Page 2 of Property of Fox

His words stick with me even with the roar of his motorcycle long gone. He’s not wrong that I have been dodging Eden’s calls for months. She and I had a couple days of fun together at the Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem signing. Neither of uswere looking for more than a fun roll in the sheets, but about six months ago, her calls started, which have only grown more frequent in the last couple of weeks. It’s not that I didn’t have fun with her, Eden may be in my top five fucks of all-time list, but there’s nothing between us. She’s an itch I’m not interested in scratching again. I thought I’d made that clear enough, but considering the number of missed calls I had from her, maybe I hadn’t been clear enough.

I set down my steaming cup of coffee, which has gone cold during our conversation. It’s like a metaphor for my life right now. Once hot and invigorating but quickly slipping into something lukewarm and unappealing. The last few months hadn’t exactly gone to plan. My usual rotation of women has either disappeared without a trace, gotten married, or demanded more commitment than just casual dating and sex. They are dropping like flies to the point that my dick has been drier than the fucking Sahara Desert, which has done nothing to improve my mood.

I shake my head, trying to clear thoughts of Eden and my non-existent sex life. Focus, Fox. There's work to be done. I turn back to the blueprints spread out on the makeshift table, tracing the lines with my fingers as I mentally catalog what needs to happen next while I try to ignore the buzzing in my pocket again.

BREA

The scentof coffee and aged paper wraps around me like a soft, warm hug as I step into the Red Room of Romance with Kiera. The faint sound of laughter dances in the air. It’s one of those chilly winter afternoons that calls to all book lovers, and today, it’s just us.

Kiera darts toward a display stacked high with novels featuring ripped men and sultry women on their covers. “Brea! Come look at this one!” Her voice sings out, bubbly and bright,pulling me from my thoughts. I follow the sound, navigating through a maze of colorful spines that seem to beckon me.

She holds up a book titled "Revved Up Desire," featuring a tattooed biker who looks like he could both ride through your dreams.

I roll my eyes. “Haven’t we moved past the stage of drooling over cover models? You’ve got enough boy-crushes in your collection to fill a library.”

“Oh, come on!” she shoots back, shoving it into my hands. “You know you love it! Besides, they’re so much more than just tattoos and leather jackets. There’s depth! Those bad boys always have a heart hidden beneath that tough exterior.”

I can’t help but laugh as I flip through the pages, catching snippets of steamy encounters that make my cheeks flush. Biting my lip, I glance at her from the corner of my eye. “Depth? You mean like how they ditch their girlfriends for ‘brotherhood’? You do remember my mom is married to a guy in a motorcycle club? None of the guys in his club look like this.” I point to the cover. “Trust me, I’d be much more interested in the family things Mom drags to me if they did.”

She grins cheekily. “Maybe you haven’t met the right one yet! Think about it. Motorcycles rumbling under the night sky, windswept hair?—”

“Yeah, still not seeing the appeal,” I interrupt.

“But… there’s also adventure and passion!” She leans closer conspiratorially, her green eyes gleaming. “You are still coming with me to the Motorcycles, Mobsters, and Mayhem signing next month, right? Eden Anderson is going to be one of the featured authors. You know how much you love her books, especially her new release.”

I shake my head firmly. “You know I can’t.”

Kiera pouts dramatically before throwing herself against one of the bookshelves as if she had been wounded by my refusal. “Why not?”

“Let’s see….my stepdad, my stepdad, and oh, my stepdad.” My stepdad, Tank, is part of the Hoosier Hellions MC. Stories swirl around him like smoke from his bike’s exhaust. He's been both hero and outlaw in my life. After my dad died in a car accident, Mom went off the deep end, emotionally. She didn’t go to work or get out of bed for months. We were on the brink of an eviction when Tank, one of my dad’s longtime friends, showed up and helped her pick up the pieces again. The next thing I knew, he was moving in and put a ring on my mom’s finger. He saved my mom, which I am thankful for, but when it came to me, he is more villain than savior.

“Come on, Brea,” Kiera nudges my shoulder. “You’re twenty-two years old and still letting him control your life? That’s not right!” Keira exclaims, her brows knitting together in concern. “You can’t let him dictate your happiness.”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah, well, being an adult doesn’t quite mean much when you still live at home.”

“You know the offer to stay at my place is still there, right?”

As generous as her offer is, living with five other people in an overcrowded apartment is not exactly an upgrade from my current situation. Despite my stepdad and his bullshit rules, I still have my own space, and it’s not like I can afford to help pay the bills or the rent working at a coffee shop part-time when I wasn’t helping my mom around the house.

I sigh, running my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the embossed letters beneath my fingertips. "I appreciate the offer, Kiera, I really do. But it's...complicated."

My mind drifts to the bruises I've seen peeking out from beneath my mom's long sleeves, the way she flinches when Tank raises his voice. The image of her tear-stained face, illuminatedby the harsh kitchen light at three o’clock in the morning, is seared into my memory. That night, I had found her clutching an ice pack to her cheek, whispering that she had "just fallen" when I knew better.

Her lips press together, and she sizes me up like I’m her lifelong project. “You know what? It’s stupid that you’re missing out on something you love just because of your stepdad’s rules.” She gestures wildly, sending a paperback tumbling to the floor. “You need this! Imagine meeting Eden and getting a taste of that adventurous life she writes about.”

I draw in a shaky breath, caught between longing and fear. “I can’t, Keira. Please just drop it.”

“Might be just the thing you need,” Kiera shrugs.

Before I can retort, a thrumming engine fills the air outside. I glance toward the window, catching sight of a massive black motorcycle pulling up to the curb. The rider kills the engine, and I can feel the tension in my chest tighten at the sight of him.

“Please tell me that’s not your stepdad,” Keira remarks.

I don’t even have to take a closer look to know it’s him. “I’ll be right back,” I mutter under my breath. Stepping away from the bookshelf and Keira, I exit the shop and march over to Tank.

“Are you following me now?” I blurt out.

Tank kicks the stand down on his bike, his muscular frame casting a shadow that seems to swallow the sunlight. “Wasn’t following you, Brea. Just happened to be passing by,” he replies, his voice deep and gravelly like the rumble of his motorcycle.

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