Page 60 of Single Mom's Bikers

I laugh, pulling her closer. “Noted.”

Across the yard, Teller’s crew is packing up. They move in perfect sync—Clay gathers the kids while Kip helps Ayla with leftovers. Years of practice make everything smooth.

“We could have that,” Evie says softly. “That ease. That trust.”

“We do.”

She studies my face. “Then why do I feel like we’re all still keeping secrets?”

Before I can answer, Violet runs up, demanding cuddles. The moment breaks, but her words linger.

Later, driving home with sleeping girls in the back seat, I watch Evie follow my brothers’ bikes. She rides with the same confidence she shows in everything—motherhood, love, and navigating our complicated world.

Jamie’s right. Tank would have loved this. Would have seen how perfectly Evie fits into our life, our club, our family.

The night air smells of summer—smoke and grass. Rick and Chase lead us home, Evie following on her bike. Behind me, our daughters dream in the safety of their car seats.

Yeah, Tank would definitely approve.

Even if he’d laugh his ass off at three brothers sharing one heart.

22

RICK

Twenty yearsin the tattoo business teaches you to spot the real collectors. They move differently, study art with hungry eyes, and treat studios like sacred spaces. When Skylar Martinez walks into our gallery at precisely nine AM, I recognize that hunger immediately.

What I don’t expect is the three-person film crew following her, or the way she immediately turns to them, saying, “Cut. Let’s reset. The lighting’s better by the front windows.”

@inkedbysky—2.3 million TikTok followers. The email request had mentioned social media, but somehow, I’d missed the scale of her influence.

“Mr. Cross?” She extends a manicured hand. “Skylar Martinez. Thanks for agreeing to meet.”

Up close, she’s younger than her online presence suggests—maybe twenty-five. But her handshake is firm and professional. The large-scale Japanese pieces visible on her arms speak of serious commitment to the craft.

“Rick’s fine.” I guide her to my office while her crew sets up. “Your work with Horiyoshi III was impressive.”

Her eyes light up. “You follow traditional Japanese tattooing?”

“Try to stay informed.” I don’t mention that Chase spent three hours last night studying her documented tattoo journey across four continents. “Though we’re more known for American traditional and neo-traditional styles here.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” She pulls out an iPad, showing detailed sketches. “I’ve been following Chase’s color work for months. The way he builds dimension through layering is incredible.”

As if summoned, my brother appears in the doorway. His eyes go straight to Skylar’s sleeve.

“Horiyoshi’s work?” he asks, moving closer to study the piece.

“Good eye.” She grins. “Want to see the full layout?”

They immediately dive deep into technical discussions while I handle the business side with her manager. Film permissions, scheduling, social media rights—the usual paperwork made more complex by her platform’s reach.

Through my office window, I watch the normal flow of gallery life. Evie greeting regular clients, Zane finishing a consultation, and the steady hum of machines from other artists’ stations.

A flash of movement catches my eye—motorcycles passing slowly. Not ours.

“Everything okay?” Skylar’s manager asks.

“Fine.” I force myself to relax. “Just thinking about scheduling. This kind of piece needs multiple sessions.”

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