Page 75 of Single Mom's Bikers

The implications hit hard. I think of Evie, who is safe at home with our girls, and of all the families in Wolf Pike who trust us to protect their children.

A new group roars in—more Death’s Head, but these ones are different.

“Sacramento boys,” Clay identifies them. “Same ones that have been watching the gallery.”

My hands clench. Ever since Skylar’s video went viral, these professional hunters have been coming closer. Now they’re infiltrating local MC events, using Death’s Head as muscle.

The female rider takes her position for the first heat. Up close, she can’t be more than twenty. Something about her reminds me of Evie—that careful watchfulness, that hint of running from something.

“Got movement,” Clay warns as two Death’s Head members approach our position. We fade deeper into shadows, but their conversation carries on.

“Boss wants her running northern routes,” one says. “Says she’s the perfect cover for the new operation.”

“Sacramento approved?”

“Yeah. They’re expanding territory. Need fresh faces for distribution.”

They’re building infrastructure and preparing to move bigger operations into Wolf Pike.

The race starts—engines roaring, the crowd cheering. But I’m watching the men in shadows, the ones exchanging packages and coordinates. I’m building evidence for whatever war is coming.

“Rick.” Clay’s voice pulls me back. “Got eyes on Marcus.”

Death’s Head’s president stands apart from the crowd, deep in conversation with one of the Sacramento suits. The way they study the female rider like she’s a product rather than a person makes me wish I could put them down right here.

But we need intel more than vengeance. We need to understand what’s really coming for our town and our family.

The night progresses with more races and more careful observation. We document faces, capture conversations, and build our case.

“They’re planning something big,” Clay says as the crowd starts thinning.

Before I can speak, Marcus’s voice carries across the now-quiet lot. He’s on the phone, tone respectful in a way that sets off warnings.

“Yes, sir. Territory’s being prepared… Yes, the woman’s movements are tracked… No sir, she doesn’t attend races…”

They’re reporting to someone about a woman. He’s powerful enough to command both motorcycle clubs and professional muscle.

“Time to go,” Clay warns as bikes fire up. “Got what we need.”

The ride home gives me too much time to think. About young women being trafficked through race circuits. About professional killers hunting for God knows who. About all the pieces we still don’t understand.

Teller’s waiting at the clubhouse, expression grim as we report. While Clay presents evidence, I study maps of race routes. They spider across states, creating a network perfect for moving people undetected.

“They’re not just after someone,” Teller concludes. “They’re using the hunt for her as cover to expand operations.”

“Getting ready to move something bigger through our territory.”

“Or someone.” Clay pulls up photos of the female rider. “This is the third girl they’ve used this way. The others disappeared after a few months.”

The implications settle like lead. They’re threatening every family in Wolf Pike.

“Increase patrols,” Teller orders. “Especially around schools. And Rick?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep your family close. All of them.”

I head home with dawn breaking, mind full of dark possibilities.

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