Page 73 of Single Mom's Bikers

My stomach drops. Morning sickness forgotten, I move to the window. Sure enough, an expensive car idles at the corner.

“You don’t think…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“No way he’d find you through a TikTok video,” Rose says firmly. “We don’t know for sure it’s him, but I wanted you to be aware just in case. So we can be extra careful.”

After hanging up, I watch my daughters finish breakfast. Daisy helps Violet with her shoes.

“Mama?” Violet tugs my sleeve. “Can we have pancakes tomorrow? You always make pancakes on Fridays.”

“Course we can, baby.” However, the thought of cooking makes my stomach turn.

“With chocolate chips?” Her eyes light up. “And whipped cream?”

“We’ll see.” I gather their backpacks, checking for homework.

“You hate whipped cream now,” Daisy observes. “You said it smells funny.”

Damn her memory. “Things taste different sometimes.”

“Like when you were having Violet?”

Before I can deflect, a motorcycle rumbles past.

“Time for school.” I usher them toward the door, mentally calculating escape routes.

But at the new bus stop, surrounded by other parents and children, normalcy returns. Violet shows off her drawing to friends while Daisy reads quietly beside me.

“Mrs. Peterson keeps asking about your tattoos,” Daisy mentions casually. “Says they’re not appropriate for school pickup.”

I bite back a curse. Nosy neighbors are the last thing I need right now. “Mrs. Peterson should mind her own business.”

“That’s what Uncle Zane said.” She smiles slightly. “Then he showed her his sleeves, and her face turned white!”

Despite everything, I laugh. Trust Zane to handle suburban judgment with sass.

The bus arrives right on schedule. I hug my girls tight and breathe in their familiar scents. “Be good today.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Violet chirps.

As I walk home, nausea hits again. I barely make it inside before losing what little breakfast I had managed.

This can’t continue. The brothers notice everything, just like my girls. And now, with suspicious cars in Wolf Pike and Sacramento shadows looming closer…

My phone buzzes. A text from Chase:“You’re late. Is everything okay?”

Shit. Lost track of time. I’m supposed to be opening the gallery.

I’m barely on the foot of the stairs inside when a car door slams outside.

Through the window, I glimpse that black sedan crawling past.

Time to move. The gallery needs me. My men need me.

I can handle this. Handle everything.

Even if my body betrays me with every wave of nausea. Even if my daughters see through my careful lies. Even if Rose’s warnings about Sacramento grow darker each day.

After all, I’ve survived worse than morning sickness and nosy neighbors.

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