Protector Daddy (MC Daddies 3)

He frowned, hoping that she wasn’t throwing up again.

“Haven’t seen you this interested in a woman since Jacqui died,” Steele mused.

Spike turned his gaze to Steele. “I’m not interested in her.”

Grady huffed out a laugh. “If you were a dog you would’ve pissed on her.”

“I can keep her safe, Quillon,” Steele told him.

Spike glared at him. He was one of the few people who knew Spike’s name. Possibly the only one who would dare use it.

“So can I. And I don’t have an ulterior motive.”

“Don’t you,” Steele mused.

Spike narrowed his gaze. “If you’re inferring I want her for sex . . .”

“Oh, I’m definitely inferring that,” Steele answered.

Spike let out a breath. “I’m not after her for sex.”

Steele leaned forward. “She needs a keeper. She’s been here how long did she say?”

“A few days,” Grady mused.

“She’s been held at gunpoint, overheard a pretty damning conversation between fucking Luther Franklin and some bastard who’s managed to infiltrate my ranks to spy on me,” Steele stated. “Then she tracks you down to warn you. Bet you’re regretting not listening to her now, huh?”

Spike just grimaced.

“And then she tracks me down, where she proceeds to charm one of my girls into offering to give her free dance lessons. Then she steps in when some asshole threatens another one of my girls and takes him down. She doesn’t just need a keeper; she needs a fucking protector. She needs a Daddy.”

“A protector Daddy,” Grady mused. “Or Daddies.”

Amusement filled the other men’s face as Spike snarled at him. Oh, he knew what would happen if the two of them got her back to Steele’s mansion. She’d never leave. She’d be tied to their bed. Fucked. Pleasured.

Then when they got bored, they’d release her. Usually with a nice, healthy bank balance. The two of them were picky. And they didn’t pay women to be with them. No, they came willingly.

But they never kept them.

“She’s not a temporary plaything,” Spike bit out.

“Anyone can see that,” Grady said.

“How do you intend to keep her safe?” Steele asked. “Sounds like Luther is gunning for you and you don’t have the protection I do.”

Spike snorted. “I’m not scared of Luther Franklin.”

“Did you kill Frankie?” Grady asked him.

Spike narrowed his gaze at Grady. “I didn’t.”

Grady studied him. “But you know who did?”

“Lot of people hated Frankie; he was scum.”

No way was he telling anyone who actually killed Frankie. He didn’t want to be next on the Fox’s hitlist. Besides, far as he was concerned, the Fox did the world a favor when he got rid of Frankie.

Grady looked over at the bathroom. All of them were aware of how long she’d been in there. Spike glanced down as her dog flopped itself over his boot. Heavy for something so small. What the hell kind of dog was it, anyway?