Page 65 of Stealing the Biker

Chapter Twenty-three

“What the fuck did my niece want with you?” Link stares me down.

“She found out some shit about Sabrina and thought I should know.”

“What the fuck is it to her?”

“I guess she felt like she owed me a favor after the stuff that happened last year with her father.”

“And that’s all it was?”

“Yup.”

“Keep it that way.”

“Of course.” I nearly choke out the words. He doesn’t have to worry. Kiesha hates me. I made sure of that by breaking her hurt along with my own.

“So, what was the information?”

“Sabrina lied to me. About being pregnant.”

“Fuck for real?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What I should have done months ago. Cut her loose.”

“Good. You’re doing the right thing. Just getting started with the club. The last thing you need is a bitch like that dragging you down. Go handle your business.”

“Right.”

I roll up to the apartment I share with Sabrina and park my motorcycle. I finally got it running. Just in time for summer. I was looking forward to taking Kiesha for a ride, but that’s not going to happen now.

I run a hand over my head after removing my helmet and hanging it off the handlebars. Time to get this over with. As mad as I am that she lied, part of me understands. I’ve done a helluva lot of lying to myself this past year.

I trudge up the stairs that lead to our door. Sabrina has it open and is waiting for me with a big smile until she appraises my ravished demeanor.

“You’re back early.”

“We need to talk.” I squeeze past her.

“What about?” She closes the door and follows closely behind.

I take up the recliner, leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees, head in my hands, forcing her to sit elsewhere. Normally, she sits on my lap. Not today, though. Not ever again.

“About us.” I look up, meeting her curious gaze.

Her smile fades, replaced by a look of concern. “What about us?”

“I know about the pregnancy, Sabrina,” I say, my voice cold and void of emotion.

She blinks at me, surprise etched on her features before she quickly schools her expression to one of confusion. “What... what do you mean?” she stammers.

“You’re not pregnant. You used Ember’s test to trick me.” The words come out harsher than intended, but I make no effort to soften them.

She flinches, her eyes widening as she desperately tries to maintain her deceit. “That’s not true,” she pleads, but I can read the truth in her eyes. The guilt.

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