Page 88 of Single Mom's Bikers

“Just upgrades,” I tell her. No need for her to worry about this part of the business.

She raises an eyebrow but heads to her desk, starting the day’s work like nothing’s wrong. Like our gallery wasn’t shot up yesterday. Like she hasn’t noticed the increased MC presence around town.

“Chase—” Zane’s voice carries from our secure room. “I got something.”

The back office has been transformed into a command center, and surveillance feeds are lighting multiple screens.

Zane points to footage from our warehouse cameras. “Death’s Head prospects casing our storage last night. It’s the third time this week.”

“Getting wise.” I watch them circle the building. Amateur hour—not even trying to hide. “Or stupid.”

“They’re mapping our holdings.” Rick joins us, tension in his jaw. “Building intel for something bigger.”

“Then let’s respond.” I’ve had enough of their games. “Hit that warehouse Clay mentioned. Show them why you don’t fuck with Black Wolves.”

“Not yet.” Rick shows us a message from Teller. “President wants to handle this clean first. Called a meeting.”

“Since when do we negotiate with prospects who shoot up our businesses?”

“Since they’ve got new backing. Some big Sacramento hotshot is bankrolling their expansion.” He scrolls through more intel. “Teller wants to know who’s pulling strings before we start a war.”

The installers finish as our first clients arrive, and around noon, Teller arrives. He grunts in approval as he examines the new windows and notes the extra reinforcement we added.

“Meeting’s set,” he tells us in my private studio. “Their president wants to talk territory.”

“Talk?” Zane scoffs from his position by the door. “After what they pulled?”

“They claim the shooting was unauthorized. Eager prospects getting ahead of themselves.”

“Bullshit.” I clean my machine. “They’re testing us to see how we react.”

“Probably.” Teller’s expression hardens. “So we test back. Find out what’s really driving this push into our town.”

The afternoon crawls by. More brothers arrive under the pretense of business. Weapons are cached strategically. Exit routes confirmed. Wolf Pike prepares while appearing to do nothing.

We close early, citing installation work. As Evie leaves with the girls, I catch Rick watching them with that protective look he gets. The one that says he’d burn the world to keep them safe.

“They’re covered,” I tell him. “Clay’s got people on them.”

He nods.

The ride to neutral ground takes twenty minutes. An abandoned warehouse outside town limits—typical MC theater. Our formation stays tight, and brothers spread out to cover approaches.

Death’s Head’s president, Marcus, waits with his officers, trying to project power. Five bikes are outside, and probably more are hidden nearby.

“Cozy place,” Teller comments, taking his seat. My brothers and I flank him while Clay’s crew secures the perimeter. Years of these meetings have taught us the dance.

“Had to find neutral territory.” Marcus attempts a smile. “After recent…misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings.” Teller’s voice stays calm but carries authority earned through years of leading the Black Wolves. “That what we’re calling shots fired now?”

“Regrettable incident.”

“Cut the shit.” I can’t help myself. “What do you really want?”

Marcus studies me, dropping the friendly act. His cheap suit and slicked hair can’t hide what he is—a small-time thug playing at power.

“Simple. Wolf Pike’s growing. Time to discuss proper territory division.”

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