Page 62 of Single Mom's Bikers

My phone buzzes with an update from Clay this time—more Death’s Head activity at local bars. But looking at everyone in a good mood, I can’t bring myself to share the news.

I think about the gallery’s growing reputation, Chase’s artistic evolution, Zane finding purpose in teaching our girls, and this woman who’s turned our world upside down in the best ways.

Chase’s voice pulls me from dark thoughts. “Should we tell Skylar about the other locations, for her to film?”

Right. In my worry about Death’s Head, I’d almost forgotten. Skylar wants to document Wolf Pike’s tattoo culture—including the bike meets where local artists show their work.

“No. Those meets aren’t public knowledge.”

“She’s going to ask questions,” Zane points out. “About why a small town has such a strong tattoo presence.”

He’s right. Wolf Pike’s reputation in the tattoo world has always straddled the line between legitimate art culture and MC connections.

“We stick to the gallery,” I decide. “Keep her focused on Chase’s work. Nothing else.”

“And if she starts digging?” Zane asks.

I meet his gaze, my voice cold. “Then we end the contract.”

23

CHASE

“The shading here needsto flow with your existing work.” I trace the design on Skylar’s arm, studying how her previous pieces will integrate with mine. The Japanese-style dragons she already has provide perfect anchors for what we’re planning.

Her crew adjusts lighting, capturing every angle of our consultation. The gallery’s morning quiet is broken only by camera clicks and the scratch of my pencil as I refine details.

Through my peripheral vision, I catch Evie pressing a hand to her stomach, her face paling slightly. Before I can process it, she’s heading for the bathroom, steps hurried but controlled.

“Everything okay?” Skylar asks, following my gaze.

“Fine.” I redirect her attention to the sketch. “This transition here will tie everything together. See how the scales match your existing piece?”

The consultation continues. I discuss the technique and color theory, though part of me tracks the minutes until Evie returns. When she does, she’s as composed as ever and immediately handles paperwork that needs filing.

“Your line work is remarkable,” Skylar comments, showing her followers how the new design will incorporate existing elements. “The way you build depth through negative space…”

The morning progresses with a steady rhythm. Between client conversations and design work, I catch glimpses of Evie. Nothing obvious seems wrong, but something feels off. It piques my interest and adds an undercurrent to our usual workplace dance.

“These release forms need signatures,” she tells Skylar’s manager. “For any footage showing the gallery or other artists.”

Her efficiency impresses me—how she handles everything so smoothly while clearly not feeling her best. It makes me want to take care of her later when cameras are gone, and masks can fall.

Skylar’s session wraps up successfully. We schedule next week’s first outline appointment, and her crew finally pack up their equipment.

While I work on other designs and handle consultations, my mind keeps drifting to Evie, to the subtle shifts in her energy today, and to plans for tonight when we can be alone.

The day winds down with typical business—clients coming and going and appointments being scheduled. Through it all, anticipation builds—not just desire, though that’s always there, but something deeper.

Tonight, I want to learn Evie’s stories. Want to trace her tattoos and hear the truth behind each one. Want to understand the mysteries she carries in her ink.

I just hope she’ll let me in.

The girls are at Rose’s for a sleepover when I arrive at Evie’s house. Finding her in a simple T-shirt, hair damp from the shower, makes my breath catch. Whatever bothered her earlier seems gone now, replaced by a softness she only shows in private moments.

“Been thinking about you all day,” I tell her, pulling her close. She smells like vanilla soap.

“Just thinking?” Her smile holds promise as she leads me to her bedroom.

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