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As I arranged my meager belongings in the dresser drawers, I noticed how empty they remained.

This room, beautiful as it was, highlighted just how little I actually owned.

Three years ago, I'd had closets full of designer clothes, shelves of books, collections of things I'd acquired during my travels.

All of which I'd sold. Now everything I owned fit in a few small boxes.

My phone buzzed with an incoming text. Ricky.

How are you holding up, sweetie? Any news?

I sat on the edge of the bed, considering how to respond.

I'm at Novo's place now. It's nice. Safe.

Good. Has he been taking care of you?

I thought about Novo helping me through my panic attack, carrying me when I was drunk, washing my hair this morning when I was too hungover to stand properly.

Yeah, he has.

Are you alone right now? Want me to come visit?

The thought of seeing a friendly face was tempting, but I remembered Novo's warning about not opening the door.

Maybe tomorrow? Things are still a bit chaotic.

Of course, honey. Just let me know when. Daddy Chris and I are worried about you.

I set the phone down, throat tight. Ricky had been nothing but kind to me since we'd met at The Escape Club a year ago.

He'd taken me under his wing, introduced me to his friends, tried to help me find a compatible Daddy.

I hadn't always been grateful for his help—had sometimes been downright rude, if I was honest with myself.

Yet he was still here, still caring. They'd even waived their fee until I got my inheritance, which clearly wasn't guaranteed.

With nothing else to do, I decided to explore the cabin a bit more. The bathroom was surprisingly luxurious—a large shower with multiple heads, a deep soaking tub, and high-end fixtures. Novo's toiletries were neatly arranged on a shelf—simple, masculine products without fancy packaging.

The living room revealed more about Novo than I'd expected.

The bookshelves were filled with an eclectic mix—military history, classic literature, motorcycle repair manuals, and surprisingly, several books on psychology and caregiving.

One shelf held framed photographs—Novo with other club members, an older couple who must be his parents, and one of a much younger Novo in military uniform.

I moved to the kitchen, admiring the professional setup. The refrigerator was indeed well-stocked—fresh vegetables, quality meats, dairy products. No processed junk food in sight. The pantry was equally impressive—organized by category, with everything in clear containers, neatly labeled.

This wasn't the home of the careless biker I'd imagined. This was the home of someone meticulous, thoughtful, someone who valued quality and took pride in his surroundings.

I caught my reflection in the kitchen window and hardly recognized myself. Pale, with dark circles under my eyes, wearing borrowed clothes that hung on my frame. I looked as lost as I felt.

A knock at the door startled me. I froze, remembering Novo's warning not to open it for anyone but him.

"Matty?" Tik Tac's voice called through the door. "It's me. I've got the rest of your stuff."

Still hesitant, I peered through the peephole. Tik Tac stood there alone, arms laden with boxes. He looked harmless enough. I unlatched the door and opened it just enough to see him properly.

"Thanks," I said, reaching for the top box.

As I did, the door was suddenly shoved open with enough force to send me stumbling backward. Tik Tac was pushed aside, and a man I'd never seen before stood in the doorway, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Hello, Matthew," he said, his voice sending ice through my veins. "Your godfather sends his regards."

I backed away, terror shooting through me. "How—"

"Money talks," the man said simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. I glimpsed Tik Tac on the ground outside, unmoving. "And bikers aren't as loyal as they pretend to be."

My back hit the kitchen counter. My hand fumbled behind me, searching for something—anything—I could use as a weapon.

"Harold sent you to kill me?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as my fingers closed around a knife handle.

The man shrugged. "Nothing personal, kid. Just business." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun with a silencer attached.

Terror froze me for a split second, but then instinct took over.

I yanked the knife forward and threw it with all my strength.

Years of knife-throwing at summer camp—sent there so he didn't have to deal with me on summer vacations from school—paid off.

The blade caught him in the shoulder, not fatally, but enough to make him howl and drop the gun.

I lunged for the weapon, but he recovered faster than I expected. His boot came down on my hand, grinding my fingers into the hardwood floor. I screamed in pain as he yanked the knife from his shoulder, blood seeping through his jacket.

"You little shit," he snarled, raising the blade.

The door burst open with a thunderous crash. Novo filled the doorway, his expression murderous. Behind him stood Cruise and several other club members, all armed.

Time seemed to slow. The intruder spun, knife still raised. Novo moved with shocking speed for such a large man, crossing the room in what seemed like a single stride. His fist connected with the man's jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling across the floor.

The knife clattered away as Novo descended on him, delivering blow after devastating blow. Blood sprayed across the pristine wooden floor.

"Novo," Cruise shouted. "We need him alive."

It took both Cruise and Tex to pull Novo off the now-unconscious intruder. Novo's knuckles were split and bloody, his chest heaving with each breath. When he turned to me, his eyes were wild with rage and fear.

"Matty," he growled, dropping to his knees beside me. "Are you hurt?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. The adrenaline that had kept me moving was draining away, leaving me shaking uncontrollably. Novo gathered me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I were something infinitely precious.

"I've got you," he murmured against my hair. "I've got you, little one."

I clutched at his shirt, burying my face against his neck as sobs tore through me. The thought that I'd nearly died—again—was too much. That someone had betrayed the club, betrayed Novo, to get to me.

"Tik Tac?" I managed to gasp between sobs.

"Alive," Novo assured me, his large hand stroking my back. "Knocked out, but he'll be okay."

Cruise knelt beside the unconscious intruder, checking his pockets. "No ID," he reported grimly.

"Take him to the garage," Novo ordered, his voice hard as steel even as his touch remained gentle on my back. "I want answers."

Cruise and Tex dragged the man out, while other club members secured the area. Novo didn't move, just held me as I trembled in his arms.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this anymore and for the first time I wondered if it would have been better if the man had succeeded.