Page 13 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Thanks…" She hesitates as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a small constellation tattoo behind it. This is my cue to tell her my name but she's so damn beautiful my brain is misfiring.

"Kyler," I respond. "Kyler Jones."

She smiles and I feel it everywhere. "Well, thank you again Kyler Jones…For everything. For just... being normal, I guess."

I clutch the kutte closer, nodding as she slides into the driver's seat. The Chevelle's engine purrs to life, and I watch until the taillights disappear around the corner.

Looking down at the kutte in my hands, I trace the president's patch with my thumb. Brick used to say Indy got the best parts of him – the strength without the rough edges, the heart without the darkness. Standing here now, leather pressed against my chest, I realize he wasn't exaggerating. She's got his fire, but it burns cleaner somehow. Warmer.

The patches tell their own story – each one earned, each one a piece of the man who gave me a chance when nobody else would. But it's the inside that catches my eye – a small photo tucked into the inner pocket. A much younger Indy on Brick's shoulders, both of them laughing at something long forgotten.

Just like her old man said – special doesn't begin to cover it.

8

INDY

The Texas heat beats down through the windshield as I navigate downtown, searching for the lawyer's office. My GPS chirps directions in an oddly cheerful voice that doesn't match my mood. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, mind drifting to the weekend's events.

"Not exactly the den of inequity Mom always warned me about," I mutter to myself, thinking of the clubhouse. The place had been clean, well-kept – almost homey in a rough-around-the-edges way. Nothing like the crime-ridden hellhole my mother described during my childhood.

A smile tugs at my lips remembering Tres stepping in when those prospects hassled me. There was something magnetic about him – commanding but not cruel. Dad always spoke highly of him in our calls.

"Turn right in 500 feet," my GPS announces.

Jacoby's offer to teach me to ride plays through my mind. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how he'd tipped his beer to Dad's urn – sweet gestures from someone Mom would've labeled a thug.

And Kyler... Something about his quiet nature resonated with me. The way he'd opened up about Dad being like a father figure to him made my heart ache. We're both missing the same person, just in different ways.

"Your destination is on the right."

I pull into the parking lot of a sleek office building, nothing like what I expected in this part of town. The contrast makes me chuckle – just like how different the club and its members turned out to be from my expectations.

"Well, Dad," I say to the empty car, "looks like you weren't exaggerating about your boys after all."

I grab my purse and check my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are still a bit puffy from the weekend's tears, but I straighten my shoulders. Time to face whatever comes next.

Greene and Associates Law Office is all polished wood and leather chairs that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Mr. Greene slides documents across his desk, explaining each one with practiced precision.

"As his only heir, Ms. Cooper, everything transfers to you. The house on Maple, both motorcycles, the '66 Chevelle – though I see you're already enjoying that one." He offers a kind smile. "There's also his savings account and life insurance policy."

My eyes widen at the figure. "That can't be right."

"Your father was quite... prudent with his finances. He wanted to make sure you'd be taken care of."

I blink back tears, remembering all those times Dad insisted on paying when he visited, despite my protests. He'd been saving all along.

"There's one more thing." Mr. Greene reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a sealed envelope. "He left this for you specifically."

The envelope feels heavy in my hands, Dad's messy scrawl spelling out 'Indiana' across the front. He never called me by my full name. It was always a pet name. Mom is the only one who would shout out "Indiana Brianne Cooper."

"Take your time," Mr. Greene says, standing. "I'll give you a moment."

Once alone, I break the seal and unfold the letter.

The paper trembles in my hands as I unfold it. My thumb traces over the ink spots where he pressed too hard – just like he did everything else in life.

"My dearest Indiana,

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