Page 2 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Of course she is.” I manage a smile, pushing away memories of that night. “Want to help me wake your sister?”

Violet grumbles when we enter her room, burrowing deeper under her unicorn comforter. At four, she’s already mastered the art of ignoring mornings. The lighter streaks I added to her hair are much more visible, making her look more like her sister now and less like her father.

An hour later, I’m braiding Daisy’s hair while Violet demolishes her scrambled eggs. My fingers move quickly, weaving the strands into the French braid that’s become our new normal instead of the elaborate styles theirabuelaonce did.

“Bus comes at seven,” I remind them, watching Violet chase the last bit of egg around her plate. “Remember what we practiced? Your new last name is?—”

“Ashbourne!” Violet chirps, proud of mastering the word. “Like yours, Mama.”

“And we don’t talk about before,” Daisy adds solemnly. Sometimes, her understanding breaks my heart. She’s too young to be so careful.

The girls’ backpacks wait by the door, new and bright against the worn welcome mat. Rose vetted the school herself, ensuring its security measures met her standards. My friend might be paranoid, but her caution has kept us alive these three months.

By some miracle, we make it onto the front porch by 6:55. The morning air carries a hint of desert heat to come, but right now, it’s perfect. Almost peaceful. I watch my girls climb the bus steps, their new backpacks bouncing. Only when the yellow bus turns the corner do I let myself breathe.

“Now’s not the time to break down!”

The deep voice startles me, breaking through my thoughts. I turn to find my neighbor wrestling with his lawn mower, and for a moment, all I can do is stare. Rose’s intel mentioned the Cross brothers—three tattooed, motorcycle-riding owners of the gallery where I’ll be interviewing for a job as an office manager later. But her detailed reports didn’t capture how the youngest one, Zane, looks without a shirt.

Black ink covers his arms and chest, telling stories I find myself wanting to read. Sweat gleams on skin tanned by the Wolf Pike sun. When he straightens up from the mower, I realize I’m not the only one staring.

“You must be the new neighbor.” His eyes, an unusual shade of amber, rake over me with unconcealed interest. “Moved in last week, right?”

“Two nights ago.” I keep my tone cool. According to Rose’s background check, Zane Cross is thirty-seven, single, and runs their tattoo empire alongside his brothers. Perfect neighbor for a woman in hiding. Terrible complication for a woman who needs to stay invisible. But I’ll take my chances.

He kicks the stubborn mower. “Damn thing’s possessed.”

“Or maybe it just needs someone who knows what they’re doing.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Three months of keeping quiet, staying unnoticed, and here I am baiting a man who could probably bench-press me.

His eyebrows shoot up. “You offering to help?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I turn toward my door, very aware of his gaze following me. “Some men don’t like being shown up by a woman.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not most men.”

“That’s what they all say.” I reach for my door handle, needing to escape before I do something stupid like flirt back. “Good luck with your possessed mower.”

“Hey, neighbor,” he calls after me. “At least tell me your name.”

I pause, hand on the doorknob. Rose’s voice echoes in my head.Stick to the story, and keep interactions minimal. But there’s something about him that makes me turn slightly. “Neighbor. Neighbor’s just fine.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Zane Cross. I’m Zane Cross. Welcome to Wolf Pike, neighbor.”

Inside, I lean against my front door, heart racing. What am I doing? Rose chose Wolf Pike specifically because of the Black Wolves Motorcycle Club’s protection. The Cross brothers’ reputation for defending their territory—and the people in it—make them perfect neighbors for a woman running from the mob.

But she didn’t warn me about this. About the way Zane’s presence seems to fill any space he’s in. About how his eyes promise things I can’t afford to want.

PS: I haven’t even met the other brothers yet.

I strip off clothes on my way to the shower, needing to wash away both old fears and new desires. Hot water pounds against my shoulders, but all I can think about is Zane’s knowing smirk. The way his muscles moved under those tattoos. How his voice carried that edge of challenge.

I close my eyes, letting the water cascade over my skin. My hands move without thought, cupping my breasts. My thumbsbrush over my nipples, and they harden instantly. The sensation sends a jolt through me. I squeeze, plucking at them, my breath catching.

When was the last time I allowed myself to engage in such pleasure?

My hand slides down over the curve of my stomach, but it stops. I bring it back up, wrapping it lightly around my throat. My fingers press gently, and my pulse thumps under them. A shiver runs through me, leaving me breathless.

Fuck.

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