Page 98 of Single Mom's Bikers

I clear my throat. “Need anything else?”

Rose hesitates, then stands abruptly. “Actually. Could you stay? I have a call to make.”

I nod, watching her go. The moment the door closes, Draven shifts in bed. “Ask.”

I frown. “Ask what?”

“Whatever’s on your mind.” His voice is too sharp for a man on pain meds. “You’re watching me like you got something to say.”

I consider dodging the question, but I’m tired of dancing around shit. “She’s not who she claims to be.”

Draven doesn’t even flinch. He just smirks. “No. She’s more.”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“Course it does.” His fingers flex around the water bottle. “But so does everything in our world. Black Wolves business. Rival clubs. Old enemies.”

I lean against the dresser. “Speaking of enemies. What did you learn? While they had you?”

His expression darkens. “Enough to know we’re in deeper shit than we thought.”

Before he can explain, the door creaks open. Rose is back, but something’s off.

Draven notices too. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” But she won’t meet his eyes. “Just business.”

He reaches out a hand, and after a moment, she takes it. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracks slightly. “You know I can’t.”

For a second, I think she’s about to shut down and snap back into that cold, untouchable woman she pretends to be. But then she practically collapses onto his bed, and I think I should give them space.

“I’ve never…” She swallows hard. “In all my years of…I’ve never…”

“Never what?” Draven strokes her wrist with his thumb.

Her voice is barely audible. “Never wanted to stay. Never had something real to lose.”

Draven holds on to her hand like a lifeline. “You won’t lose me. Any of us.”

She lets out a choked laugh and doesn’t say anything else.

Later at night, Teller calls for a meeting.

We gather in Draven’s recovery room—MC leadership, my brothers, and Rose hovering by the door like she doesn’t know where she belongs.

“Start from the beginning,” Teller says. “Everything you heard.”

Draven shifts, grimacing. Rose instinctively reaches to adjust his pillows, but this time, he stops her. “They weren’t hiding anything,” he starts. “They wanted me to hear. To understand what we’re up against.”

“Death’s Head?” Clay asks.

Draven shakes his head. “They’re just muscle. Expensive muscle, but still following orders.”

Rick leans forward. “From who?”

Draven’s lips press into a thin line. “Guy named Delgado.”

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