Page 65 of Single Mom's Bikers

Someday, she’ll tell me what it means, what all of it means.

But tonight, I just hold her close and memorize how she feels at this moment. Safe. Content.

24

EVIE

“It’s a girl.”The ultrasound technician’s words echo in my dream, a moment frozen in time. I remember gripping the paper sheet, joy turning to dread as I watched Luca’s face transform.

He waited until we got home. Always careful about appearances in public. The first blow caught me off guard—open palm across my face, his wedding ring splitting my lip.

“Another fucking girl?” His voice dripped venom as I curled around my stomach, protecting our unborn daughter. “What good are you if you can’t even give me a son?”

The memory twists, nightmare logic taking over. I’m simultaneously pregnant with Violet and watching him hurt her after she’s born. His hands around my throat.

His fist in my hair. The way he’d squeeze her arm too tight when she cried, leaving finger-shaped bruises on baby skin.

“Please,” I beg, but I’m not sure which version of him I’m begging. “She’s yours.”

“Worthless.” He kicks me, careful to avoid my stomach. Always careful—wouldn’t want to damage his property. “Just like her mother.”

I jerk awake, gasping, sheets tangled around my legs. My hand automatically goes to my throat, then my stomach. The bed beside me is empty—the brothers didn’t spend the night last night.

The nausea hits fast. I barely make it to the bathroom before losing my dinner. As I kneel on the tile, the similarities become impossible to ignore.

Morning sickness that isn’t limited to mornings. Exhaustion that settles in my bones. The way certain smells at the gallery turn my stomach.

“No,” I whisper to my reflection. “Not now. Not when everything’s finally…”

But my body betrays me again, heaving until there’s nothing left. When I finally sit back, my hands are shaking.

I need to get to work. I need to pretend everything’s normal while my world tilts on its axis. One day at a time—I learned that running from Luca.

When I arrive, the gallery is already busy. Chase is setting up for his session with Skylar while the other brothers are busy with God knows what.

None of them notice anything wrong. I’ve gotten too good at hiding.

“Coffee?” Rick offers when I pass his door.

The mere thought makes my stomach roll. “Already had some,” I lie.

His eyes narrow slightly. I escape before he can question me further.

The morning crawls by. I organize files, handle bookings, and pretend I don’t notice how their touches linger. Each brush of skin reminds me of the possibility of something growing inside me.

Around noon, memories ambush me again.

“Look what Daddy brought you,” Past-Luca says in my mind, showing Daisy a new teddy bear. She was his favorite then—before Violet, before the disappointment of another daughter.

I blink back to the present. Chase is showing a client photo, his voice carrying across the gallery. It’s so different from Luca’s. It conveys real warmth instead of manipulation.

But fear still coils in my gut.

“Heading to lunch,” I tell whoever’s listening. Instead, I drive thirty minutes to a pharmacy in the next town.

The tests mock me from the shelf. I grab three different brands and add random items to seem casual. The cashier doesn’t look twice.

Home again, I stare at pink lines appearing one by one.

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