Page 2 of Her Possessive Bikers

"Eh, nothing too heinous.” I suppress a yawn as she fills my mug. The coffee's strong enough to strip paint, just how I like it.

"The usual, sugar? Two eggs over easy, wheat toast, side of fruit?"

"You know me too well." I wrap my hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into my tired fingers.

Mae clicks her pen against her order pad. "Your daddy been down to visit lately? Haven't seen that big ole bike of his rumbling through town in a while."

I can't help but smile at Mae's question. The locals here treat my father like some kind of gentle giant, completely oblivious tothe fact that back in Texas, the mere mention of 'Brick Cooper' makes grown men break into cold sweats.

"He was here a few weeks back." I take a sip of coffee, savoring the bitter warmth. "Talked to him on the phone couple days ago, but he's been fighting off some bug. You know how men are when they get sick - acting like it's the end of the world."

She chuckles, her pen tapping against her notepad. "That man? President of some big bad motorcycle club? Last time he was here, he spent twenty minutes playing peek-a-boo with Johnny's grandson through the window." She shakes her head. "Hard to believe he's supposed to be some kind of outlaw."

"If only they knew." I trace the rim of my mug with my finger. "Back in Texas, people cross the street when they see him coming. Here, Mrs. Peterson from the library keeps trying to set him up with her daughter."

"Well, sugar, that's because Mrs. Peterson has good taste. Your daddy's quite the catch."

"Not you too." I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "Between you and Millie, I'm going to need therapy."

Mae's laugh rings out across the diner. "I'll go put your order in before you disown us all. Try not to fall asleep in your coffee."

The bell above the door chimes again, and I glance up from my coffee to see an elderly man and what I assume is his granddaughter. The sight reminds me of how Dad would drive down from Texas every once in awhile, rain or shine, just to have breakfast with me here. Even with club business, he'd always make time.

"Your food, honey." Mae sets down my plate, lingering by the table. "You know, your mama made the right choice, moving you out here. Though I bet it wasn't easy on any of you."

I push a piece of melon around my plate. "Mom always said she wanted me to have a normal childhood. Whatever that means."

"Smart woman, your mother." Mae's voice softens. "Can't believe it's been two years already."

"Twenty-eight months." The words slip out before I can stop them. I stab a strawberry with my fork. "First time I'd ever seen Dad cry since the time I scraped my knee falling off my bike when I was four."

She stifles a laugh. "That's what good fathers do, sugar. They show up." Mae refills my coffee. "Now eat up before those eggs get cold."

The breakfast settles warm in my stomach as I pull onto my street, fighting back another yawn. My bed's calling - fourteen hours of other people's emergencies have left me dreaming of my memory foam mattress and blackout curtains.

My house comes into view, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Two Harleys are parked in my driveway. Their chrome gleams in the morning sun, both bikes obviously well-maintained despite the road dust coating them.

Two men stand on my front porch like they own it. Their arms crossed over their chests. One's got a scraggly beard that needs serious maintenance, while the other's sporting a buzzcut that emphasizes a nasty scar running along his temple. No Kutte's, just black t-shirts, which is odd.

"What the hell?" I mutter, slowing my Jeep to a crawl.

My phone sits heavy in my pocket. Dad's number is on speed dial, but something stops me from reaching for it. Club business has never shown up at my door. But Dad always told me to be prepared.

The men haven't moved, but their eyes track my vehicle. My stomach churns, and it's not from Mae's eggs. Something's wrong. Dad would've warned me if he was sending anyone. He always warns me.

I slide out of my Jeep, my boots hitting the concrete with purpose. The way these men carry themselves speaks volumes. Club men, through and through.

"Miss Cooper." The one with the buzzcut steps forward, his hand extended. "I'm Titan. This is Ridge. We're from your father's chapter."

My stomach drops at the formality in his voice. Dad's boys never called me 'Miss Cooper.' It was always 'Little Brick' or 'Princess.'

"What's wrong?" The words scratch against my throat.

Ridge shifts his weight, his boots scuffing against my porch steps. "Maybe we should go inside-"

"Tell me." My keys dig into my palm. "Here. Now."

Titan's adam's apple bobs. "Your father... he passed last night. Heart attack. Doc says it was quick, he didn't suffer."

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