I struggle against the firm grip that holds me down. A hand lashes out and slaps me across the face. Another hand wraps around my throat and squeezes as a sinister face laughs. They’re all a blur, unrecognizable, and I’m grateful for it. I never want to remember this in detail. I feel my clothes being tugged off and that’s when I know that this is a nightmare I will never wake from.

“Peaches,” Prescott’s deep voice snaps. My eyes open wide, as my chest rises and falls rapidly. “You were having a nightmare,” he murmurs from the edge of the bed.

I open my eyes and notice that he’s now completely dressed. He’s back in his jeans and cut. Glancing down at his feet proves he’s also got his boots on. “I was,” I agree with a gulp.

Prescott tucks some of my sweat soaked hair behind my ear as his finger trails down the side of my face.

“What do you need?” he asks.

I close my eyes and just inhale. He’s so sweet, so tender and caring when I need him to be. I honestly don’t know how I ended up with him.

“I’m okay,” I halfway lie.

He knows it’s a lie, his nostrils flare, but he doesn’t call me on it. “Gotta run to the clubhouse for a few hours. You want to get ready and come with, or stay here?”

I have no doubt that he’s only asking because of my nightmare. He was going to kiss me goodbye and go until my demons decided to come out to play. I should tell him to go ahead without me, but I really don’t want to be alone right now.

“I’ll come with,” I smile brightly.

He nods as his fingers trace over his mark on my neck, then he stands. I’m grateful when he helps me out of bed, informing me that I have fifteen minutes with a slap to my ass. I roll my eyes but grin all the way to the bathroom.

It takes me thirty minutes to get ready, but Prescott doesn’t complain—he never does. I dress in a pair of extra-stretchy black leggings and a long sleeve rust colored maternity top that rouches on each side of my belly. I throw my hair up into a messy bun on the top of my head and touch up my makeup from earlier this morning.

I quickly straighten the bed, foregoing the decorative pillows, mainly because I don’t feel like picking them up off of the floor, before I sit on the edge of the bed with my boots in my hand. Prescott appears out of nowhere and sinks down to his knees, taking my boots and helping me put them on.

“Thanks,” I mutter, suddenly awash with overwhelming emotion.

He doesn’t say anything, only standing when he’s finished with his outstretched palm. I slip mine inside of his, and together we walk out of our room and downstairs.

Once we’re outside, I glance over at his bike and guilt washes over me. He probably wants to ride it, but can’t since I’m going with him.

“I can drive myself if you want to take your bike,” I offer, tugging on his hand.

He stops and turns around, a serious expression on his face. Then he leans down and brushes his lips against my own. “We’re going in the truck, peaches.” His statement is simple, and his tone leaves zero room for discussion. I nod and climb inside.

Prescott starts the engine, looking to me before he backs out to assure that I’m buckled in safe and sound. I give him a small smile as he shifts the truck into reverse and backs down the driveway.

His mood has shifted from earlier, and I have a feeling that there’s something on his mind. I don’t bother asking him though, he’ll tell me if he wants me to know. It’s probably club shit, and honestly, I stay out of that as much as I possibly can.

We drive and I notice that his brow is furrowed, showcasing the crease between his eyebrows. I love that crease, it’s sexy as shit, but it also means that he’s deep in thought. I wrap my hand around his thigh and give him a squeeze, letting him know that I’m here if he needs me.

Our relationship since my abduction and captivity has shifted. I no longer need to know everything that goes through his mind, and I don’t desire to tell him every thought I have either. I don’t know if that’s healthy or not, but it’s a new us.

We’ve fallen into a semblance of what we once were, but we’re nowhere near the same people, we will never be what we once were. I’m perfectly fine with that.

We pull into the clubhouse parking area and I quietly slip out of the passenger seat onto the rough rocky ground. Prescott is there just a second later, and I expect him to tug me toward the front doors, but he doesn’t. Instead, he presses his chest against me, and I take a few steps back until I’m resting my back against his pickup. I lift my chin to look into his eyes and I can tell that they’re etched with concern.

“Prescott?” I whisper.

He shakes his head once. Then lets out a breath. “I shouldn’t have brought you here, but I couldn’t leave you at home, not after your nightmare,” he murmurs.

“Why? What happened?” I ask.

He runs his fingers through his long hair. “Fuck,” he hisses. “They found a woman, and a child.”

My entire body stiffens. I know what he’s referring to. They found a Notorious Devils’ woman that had been kidnapped like me, by the Aryans. “Are they, are they okay?” I whisper.

His shoulders rise, then fall. “I don’t know yet. They were abandoned. Apparently one of the crews that was hunting the Aryans got a little too close and the men took off, leaving them behind. She doesn’t have an Old Man anymore, no clue why. The guys that found her are Nomads, they didn’t have anywhere to take them, to help them.”

“So, you’re taking them in?” I breathe.

He shrugs, but I know why he’s doing it. He’s not some knight, but he’s my knight and he’s doing it because he knows it’s what I would want him to do.

Lifting my arms, I wrap them around his neck, wishing I could reach some skin so that I could kiss him. He’s covered in a dark, thick, beard though and it’s impossible. Prescott lowers his chin and presses his lips to mine, knowing exactly what I need.

“They can stay in the trailer behind the bar. They’ll be safe there, and Crooner talked to her about working already. She said she’d be happy to as long as she found child care.”

I grin. “You’ve thought of it all.”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t even met her yet. Apparently, they found her six months ago, she’s just made her way here. You might not want her working in the bar,” he grunts.

“Let’s go meet her then,” I smile.

Prescott takes a step back, sliding his arm around my shoulders and together we walk toward the clubhouse. “We don’t know anything about her, peaches. Don’t become her BFF until I get some intel on her life before her kidnap. She could be bad news,” he grunts as we walk toward the front door.

“She could be a sweet girl, too,” I point out.

I can’t see, but I imagine him rolling his eyes as he lets out a snort. He always thinks the worst of people, and I think I used to be that way as well.

After being cooped up with dozens of women, all from different backgrounds, I see the good in people.

We are all survivors, and if she made it this long, and carried one of those asshole’s kids, and is raising it. Then to me, she’s already good people.

The last thing I want to do is drudge up nightmares for Ginger. However, I’m not sure they ever cease to exist for her, so I suppose it doesn’t really matter too much. I keep her tucked close to my side as we make our way toward the clubhouse doors.

I don’t know one hundred percent what waits on the other side, all I know is that it’s a female and a child—nothing more. The nomad that dropped her off is long gone, abandoning her at the entrance gate.

Walking into the main room, which is really just a bar, I’m surprised at how quiet it is inside. Usually, there is always a low hum of music, glasses or bottles clinking, and the sound of pool balls crashing together in the background.

Today, it’s completely quiet and when I look around, I realize why.

The girl standing in the middle of the room, is just that, a girl. She’s so young I don’t know that I even want to guess her age, and the bundle held tightly to her chest can’t be more than just a few months old. Why in the fuck did that piece of shit Nomad, just leave her here, how could he?

Ginger breaks away from me immediately, and I let her. It’s obvious this girl is scared shitless, and why wouldn’t she be? She’s surrounded by five bikers who are easily triple her size. I lift my chin to my men, tipping my head toward my office.

Turning around, I expect them to follow me. I leave Ginger to talk to this girl, they’ve both had similar experiences. I trust my woman to not only take care of the girl but to take care of herself as well. I leave my office door open, just in case though.

“How old is she?” I ask as soon as the four men enter my office.

Crooner runs his hand through his long hair before scrubbing it down his face and beard. “That was the first thing I asked her. You ain’t gonna like this, Pres,” he grumbles.

“Doesn’t matter if I like it,” I grunt.

He nods, glancing around the room before he speaks up. “She’s seventeen,” he grimaces.

The Aryans claimed to only have kidnapped Old Ladies, but there’s no way in shit this kid was some guys Old Lady. I slam my hand down on the desk in anger. “How in the fuck did this happen? Whose kid is she?” I demand.

Crooner shakes his head. “She wasn’t anybody’s kid, Pres,” he informs. “Nomad I talked to said she’s got a brand on her hip. She was an Old Lady, a teenage Old Lady, fuckin’ perverted,” he growls.

“We need to find out who she belongs to,” I murmur.

Crooner shakes his head. He knows more, but he needs to fucking tell me and tell me now. Impatiently, I wait for him to continue. He’s my man when it comes to info, but he’s pissing me off right now.

“I mentioned taking her back and she started to hyperventilate. She won’t talk. I got the road name on her hip, so I’ll find out who had her, but brother, she was probably just a little girl…” he trails off.

“Which means she was abused. I get it, no need to explain,” I say, holding up my hand. That poor kid, going from one hell to another. “She’s got a place here, and protection. Her and the baby can set up behind the bar. Crooner, you’re in charge of showing her the ropes.”

“She’s not legal to work in a bar, and really, a bar?” he asks

I snort. “It’s either the bar or a whore in the club. Those are the only vacancies I got open for her to fill right now. Her age don’t matter, she doesn’t fucking exist. Free, get her some documentation, make her twenty-one or some shit,” I bark.

Free lifts his chin and walks out of the office. Motorhead, Crooner, and Fish stare at me. I’m not heartless, and there’s no way I’d have the girl as a whore, not after the hell she’s assuredly been through. However, she has to work, she cannot stay cooped up and scared her entire life. She needs to take control of her life, and going to work and having her own money is one way to do it.

“Fish, your Old Lady still have that daycare?” I ask.

He grins. “She does. Gracie would love to have a fuckin’ baby in her mits again. Maybe it’ll get her off my back about puttin’ another one inside of her for a while.”

It’s settled then. Crooner will help her out at the bar, Fish’s Old Lady will take care of the kid during her shifts, and she’ll have a place to live that’s safe. Then, we’ll worry about her Old Man and whatever that entails later.

Once my office is empty, I flop down in my chair, closing my eyes and leaning my head back. I can smell her enter the room without even taking a peek. She lowers onto my lap, and I shift her legs so that they’re draped across both of mine. I tug her back against my chest, holding her against me. Her hair tickles my nose, but I don’t mind, she’s here, she’s safe, and she’s mine.

“She’s only a girl, her name is Hayden.”

I wrap my arms around her and pull her in a little closer. “You get much more out of her?” I ask against the top of her head.

Ginger hums and snuggles in a bit more. I drop one of my hands to her belly and rest it against the hard ball, hoping to feel my baby move inside of her. “No, she’s nervous, reluctant, and scared. She begged me not to send her back to Montana. I think that’s where she’s from.”

“I’ll let Free know, he’s looking into her Old Man.”

“We need to help her, she looks so lost,” Ginger mutters.

I explain to her my plan, which causes her to sit up. When she does, I open my eyes to find tears streaming down her face. Then before I can ask her anything, she cups my bearded cheeks in her palms and leans in to press a kiss against my mouth.

Reaching up, I wrap my hand around the back of her neck, deepening the kiss not allowing her to end it. I slip my tongue into her mouth, consuming her the way she always does me. When Ginger hums and her fingers grip my shoulder, I know that she’s feeling as affected as I am.

I gently break our kiss, nibbling on her bottom lip before I make my way over to her earlobe. “You want it hard and fast, or slow, peaches?”

She stiffens and jerks her head back. “That poor abused girl is just feet away and you want to get laid?” she hisses.

“Fuck yeah, I wanna get laid. You’re on my lap, kissing me, what the fuck else do you think is gonna happen?” I bark.

Ginger scrambles off of my lap and narrows her eyes at me. Her face is flushed, and she looks wild and beautiful. “You’re an asshole, Prescott.”

I snort. “No shit, Ginger.”

She turns around with a huff and begins to walk away from me. I don’t let her, I’ll never let her go. I stand as quickly as I can. When she reaches the door, I slam my hand against it, flipping the lock into place.

I hear her huff out a breath, but she makes no move to leave or turn around. Leaning over her, I press my lips to her neck, my tongue tracing my tattooed brand. Ginger shivers, goosebumps appearing on her flesh.

Placing my hand on her hip, I slide it around and cup her pussy. “You’re still an asshole,” she breathes as I press my fingers against her clit over the fabric of her leggings.

“I know I am, peaches,” I rasp against her skin.

Ginger reaches an arm up, wrapping her fingers around the back of my neck. I slip my hand beneath the elastic of her leggings and drag my fingers through her pussy. With a groan, I find her wet and her hips roll with my touch.

We don’t speak, my fingers playing her cunt the way I know she likes. My mouth and tongue enjoy the taste of her skin at the side of her neck. I rub my aching cock against the crack of her ass with a moan, searching for my own relief.

“Prescott,” she whimpers.

Removing my hand from her panties, I wrench her leggings down as far as I can. She tips her hips, arching back for me. I take a step back from her, shoving my jeans down my own thighs. Letting out a groan at the sight of her wet pussy. My fingers grasp her waist and I adjust her hips a little more as I align my cock with her wet entrance.

“Brace, peaches,” I grunt, slamming inside of her.

Ginger throws her head back and I fuck her. Forgotten are my concerns over hurting her, I need to claim her right now. Seeing that girl, the memories of my sweet Georgia peach being in her same shoes once has turned me feral. I grip her skin even tighter, knowing she’ll be bruised later, but I can’t stop myself.

“Yes, oh God,” Ginger moans. Her head falls forward, hitting the door with a thud.

I grind my jaw, clenching my teeth as I fuck my woman. I need her to remember where she is, and who she belongs to, or maybe I need to remind myself of those things. Whatever it is, I can’t control myself as I pound into her slick wet heat.

One of her hands leaves the door and I feel her fingers graze my balls. With a moan, I reach back and slap my hand against her ass. “Come, Ginger,” I growl. It’s all I can say; all other words have completely left me.

I fuck her harder, and faster, my back tingling and my balls drawing up tight. I hear her low mewl, her cunt clamping down around me tightly. She forces my climax from me, and I let out a shout, burying myself completely inside of her, my cock twitching and filling her with my release. “Fuck,” I grunt.

“I should be so pissed at you for pushing that,” she whispers breathlessly.

I flex my hips, my cock still deep inside of her, which causes a hitch in her breath. “What was that?” I ask, licking the side of her neck, before nipping her skin.

“You’re an ass,” she grunts.

I chuckle against her neck. I am an ass, she knows it, she’s known it. It’s nothing fuckin’ new. I shift my hands from her hips to her belly and move my lips to the shell of her ear. “Love you my little Georgia peach,” I whisper.

“I love you too,” she sighs. “Hayden is going to need a lot of support and help.”

I grunt in agreement, although I have no desire to talk about it while my dick is still inside of her. I gently slip out from between her legs, pulling my pants back up. I walk over to my desk, grabbing a paper towel from the roll and hand it to her to clean up.

“You know this feels like sandpaper, don’t you?” she asks, arching a brow as she wipes between her legs.

I grin, giving her a wink. “It’s all I got, babe. Take it or leave it.”

She shakes her head and tosses the crumpled towel at me. I step to the side and watch it land next to my feet. I smirk, it’s actually not the worst thing to touch this floor.

“We don’t know anything about her yet, so let’s just take this shit slowly,” I murmur.

Ginger nods, her teeth sinking into her lip at the corner of her mouth. She isn’t going to take anything slowly, I can already tell. She’s going to dive in head first and become best friends with this girl. There’s absolutely nothing I can say, or do, to stop her either.

Fuck.