Page 31 of Single Mom's Bikers

That gets me a weak smile. “Your sarcasm needs work.”

“My everything needs work. Talk to me.”

She’s quiet so long before she answers. “Do you ever look at your life and wonder how you got here?”

“Here being my office floor at ten PM?”

“Here being…” She gestures vaguely. “Everything. All of it.”

I think about our conversation the other night—three brothers agreeing to pursue one woman together. About how none of our lives look like we planned.

“Sometimes.” I touch her hand. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

Fresh tears spill. “I can’t.”

“Talk to me, Evie.”

She turns her face into my shoulder. “I’m so tired of being strong.”

Something in my chest tightens. I’ve seen Evie professional, seen her flirtatious, seen her come apart under my hands. But this? This raw vulnerability? This is new.

“Then don’t be.” I pull her closer. “Not with me.”

She breaks. The kind of crying that comes from somewhere deep and hurting. I just hold her, letting her soak my shirt with tears.

“He took everything,” she whispers eventually. “My trust, my safety, my whole fucking life.”

I don’t ask who. The bastard’s name is still healing under the phoenix design on her collarbone.

“But not your girls.”

“No.” Her voice strengthens slightly. “He’ll never touch them. I made sure of that.”

The fury in her tone tells me more than questions would. Whatever her ex did, it was bad enough to make her run. Bad enough to still have her looking over her shoulder.

“You’re safe here.” I mean it more than she knows. After last night’s conversation with my brothers, I know we’d all die before letting anyone hurt her or those girls.

She pulls back enough to look at me. “Why are you so good to me?”

“Because you deserve good things.” I brush tears from her cheeks. “Because my brothers and I?—”

But I can’t finish that thought. Not yet. Not while she’s this raw.

She kisses me instead. Soft and sweet and desperate. Tasting of need and trust I haven’t earned.

“Rick.” Just my name, but it holds questions I’m not ready to answer.

I rest my forehead against hers. “I’ve got you. Whatever you’re running from, whatever you’re hiding from—I’ve got you.”

“We’ve got you,”I add silently. But that conversation can wait for another night.

“Kiss me, Rick,” she mutters.

Her lips taste like salt from tears, but her hands are steady as they pull me closer. No more words. No more questions. Just the need to forget, to feel something besides pain.

I lift her onto the desk, scattering papers we’ll deal with tomorrow. Right now, all I care about is how she arches when I kiss down her neck and the way her breath catches when I find that sensitive spot behind her ear.

“Please.” She tugs at my shirt. “Make me forget.”

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