Page 27 of A Christmas Surprise for the Biker

I take a deep breath, steeling myself before opening the door.

“Officer Turner,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “To what do I owe the pleasure at this ungodly hour?”

Turner's lips curl into a smirk. “Just doing my job, Mr. Fischer. Surprise inspections are part of your parole agreement, remember?”

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to slam the door in his pudgy red face. “Come in,” I mutter, stepping aside.

Turner saunters in and follows me back up the steps, his eyes scanning every inch of the apartment. “Nice place you've got here,” he remarks. “Must be doing well for yourself.”

“I work hard,” I reply, my fists clenching at my sides.

He chuckles, the sound cold and humorless. “I'm sure you do.” His gaze lands on a framed photo of Braelynn and Ryder and instantly my hackles go up. Something about this asshole being anywhere near my family doesn’t sit right. “Beautiful family. It'd be a shame if anything happened to them.”

My back goes ramrod straight. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Turner moves to face me, his expression hardening. “It means, Fischer, that associating with known criminals could be seen as a violation of your parole. And we both know you’re a member of the Saints.”

Before I can respond, Braelynn emerges, Ryder cradled against her chest. Her eyes widen when she sees my parole officer standing in our living room.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, her eyes coming to me.

Turner's demeanor shifts instantly, a fake smile plastering itself across his face. “Mrs. Fischer, I presume? Just doing a routine check. Nothing to worry about.”

Braelynn nods, but I can see the unease in her eyes. “Can I get you some coffee, Officer?”

“That won't be necessary,” Turner replies, already heading for the door. “I've seen all I need to see. For now.” He pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I'll be keeping a close eye on you, Fischer. Keep your nose clean.”

As soon as the door closes behind him, Braelynn turns to me. “Is that normal to show up this early?”

I run a hand through my hair, frustration coursing through me. “Turner's just being a dick. Trying to rattle me.”

She frowns, bouncing Ryder gently as he starts to fuss. “Was he threatening us?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh, pulling her close. “Something is definitely off about the guy.”

Braelynn looks up at me, and I hate the worry I see. “Nico, what aren't you telling me?”

I kiss her forehead, trying to push down the growing knot in my stomach. “Nothing for you to worry about, baby. I've got it handled.”

She doesn't look convinced, but thankfully, she doesn't push it. Instead, she hands Ryder to me. “Here, can you take him? I need to pump.”

I nod, cradling Ry against my chest.

As Braelynn disappears into the bedroom, I can't help but feel the walls closing in around us. Turner's visit has left me shaken, more than I care to admit. The thought of anything happening to Braelynn or Ryder because of me... Fuck.

The next few hours are spent trying to focus on work, but there’s a gnawing in the back of my mind that keeps drifting back to Turner's threats, and by lunchtime, I’ve had all I can take. Parole officer or not, I’m not going to be able to let this go.

Something Brae apparently has noticed as well. “Okay, spill,” she says as she sets a plate of sandwiches on my desk. “You've been on edge all morning.”

I sigh, knowing I can't keep her in the dark any longer. “You were right about Turner earlier,” I admit. “When I first met with him, I could tell something was off about the guy. Since that first meeting, he’s been turning up everywhere.” I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease some of the tension. “I thought it was just a coincidence, but with him showing up here today... fuck, Brae. The way he looked at that picture of you and Ryder. It felt like an unspoken threat.”

Braelynn's face pales. “What are we going to do?”

I reach across the desk, taking her hand in mine. “I’m going to have Dex look into it. But until I figure out what’s going on, I don’t think it would be a bad idea to go stay at the clubhouse for a little bit.”

She nods slowly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. “If that’s what you think we need to do, I’m not going to fight you on it.”

“I do,” I agree, forcing a smile. “Just as a precaution,” I say, not sure which of us I’m trying to convince.

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