Page 54 of Single Mom's Bikers

I finish my beer and head out, pulling my phone once I’m clear. Rick answers on the first ring.

“They’re watching us,” I tell him. “Got photos of everyone. Including the girls.”

His silence speaks volumes.

The gallery’s quiet when I arrive the next morning, but tension crackles beneath the surface. Rick’s been in his office since dawn. Zane keeps finding reasons to check the street.

Evie notices, of course. She’s too sharp not to.

“Everything okay?” she asks when we break for lunch. “You’re all acting strange.”

“Just business stuff.” I kiss her temple when no one’s looking. “Nothing to worry about.”

But later, I find her in the back office surrounded by our books. Ledgers spread across the desk, her finger tracing numbers with frightening focus.

“Looking for something specific?”

She doesn’t startle at my voice. Just keeps studying the pages. “These numbers don’t match.”

“How long have you known?”

“About the money laundering?” Her lips quirk. “Since my first week. You’re good, but I’ve seen better hiding places than the safe behind Tank’s photo.”

I study her face—this woman who’s turned our world upside down. Who handles a bike like she was born to it and sees through our careful façades like they’re glass.

“You’re not just a bookkeeper, are you?”

“You’re not just tattoo artists.” She touches my hand. “We all have secrets, Chase.”

Before I can respond, we hear bikes roar past—that distinctive Death’s Head growl. Evie tenses slightly, though she tries to hide it.

“That’s the third time today,” she notes casually. Too casually.

“Probably just passing through.”

“I don’t completely believe you.”

“Evie…”

“Don’t.” She starts gathering ledgers. “I get it. You’re protecting us. Just like I…” She stops, something flickering across her face.

“Just like you what?”

“Nothing.” She stands, smoothing her dress. “I should get these filed right away.”

I catch her wrist gently. “Hey. You know you can tell us anything, right?”

Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Same goes for you three.”

Death’s Head prospects circle the block twice more before the close of the workday. Rick fields calls from Teller about increased activity at local bars. Zane reports more photos being passed around.

Around closing, I find Evie in the storage room organizing old photos. Club runs, brother moments, the history of what we’ve built here.

She holds up a shot of us three with Tank, taken the day we bought the gallery.

“He believed in us when nobody else did.” I move closer, drawn to her like always. “Said we needed roots to grow straight.”

“He was right.” She traces Tank’s face in the photo. “Sometimes roots are all that keep us standing.”

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