to know? Obviously, you know something about this company that I don’t. Maybe you’d like to fill me in.”

  He sat on the coffee table, slumped on it as though all his energy had left him in a rush.

  What was going on here?

  “You don’t know the Fox?”

  “Spike, are you okay? I mean, I’m not sure if by Fox you’re meaning a person. . . is it a character on a show? Oh, on one of those marvel shows. Like Spiderman? Is it a superhero I’m not aware of? Except why are you so mad that I don’t know him? No, you’re upset because you think I do know him and
didn’t tell you, is that it?”

  She was getting horribly confused.

  “Okay, baby doll. I want you to listen to me carefully. Have you ever encountered a man who calls himself the Fox?”

  “I can safely say that has never happened.”

  He nodded. “The man who brought you the check, what did he look like?”

  “Umm, he was tall. Probably your height but he had a big belly. And he was older.”

  “Okay, doesn’t really mean anything, he can disguise himself. The way he looks, his voice, fuck. Why would he do that? Give you money?”

  “You’re kind of starting to scare me.”

  That was a lie. He was fully scaring her.

  And instead of reassuring her, the way he normally would have, he just stared at her.

  “Spike?”

  He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Shit, baby doll. Sorry. I just . . . he’s got me messed up.”

  “Who has?” She turned her legs around, trying to shuffle so she was fully facing him.

  He must have sensed her moving because his eyes shot open and he leaned forward, grasping hold of her thighs. “Easy. What are you doing?”

  “What’s going on? Tell me. I can help. I promise.”

  He leaned forward and brushed her hair off her face. There was her Spike. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “Of course, anything.”

  “Tell me more about you. I need to know why you’re here. Why did you come to the city?”

  Even though she thought it odd he was asking now, she knew the time had come to tell him.

  “I came here to find the person who murdered my sister.”

  35

  He knew he was staring.

  “You came here to find who murdered your sister?”

  “Yes. I told you that my grandma and granddad raised me?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t mention a sister.”

  “Technically, she was my half-sister. Apparently, my mom isn’t big on raising her own kids. Having kids, yes. Taking care of them, no. She kept me until I was four before dropping me off with my grandparents. My sister, she only kept until she was three. I was thirteen when she came to live with us. I’ve always watched out for her. My grandparents did their best but they didn’t have the energy by the time she came along. They were living off their pension. My granddad took a job driving a taxi when she came to live with them to help. Unfortunately, Nowhere is pretty small and most of the people that live there are older.”