Page 82 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Watch me.”

This time, when she kisses me, it’s slower. Still desperate, but with something else mixed in.

I carry her upstairs, careful not to wake the girls. In her bedroom, she undresses me with shaking hands.

“I love you,” she whispers, pushing me onto the bed. “No matter what happens, remember that.”

Warning bells ring in my head, but then she’s straddling me, taking me inside her perfect heat. All thoughts fade except how right she feels.

We move together, finding that familiar rhythm. Her hands grip my shoulders like anchors while I guide her hips. When she comes again, I follow immediately.

She lies next to me later on. In the quiet, car doors slam outside. Black Wolves are changing shifts. Evie tenses until she hears familiar motorcycle engines.

She relaxes slightly but doesn’t sleep. I feel her mind working on planning. Her fingers trace patterns on my chest like she’s memorizing them.

I pull her closer. “Whatever you’re running from?—”

“Don’t.” She presses her fingers to my lips. “Please. Just hold me.”

Dawn finds her actually sleeping, finally exhausted. In the early light, I study her face. Memorize every detail in case my instincts are right.

In case she runs.

31

EVIE

The doctor’soffice in Cedar Rapids is two hours away from Wolf Pike. It’s far enough that no one will recognize me, but close enough that I can make it back before school pickup. I give them the name Elena Thompson and pay cash.

“First baby?” the receptionist asks cheerfully.

“Third.” My hand drifts to my stomach. “But it’s been a while.”

The waiting room fills me with memories. Bad ones—how Luca had silently fumed at the fact that I was going to have another girl child.

“Thompson?” a nurse calls. “The doctor will see you now.”

I follow her through sterile corridors, answering the usual questions. Last period? Around eight weeks ago. Morning sickness? Constant. Previous pregnancies? Two healthy deliveries.

“The doctor will be right in,” she says, leaving me in a room with posters about fetal development.

I do the math again, though I’ve calculated it a hundred times. That night, during the storm, when everything changed. When three men became one in loving me.

The door opens. Dr. Williams is older and kind-faced.

“Let’s take a look, shall we?”

The ultrasound gel is cold on my skin. I hold my breath as she moves the wand, searching.

Then—a heartbeat fills the room. Fast, strong, unmistakable.

“There we are.” She points to the screen. “Measuring right at eight weeks. Everything looks perfect.”

Perfect. Tears blur my vision as I stare at the tiny form. My baby.

“Would you like a photo?”

I nod, unable to speak. She prints several, pointing out features. Head, spine, and limbs.

---