Page 32 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

The tank features a beautiful woman, half-naked and bearing the Rogue Riders MC flag as a crop top, lasciviously smiling as the club’s creed stretches on both sides with elegant, Gothic-style letters. “She’s a beauty, huh?”

“It’s got a Boris Vallejo vibe going, for sure,” I say.

“Ah, you know your kinky, kitschy contemporary artists.”

“I’ve always been a fan. I also remember you had quite the stash ofPenthouseissues in your office at the clubhouse. It’s where I first saw Luis Royo’s illustrations while doing stock inventory for the bar.”

Samson thinks about it for a second, then bursts into a hefty laugh. “I’d almost forgotten. Damn, girl, you’re right. Yeah, I had them on top of my desk. What were you doing in my office? Stock inventory? Or making out with—”

“Not making out with Calvin,” I scoff. “I really was doing stock inventory. I was actually fond of your swivel chair. Ridiculously comfortable. But speaking of the devil while we reminisce about the good times…”

“You mean, the good times before he showed you his true colors.”

I glance across the street and take a deep, shuddering breath. A knot tightens in my throat. At the same time, Ellie’s front door opens, and I see her coming out with Kyra. “The guys said they haven’t had any run-ins with Calvin. Is that true?”

“You don’t trust the prez?” Samson says and grins as he leans forward. He has a way of winding me up, I suppose. I think he does so out of habit, not out of pleasure. It’s always been his nature to poke and prod people until they react.

“I trust Knox. I trust Jagger. I trust Diesel too,” I say. “But I also know they want to protect me, even if it means… I don’t know, maybe keeping things from me. So I’m asking you, Samson, because I know you’re always straight with me. Have you guys had any run-ins with Calvin since he got out of prison?”

“No, and frankly, I don’t like it,” he says.

I wave at Ellie and Kyra as they reach the sidewalk and look both ways before they cross the street. Kyra’s ready for kindergarten, looking gorgeous in her baby blue jeans and white sweater. Ellie got her the matching sneakers as a birthday present, and I have to admit, they just complete the outfit.

My daughter lights up like the sun above us as soon as she sees Samson’s motorcycle.

“Why don’t you like it?” I ask Samson. We only have a few seconds before this conversation is over.

“I don’t know. It bugs me,” he says. “The guys say it’s better this way, but I got a feeling he’s up to something. I don’t wanna scare you or anything, and you can obviously see we’re here for you 24/7. But I don’t trust it. Calvin was always in your face about everything. He didn’t take kindly to losing you, and he sure as shit didn’t like getting his ass kicked and dumped by the Riders in such an unceremonious fashion.”

“I was going to ask if I should be worried, but it’s a little too late for that,” I reply with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

“Hey, I got you, kiddo,” Samson insists. “We’ve all got you.”

“I know. And I’m forever grateful,” I reply, then shift my focus on the incoming Ellie and Kyra. “Good morning, ladies! How’s everybody doing? Ready for school, missy?”

“Are we going for a ride?” Kyra asks enthusiastically as she inches closer to Samson and his motorcycle. She gives him the cutest sheepish smile. “Hello, mister.”

I stifle a hearty laugh. “My God, Kyra. You can’t hop on a bike with a stranger, silly girl!”

“Her mother’s daughter,” Samson quips. “If my memory serves, that’s how you got the two-wheel bug in you, Robyn.”

Ellie gives me a shocked look. “Oh, that’s right, you used to ride!”

“Shush, don’t let the demon hear you,” I whisper, nodding at Kyra. To my relief, she’s too busy admiring Samson’s busty lady illustration. “Kyra, we’re going to go for a ride next weekend, that I can promise you. We need to get you to school right now, though.”

“Do I have to go?” she moans as she turns around to give me the puppy-dog-eye routine. “I’m not feeling good.”

I give Ellie a curious glance. She responds with a quiet shake of the head. “You don’t feel good?” I say to my daughter, then kneel so I can hug her properly. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“My tummy hurts. My head hurts. My back too. I think I slept wrong.”

The downside to being a good kid in general is that it makes you a terrible liar. I can see right through this number of hers, and while I might normally chide her for lying, I can only forgive her since she’s going to school anyway.

“You’ll be fine, I promise,” I tell my daughter. “I just got a call from your teacher. She said they’re bringing cherry pop tarts for snacks this afternoon. I mean, you can stay at home, and I’ll ask if they can save you a piece, but I can’t guarantee there will be any—”

“I’m going to school,” Kyra fiercely declares.

At the same time, Samson and Ellie burst into laughter.

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