Page 72 of Single Mom's Bikers

Rick’s expression darkens. “They’re working with Death’s Head?”

“Hard to tell.” Kip sprawls in a chair, but there’s nothing casual about his posture. “These guys make Death’s Head look like Boy Scouts, though. Real old-school mob types.”

The word “mob” echoes in my head.

“They’re organized,” Kip continues. “Professional. They’ve been circling the gallery, the school, the market. Like they’re mapping routines.”

“Teller know?” Rick asks.

“Called me himself. Clay and I have been tracking their movements.” Kip’s usual humor is gone now. “They’re careful, but they’re definitely searching. The question is—for what?”

“We should increase patrols,” Rick says. “Especially around the school. And get Clay to run those plates again.”

“Already on it, brother.” Kip stands, that familiar grin returning. “Though I gotta say, your viral fame’s bringing interesting attention. Ayla’s gonna be jealous she missed all this excitement.”

Just like that, he shifts back to the Kip we know—the one who can joke through anything. But his eyes stay sharp and watchful.

“Keep us posted,” Rick says.

“Always do.” Kip heads for the door, then pauses. “Oh, and Chase? Nice arms, bro. The internet’s right about that, at least.”

He’s gone before I can respond, leaving tension in his wake.

27

EVIE

Morning sickness is a liar.It doesn’t stick to mornings, doesn’t care about convenient timing, and absolutely doesn’t consider that I have two observant daughters who notice everything.

“Mama?” Violet’s voice carries through the bathroom door. “Are you sick again?”

I splash water on my face, trying to compose myself. “Just brushing my teeth, baby. Go finish your breakfast.”

But when I emerge, both girls are waiting. Daisy’s got that look—the one that’s too old for her six years, the one that remembers too much.

“You were sick like this with Violet,” she says quietly.

My heart stops. Of course she remembers. She was barely two when I was pregnant with her sister, but Daisy notices everything. She keeps details like precious secrets.

“Just a stomach bug.” I smooth her hair, hating the lies. “Nothing to worry about.”

Violet wraps her arms around my waist. “Uncle Chase says you need to eat more. I heard him telling Uncle Rick.”

Great. Even the brothers are discussing my symptoms.

The smell of coffee from the kitchen makes my stomach roll again. I’ve switched to herbal tea, but that change alone has raised eyebrows. Coffee’s been my lifeblood since running from Luca.

“New cereal?” Daisy asks when I bypass our usual breakfast choices.

“Just trying something different.” I pour plain Cheerios, which is the only thing that hasn’t made me nauseous lately. “You two almost ready for school?”

Violet launches into a story about show-and-tell, temporarily distracted. But Daisy keeps watching, worry creasing her forehead.

My phone buzzes—it’s Rose. I almost tell her. I almost let the words spill out:I’m pregnant. It might be Chase’s. Or Rick’s. Or Zane’s. I’m terrified.

Instead, I say, “Everything’s fine. Girls are good. Gallery’s busy.”

“Liar.” Her voice holds no judgment. “But okay. Those cars are still circling, by the way. Three different ones now. The black sedan’s back.”

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