Page 104 of Single Mom's Bikers

Evie flinches like he’s struck her. Her hands tremble. “I—I didn’t know how?—”

“Bullshit!” Teller roars. “You didn’t trust us! And now we’re paying for it!”

Evie breaks. Her legs buckle, and she stumbles against the wall, shaking so violently she can’t speak. Her breath comes in gasps, eyes wild with panic.

“Teller.” I step between them, voice low. “Enough.”

His nostrils flare, but he backs down, dragging a hand through his hair. “We could have died out there! Look at us running like cowards!”

I turn to Evie, wrapping my arms around her trembling form. She’s sobbing, gripping my shirt like it’s the only thing holding her together.

“We’ll fix this,” I murmur against her hair. “Together.”

She shudders, pressing her face into my chest. But for the first time, I feel it—Evie isn’t running anymore. She’s staying. No matter the cost.

But Luca is still out there.

And now? Now it’s war.

40

EVIE

The safe housefeels like a coffin. Every creak of wood, every shadow in corners, reminds me of other hiding places. Other moments of running. But this time, the weight of truth sits heavier than any fear.

Through the bedroom door, I watch my daughters finally sleep. Violet curled around her sister like always, dark curls mixing with Daisy’s lighter strands on the pillow. They’ve been so brave and quiet during our escape. So careful not to ask questions they already know the answers to.

In the living room, the brothers wait. Their silence carries the judgment I deserve.

Rick stands by the window, his broad shoulders rigid under his leather cut. The streetlight catches silver threading through his dark hair—when did that happen? How many worries have I added to the ones that put those strands there?

Chase lounges against the wall, deceptively casual, but I see the tension in his jaw. His hands, which are always in motion, stay unnaturally still. The bandage on his side from the shootingstands stark white against his black T-shirt, reminding me of more sins to confess.

Zane paces, unable to contain his energy even now. His usual playful grin is gone, replaced by something harder. Older. Every few steps, he glances toward the girls’ room.

“They’re finally asleep,” I say softly, closing their door. The words feel inadequate, but someone has to break this silence.

“Looks like they’ve had practice.” Rick’s voice holds no inflection. “Being quiet when running.”

The observation cuts deep because it’s true. My daughters learned stealth before they learned to read.

“Yes.” No point denying it now. “They had to.”

“Had to.” Chase pushes off the wall, moving closer. “Like you had to lie to us? Use our gallery? Use us?”

“Chase.” Rick’s warning comes quiet but firm.

“No, he’s right.” I force myself to meet Chase’s eyes. To face the hurt there. “You deserve the truth. All of it.”

“Which truth?” Zane stops pacing. “Elena’s truth? Evie’s? How many versions are there?”

“Just one.” I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “One truth. Many lies to protect it.”

They exchange looks—that silent communication that usually warms my heart. Now, it just reminds me of more deception.

“Start at the beginning.” Rick finally turns from the window. In the dim light, his eyes look older. Tired. “The real beginning.”

I touch my collarbone where Chase’s phoenix covers Luca’s name. “I was nineteen when I met him. Young. Stupid. Thought his attention meant love. This is the true story.”

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