Page 87 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Rick!” Chase’s voice carries panic. “Evie’s due to open in twenty minutes.”

Ice forms in my gut. If we’d been having this meeting any later…

“Get her on the phone,” I order. “Now.”

But she’s already calling, voice tight with fear.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Home. Getting ready for work.”

“Stay there. We’re coming.” I meet my brothers’ eyes and see my own rage reflected. “Clay, call your contact. Tell them we’re in.”

Because this isn’t about the Black Wolves’ pride anymore, this is about keeping our family safe, about protecting all the families in our town.

“They’re moving fast,” Teller observes, studying bullet patterns. “They’re desperate.”

I help Chase cover broken windows while Zane coordinates with the police. “Desperate people make mistakes.”

But watching emergency vehicles arrive, seeing our community gather to help clean up, I know we’re past the point of traditional Black Wolves justice.

These aren’t bikers we’re fighting. They’re predators hiding behind patches. Using our culture to mask true evil.

And they just brought that evil to my family’s door.

“Rick?” Evie’s voice is in my ear, trying to stay calm for the girls. “What’s happening?”

“Just a little trouble.” I keep my voice steady. “Stay inside. We’re on our way.”

After hanging up, I survey the damage. Glass everywhere. Bullet holes in walls. Our peaceful morning shattered like the windows.

Death’s Head wants war?

Fine.

Let’s give them one they won’t survive.

33

CHASE

“Two hours max,”the installer says, measuring our shattered front windows. His crew works efficiently, having done this before for other MC businesses. “Bulletproof glass, same tint as before.”

I watch them clear the remaining shards while Rick handles paperwork in his office. Death’s Head’s message came through loud and clear—they want our attention. Fine. They’ve got it.

The gallery feels eerily quiet without the usual morning buzz. Appointments have been pushed back until afternoon, giving us time to handle MC business properly. Every member knows what Death’s Head’s attack means. It’s a direct challenge to our territory.

“Need eyes on their new warehouse,” Clay says, joining me. He spreads surveillance photos across my station. “Intel says they’re moving product through there, using the territory dispute as cover.”

“Teller authorized recon?”

“Full sweep. Their pattern’s changed—new routes, new faces at their compound.” He taps another photo showing unfamiliar bikes. “They’ve got financial backing now. Upgrading equipment, expanding operations.”

“Moving up from penny-ante shit to real distribution.” I study the images. Death’s Head was always the smaller club, content with scraps until now. “What changed?”

“That’s what we need to find out.” Clay checks his phone as more messages come in. “Got three teams tracking their movements. They’re pushing into other territories too, not just ours.”

The door chimes. Evie walks in, stopping short at the sight of the workers. Her eyes catch on the bulletproof specs before I can hide them. Before she can ask, I wave her toward the office.

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