Page 11 of Biker Daddy

He looked over his shoulder at the deep chuckling from inside the cabin and Addi felt her face drain. She peeked around Drew, the boy she had trusted with her life only minutes ago. A scruffy blond man, dressed in leather with silver studs and a tattoo of the devil on his neck, was tossing stuff into a duffel bag. “I love you,” he mocked in a squeaky, fake feminine voice.

Her boyfriend laughed cruelly then and she felt as if her heart, previously cracked with his cold words, explosively shattered.

“Let’s hit the road, Reaper. Your dad has plans for you.”

“Right, Mauler,” Drew said, looking over his shoulder and then curled his lip at Addi. Tears were free-flowing down her cheeks by then and no amount of anger could stop them. “Get lost, crybaby. I’ve got shit to do.”

“You’re an asshole and I wish I never met you.”

She took three slow steps back, before spinning. Her uncle stood among more men in leather, the camp vandalized, smoldering in places, beyond recognition. Their eyes met briefly, his defeated and worried, but she was already running away. Running deeper into the forest, away from her uncle, who’d asked a jerk to look out for her and away from the boy she’d thought loved her.

“Remember how Ray was always talking about the granddaddy of all fish in the lake? Ray had the best tall tales about this giant fish and well, he finally caught him.”

Addi was only half listening as she stared. Fitz was taller, thicker, and with the beard and shaggy hair she hadn’t noticed, but his eyes—they were a dead giveaway. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding like a jackhammer in her ears.

Addi walked over to the tank and peered at the fish, frowning, still deep in thought. His name was Andrew Trigger and he said his family called him Reaper. She’d never heard the name Fitz before though. But it had been ten years. A lot could change in ten years—even a name, because this man was no doubt the boy she’d once loved.

“It’s a pike. A carnivorous fish with sharp teeth. Ray’d always warned the boys that this guy could bite off a toe,” Fitz said and gave a snort of laughter.

“I remember,” Addi answered with double meaning, quietly and Fitz continued.

“A few of those boys told scary stories about that fish around the campfire. This kid, Markus, screamed bloody murder one afternoon, swearing it was after him. It had all the campers in an uproar. When he got out of the water, it was an old piece of rope wrapped around his leg. He never lived that down.” She felt his eyes on her, which made her turn.

Why hadn’t he said anything?

She bit her cheek. Maybe he didn’t think she remembered him. She hadn’t right away, but that was only because he’d changed so much and she couldn’t really see his face with the beard and glasses.

“Uncle Ray was amazing with kids,” she whispered and caught Fitz’s nod. His eyes were closed and he gathered a breath before he opened them again.

“Anyway, he caught this beast a month ago. It had been injured so he kept it in the tank until it was ready to be released. See the scar along here?” He pointed and she leaned closer and nodded.

“I remember him mentioning something about it. He was going to put it back in the lake this week.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “Said it deserved a second chance.”

“Yeah. A second chance,” he repeated, a little dazed. Emotion welled in her so she swallowed hard, rubbed her sternum and changed the topic.

“Where’d he get the tank? It’s ginormous and beautiful.”

“Ginormous, huh?” Fitz grinned, ruining his big, tough biker look once again. He looked boyish wearing the teasing look and it made her chest flutter.

“Yes, it’s a mix of gigantic and enormous,” she defended, setting aside the knowledge of who he was for the moment. Straightening her shoulders, she stuck her chin higher. His brows rose and he bit his lip, almost hiding the smirk on his rugged face.

“Certainly,” he said through a chuckle. “Artistic license and all.” He licked his bottom lip after he released it and Addi’s belly squirmed.

“Artistic license nothing. It’s military slang from the 1940s.” It was easiest to hide her vulnerability behind useless facts.

“I see.” He was still looking at her as if she was the most amusing thing he’d ever set eyes on when he continued. “I got the tank from The Old Inn on Main Street. They finally closed and gave it to me for free as long as I moved it myself.”

“And you did?” She cleared her throat. “Moved it yourself?” She looked at his muscular arms and swallowed.

“Nah, I had help.” He winked. “Not even Arnold could carry that alone.”

“Your biker club help you?” she probed.

He smirked again and she felt like a silly little girl at his mischievous look.

“I’m a lone wolf, baby girl. Did my time in a motorcycle club and didn’t much like it. Being a one-percenter isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

She looked closer at the fish, bending at the waist to eye it. “Was it the one that vandalized the camp?” She peeked at him and watched as he shoveled a hand through his shiny dark hair.

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