Page 37 of Nanny for the Bikers

Clay scoops up Piper, his strong hands cradling her tiny frame with practiced ease. “Want to see your new room, little one?” he coos, his deep voice softening to a gentle lilt. Piper gurgles happily in response, her chubby fingers reaching up to grasp at Clay’s stubbled chin.

I watch as Clay carries her into the newly decorated nursery, something warm and tender unfurling in my chest at the sight. The way he holds her, the way he looks at her with such love and devotion - it tugs at my heartstrings in a way I never expected.

I follow behind them, wanting to see Piper’s reaction to her new room. I can hear her giggling as Clay talks quietly to her. Kip is back in the room as well , leaning against the doorframe with hisarms crossed, a satisfied smile on his face. I stand next to him at the door. “What do you think, Ayla? Did we do Piper’s new digs justice?”

I nod, my throat suddenly tight with emotion. “It’s perfect,” I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “She’s going to love it.”

“And what about you?” Kip asks. “Do you love it here?”

The question catches me off guard, but I smile. “Yes. I do.”

I don’t want to be anywhere else.

20

TELLER

The fluorescent light flickers overhead, casting a sickly glow on the stacks of paperwork littering my desk. I run a hand through my unkempt hair and sigh, the weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like a physical force.

This wasn’t supposed to be my burden to bear. Tank was the president, the fearless leader of the Black Wolves. He built the Black Wolves into a brotherhood that supported not just the members of the club, but the town. He made sure that people felt safe from threats, had people they could count on to protect them and shield them from any dangers. When he first started this club there wasn’t any law enforcement in the town, but our group took on the task to make sure people were following the law and serve our community. He was brilliant, and strong. But with a single bullet, fate thrust me into a role I never wanted or asked for. Now his ghost haunts me from every corner of this cramped office, taunting me with all the ways I’ll never measure up.

I rub my eyes, bloodshot from too many late nights pouring over ledgers and reports, trying to make sense of the mess Tank left behind. The club is floundering, our territory shrinking as rival gangs encroach from all sides. We’re losing respect on the streets, bleeding members, drowning in debt. And somehow, I’m supposed to fix it all.

A harsh laugh escapes my throat. Who am I kidding? I’m no leader. I’m just a quiet bookworm who prefers the company of ink and paper to guns and gore. Tank had the swagger, the bravado, the sheer force of will to keep the wolves in line. I’m a poor substitute, and everyone knows it.

I glance at the clock, the hands dragging towards midnight. Another thankless day in this thankless job. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine walking away from it all. Hopping on my bike and leaving the city in my dust, chasing the open road to somewhere new. Somewhere I’m not haunted by the past.

But I can’t abandon my brothers. This club is my family, for better or worse. My blood. Without the Black Wolves, I have nothing. I am nothing.

The door creaks open and Jamie steps inside, her face etched with worry. She clutches a stack of papers to her chest like a shield.

“Hey Teller, got a minute?” Her voice is soft, tentative. As if she can sense the storm clouds brewing in my mind.

I gesture to the chair across from me, trying to smooth the scowl from my face. “For you, always. What’s up?”

I’ve known Jamie since we were children…long before she became known as Tank’s old lady. I’ve watched her grow andflourish here, watch her fall in love with Tank when they started out as an arranged marriage, and I’ve also seen her shatter with Tank’s death. She’s the glue of this place and when I was selected to take over as President she promised to be here for me no matter what I needed.

Jamie sinks into the seat, her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight. She slides the papers across the desk, resignation in their eyes. “The monthly numbers. They’re not good.”

I scan the report, my stomach sinking with every line. Membership is down since Tank’s death, way down. Our ranks are thin, patched members jumping ship left and right to other clubs or just getting out altogether. The streets whisper that the Black Wolves have lost their bite. That we’re toothless old dogs, begging for scraps. But we never were a club to want to take over territories from others. Our mission was to safeguard our community.

The financials paint an even bleaker picture. “The shop owners in our territory, they’re withholding taxes?” I look up at Jamie sharply. “Since when?”

She shrugs helplessly. “Since word got out that we don’t have the manpower for patrols anymore. They figure why pay for protection we can’t provide?”

I curse under my breath, slamming my fist against the desk. The disrespect stings like lemon juice in a cut. These are the same people who begged for our help when the Reapers had them under their thumb. The same people who lined up to kiss Tank’s rings and called him their savior. Now they spit on his grave and dare to stiff us?

But I can’t exactly blame them. Would I pay hard-earned cash for an empty promise? We’re spread too thin, our ranks too depleted to keep the streets safe like before. The other gangs smell blood in the water, circling us like starving sharks. It’s only a matter of time before they make their move. We need to do something, but what?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, a dull throb building behind my eyes. This is the part of leading I hate, the impossible decisions. Do I strong-arm the shop keeps, demand they pay up or face the consequences? Risks burning bridges we can’t afford to lose. Let it slide, we look weak. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

“What do you think?” I ask Jamie finally, my voice heavy with exhaustion. “You were Tank’s old lady. He trusted your instincts. So do I.”

Jamie looks surprised, her eyes widening a fraction. She chews her lower lip, choosing her words carefully. “Honestly? I think we need to regroup. Fortify our defenses, rebuild our ranks. Quality over quantity.”

I nod slowly, turning the idea over in my mind. It makes sense. No point in having numbers if they scatter at the first sign of trouble. What we need are loyal, dedicated members. True believers in the cause.

“And the taxes?” I press gently. “We can’t let that stand.”

---