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Chapter nine

Novo

I wouldn't let go of Matty, not until the club had secured the perimeter and Jono confirmed we had patrols in place around the entire compound. My heart was still hammering in my chest, rage and fear battling for dominance. I'd nearly lost him. Again.

When I finally carried him to the couch, he was still trembling, his eyes wide and unfocused. I recognized the signs of shock immediately.

"Matty," I said gently, kneeling in front of him. "Look at me, little one."

He didn't respond, just stared straight ahead, his breathing shallow and rapid.

"Matty," I tried again, taking his cold hands in mine. "You're safe now. I've got you."

Slowly, his eyes focused on mine, but what I saw there made my chest ache. The fear was expected, but there was something else—a profound emptiness, as if something fundamental had shut down inside him.

"He's never going to stop," Matty whispered, his voice small and hollow. "He's going to keep trying until I'm dead."

"That's not going to happen," I said firmly, squeezing his hands. "I won't let it happen."

Matty just shook his head, pulling his hands away and wrapping his arms around himself. "He got in here."

And the prospect on the gate that must have let him in would be lucky to still be walking after I was done with him. If Digger hadn't been watching the cameras, it would have been too late.

I wanted to argue, to reassure him, but the broken look in his eyes stopped me. Instead, I sat beside him and pulled him against my side, relieved when he didn't resist.

"We're going to figure this out," I promised. "My club has resources, too. And we're a hell of a lot more motivated than some hired gun."

Matty didn't respond, just stared vacantly at the blood splatter on my floor. I needed to clean that up, but I couldn't bring myself to leave him, even for a moment.

Daisy arrived a few minutes later with fresh clothes and a medical kit. She took one look at Matty and her expression softened with understanding.

"Hey, sweetie," she said gently, kneeling where I had been. "Let's get you into something clean, okay?"

Matty looked at her blankly, then down at his own clothes. There was blood on them—the intruder's, not his—but he seemed only vaguely aware of it.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice childlike and distant.

Daisy glanced at me, concern evident in her eyes. "I'll help him change. Why don't you clean up a bit too?"

I nodded, reluctantly moving away from Matty. In the kitchen, I scrubbed the blood from my hands and changed my shirt. When I was done, Matty was dressed in clean sweats, his hair combed neatly by Daisy's motherly hands. But his eyes remained vacant, and he clutched Patches to him like a lifeline.

"I'm going to make him some tea," Daisy told me quietly. "Maybe call the doc. He's in shock."

I nodded, watching as Matty rocked slightly, his fingers stroking Patches' worn fur in a repetitive motion. Daisy squeezed my arm before heading to the kitchen, and I sat beside Matty again, careful not to crowd him.

"You're safe now," I said softly. "I promise.

" It wouldn't hurt to get the doc here for him.

Doc Jennings was retired, and because we'd saved his teenage granddaughter from a lowlife that was intent on crossing state lines with her, he came out to extract bullets or to sew up knife wounds whenever we needed him.

Matty looked up at me, his eyes wide and childlike. "Is Tik Tac okay?" he asked in a small voice.

"He will be," I assured him. "Concussion, but nothing permanent."

"The bad man hurt him," Matty whispered, hugging Patches tighter. "Because of me."

My chest tightened at his words and the childish cadence of his speech. This wasn't even the nervous young man I'd married two days ago. This was something else entirely—a protective regression, his mind retreating to cope with the trauma.

"Not because of you," I said firmly. "Because of your godfather. None of this is your fault, little one."

His eyes welled with tears. "I'm scared, Daddy."

My heart jumped at the name. Without hesitation, I gathered him into my arms, cradling him against my chest. "I know you are, baby. But I've got you now."

Daisy returned with a steaming mug of tea, her expression softening as she took in our position. "Here, sweetie," she said, setting the mug on the coffee table. "It's chamomile with honey. It'll help you feel better."

"Can you call the doc for me?" I asked Daisy without taking my eyes off him. Matty stared at the mug as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"It's okay," I encouraged. "Daisy makes the best tea."

With trembling hands, he reached for the mug, but nearly dropped it. I steadied his grip, helping him bring it to his lips. He took a small sip, then another, his body gradually relaxing against mine.

"Thank you," he whispered to Daisy, his voice still small and childlike.

"You're welcome, honey," she replied with a gentle smile. She caught my eye over Matty's head and mouthed, "Talk later," before quietly excusing herself.

For the next hour, I just held Matty as he sipped his tea and clutched Patches. He didn't speak much, and when he did, it was in that same childlike voice—simple questions, basic observations. He seemed to have retreated into himself, finding safety in a more innocent mindset.

I'd seen this before—not exactly the same, but similar reactions in soldiers after particularly traumatic combat experiences, the mind protecting itself the only way it knew how. But this was different. This wasn't just shock or PTSD—this was a regression to a headspace where he felt safe.

Daisy came back with the doc just as Matty was nodding off, his head on my shoulder, both of us stretched out on the sofa. Doc Jennings was a grizzled older man with kind eyes and a gentle touch. He approached quietly, assessing the situation with a practiced gaze.

"Let's not wake him if we can help it," he whispered, kneeling beside us. "Sleep's the best medicine right now."

I nodded, careful not to disturb Matty's head on my shoulder. "He's been through hell the last two days. Two attempts on his life."

Doc frowned, taking Matty's wrist to check his pulse and then his blood pressure. "Blood pressure's low, but not dangerously so. Pulse is a bit rapid." He opened his medical bag and pulled out a stethoscope, listening to Matty's breathing. "Lungs are clear. That's good."

"He's not... himself, but he displays Little tendencies normally when he relaxes," I said quietly, not sure how to explain what I was seeing.

Doc's eyes met mine with understanding. "It's a coping mechanism, particularly in individuals who've experienced severe trauma. The mind retreats to a safer, simpler state." He studied Matty's sleeping face. "Has he done this before?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "We've only been married a few days." The words felt strange on my tongue—both true and not true at the same time.

Doc nodded thoughtfully. "I'll leave you some mild sedatives if he gets agitated. Otherwise, just keep him calm, warm, and secure. Let him stay in this headspace as long as he needs to. Forcing him out could do more harm than good."

"I don't know anything about taking care of someone like this," I confessed, feeling suddenly out of my depth.

The doc met my gaze and smiled. "Yeah, you do, Bear.

Just follow his lead," Doc advised, packing up his bag.

"He'll let you know what he needs. Be patient, be consistent, and above all, be gentle.

" He put a small bottle of pills on the night stand.

"Only if absolutely necessary. Call me if you're concerned or if anything changes. "

After Doc left, I carefully adjusted our position so I could stretch out better, tugging a throw over us. He stirred briefly, mumbling something unintelligible before settling back into sleep, Patches still clutched to his chest.

I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing.

This wasn't what I'd signed up for. My plan had been simple—marry Matty, help him secure his trust fund, use my position to gather dirt on Coombes, and finally get justice for my parents.

I hadn't planned on someone trying to kill him.

I hadn't planned on feeling this fierce protectiveness.

And I certainly hadn't planned on him calling me "Daddy. "

Well, no, that wasn't true. I expected mild play at being a Daddy. Just another word for being protected. Something light. Much to my shame, I hadn't given it any thought. I was playing a role. A means to an end. How hard could it be?

I needed to get my head out of my ass and take looking after Matty seriously, starting with how that fucker ever managed to get in the compound. I hoped Jono had answers.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Carefully extracting it without disturbing Matty, I checked the message from Cruise.

Our guest is ready to talk whenever you are. Prez's handling it for now.

I typed a quick reply.

Stay with him. I can't leave Matty right now.

Understood. Bad news though. Tik Tac was jumped from behind at the door, and the remote alarms didn't sound. Looks like we've got a breach somewhere else. No one let him in the front gate

I stared at the message, a cold fury building in my chest. Not only had someone tried to kill Matty, but they'd infiltrated the club's security to do it. This wasn't just about Coombes anymore—this was personal. Someone had violated my home, my safe space.

I texted furiously. Find the leak. Now.

On it. Digger's checking cameras. I'll keep you updated.

I set the phone down and looked at Matty's sleeping face. In sleep, he looked younger, more vulnerable. The defensive mask he usually wore was gone, leaving only the soft curves of his features. Something protective and tender unfurled in my chest—something I hadn't felt in a very long time.