Page 118 of Single Mom's Bikers

I kiss her temple, tasting the salt of her satisfaction. No more words are needed—just breath returning to normal and hearts slowing together.

She drifts off wrapped in my arms, one leg thrown over mine possessively. Through the window, stars start appearing.

The peaceful aftermath feels earned after everything, like coming home after a long trip.

She drifts off in my arms, peaceful in ways she never was before. Through the window, I glimpse my brothers returning home.

Our strange, perfect family. Growing in unexpected ways.

45

ZANE

They’ll denyit later—three of the most dangerous men in Wolf Pike, sitting cross-legged on our back patio while my four-year-old stepdaughter teaches them some complicated hand-clapping game. But right now, watching Violet direct Clay’s massive hands with all the authority of a tiny drill sergeant, I can’t stop grinning.

“No, Uncle Clay.” She sighs with the infinite patience of the young teaching the old. “Like this. One, two, cross, snap.”

Clay’s fingers tangle again. For a man who can strip and rebuild a Harley blindfolded, he’s hilariously uncoordinated at children’s games.

“Maybe demonstrate again?” He wipes sweat from his forehead, deadly serious about mastering whatever pattern Violet’s invented.

Kip catches my eye and winks. He’s got the rhythm down already, his quick hands matching Violet’s perfectly. Show-off.

“Uncle Teller needs help too.” Violet pivots, zeroing in on her next victim. “Watch me.”

Our MC president, the man who’s faced down rival gangs without flinching, nods solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

From my position leaning against the doorframe, I study the scene like I might a piece to ink—the contrast of huge bikers and tiny teachers, the way the afternoon sun catches Violet’s dark curls, how naturally these hardened men soften for our girls.

Our girls. The thought still hits sometimes, how completely they’ve become ours, how family grows in unexpected ways.

I turn to find Evie beside me, one hand resting on her growing belly. Thirteen weeks now, the twins are making themselves known in subtle changes to her body.

I wrap an arm around her waist. “She’s got them wrapped around her finger like everyone else.”

On the patio, Violet’s game evolves to include foot movements. Clay nearly trips over himself, trying to coordinate his hands and feet, which makes her giggle.

“Again!” she demands. “You almost had it.”

“Gonna need a beer first.” Kip stretches. “Work up to the advanced moves.”

“Me too!” Violet bounces.

“Nice try, princess,” I call out. “Juice for you.”

She pouts but accepts the compromise, especially when Teller offers to get drinks for everyone.

“Look.” Daisy holds up her sketch, which features quick lines that capture Clay’s concentrated face and Violet’s animated gestures.

“That’s really good.” I crouch beside her, studying the details. “You got Clay’s expression perfect.”

She beams at the praise. “Chase showed me how to do expressions. Said it’s all in the little lines.” She flips pages, revealing more sketches. “Speaking of Chase…I’ve been practicing. For when I’m old enough.”

The drawings show tattoo designs—flowers and birds—that are becoming more sophisticated. One page catches my eye, three interwoven wolves rendered with surprising skill.

“That’s beautiful, baby.” Evie joins us. “But you know the rules.”

“Twenty years.” Daisy sighs. “I know. But I want one like Daddy Chase’s. All the cool designs and colors.”

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