Page 18 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

When I’m with Knox, Jagger, and Diesel, I’m safe. I could take on an army of Calvins if I had to. But when I’m away from them, doubt slips through. Bad thoughts fester. And despite their promises and reassurances, I still can’t help but look over my shoulder.

“Mommy.”

Summer is over. I can see it in the trees. Their green leaves slowly turn yellow. I can smell it in the air. The afternoons are getting cooler, the nights longer.

“Mommy!” Kyra’s voice drags me back to reality.

“Yes, honey. Sorry. I was thinking about something,” I say, firmly holding her hand as we walk across the street to our favorite diner. I’ve had a long day at work, and it’s Friday evening, so I figured I’d treat us to dinner instead of cooking. “What’s up?”

“What if they don’t have pecan pie?” she asks.

Pilar’s Diner is one of the best places in Redwood. Their pecan pie is so good, in fact, that it was voted the best in the district at last year’s autumn fair.

“Oh, I’m sure they have it,” I tell her.

“They didn’t have it last week.”

Kyra sounds genuinely worried, and it’s the sweetest thing. I can’t take her too seriously, though, not when she’s wearing that adorable, pale pink tracksuit with white strips on the sides.

“Well, that’s because the pecans weren’t ready yet, remember? Pilar told us.”

“Yeah, but what if they’re not ready this time either?”

“They’ve got other pies on the menu, honey. You loved the pumpkin pie last year. The one with nutmeg and a dollop of whipped cream on top? I’m pretty sure I have photographic evidence.”

“Maybe,” she concedes.

Pilar comes out to greet us with a warm smile, a smudge of blueberry jam streaked across her dainty white and green apron; it matches the colors of the diner itself, with its soft white walls laced with delicate green vertical stripes.

“Hello, ladies! Long time, no see!” Pilar says, smiling at Kyra. “How’ve you been, Kyra?”

“We were here last week,” my daughter reminds her in a rather flat tone.

“Kyra is worried you don’t have any pecan pie again today,” I chuckle lightly.

“Well, Kyra, I do have it, and I actually saved you a couple of slices just in case you popped by,” Pilar replies, then politely escorts us to our table as my daughter lets out a happy squeal.

Kyra chimes in, pretending to read the menu, “Where’s the pie?”

Pilar laughs wholeheartedly. “I’ll bring it right over. Shall I throw in a cinnamon shake to wash it down with?”

“Yes, please!”

“Two, please,” I add.

I give Kyra a moment to decompress, her gaze wandering over the food photos on the diner’s menu. She’s easily distracted when she’s tired, so I know I’ve got a few minutes of quiet before she demands my attention again. Checking my phone, I only see a few messages from Ellie. A text from Knox comes in just as I’m about to put my phone down.

You two look pretty in pink, he writes.

My cheeks catch fire as I realize he’s watching us. Looking around, I don’t see him in the diner. There are only a couple of families holding the fort down here at this hour. Outside, however, I spot the Harley parked across the street, Knox leaning against it, wearing jeans and a leather jacket with the club patches proudly displayed on the upper sleeves.

He's smiling, so I give him a discrete wave, then text him back.

You’re our security detail for the night?

Yes, ma’am. Better leave the bedroom window open tonight. I intend to make a house call,he replies.

That makes my core tingle with excitement. I love it when it’s the four of us together, but I absolutely adore the moments we get to spend in one-on-one sessions as well. Individually, they are remarkably different from one another. I certainly enjoy peeling away every layer, getting deeper and closer each time.

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