Page 100 of Baby for the Bikers

His eyes narrow. “You think you’re so much better than me now? Living with those murderers, spreading your legs for the same men who killed your family?”

“They’re more family to me than you ever were,” I spit, the words burning as they leave my throat. “I didn’t know about the connection until last night, but if I had known the first day I stepped foot in this town, I’d have started fucking them right away!”

The slap comes fast, snapping my head to the side. I taste blood where my teeth cut into my cheek.

“Family.” He spits the word like it’s poison. “Those Kane brothers are dead men walking. By morning, there won’t be enough left of them to bury.”

The calm certainty in his voice sends ice through my veins. “You’re in their territory, Dad. They’re not alone,” I warn. “The whole town stands with them.”

“This hick town?” He laughs. “I’ve crushed cities, Leona. What’s one more speck on the map?”

A booming crash shakes the building, dust raining from the ceiling. My father’s head snaps toward the window.

“What the fuck?” He strides over to where Dennis stood moments ago, peering out at whatever caused the explosion.

This is my chance. I twist violently in the chair, using the momentum to slam the zip tie against the edge of the desk. The plastic digs into my skin, but I feel it weaken. One more try.

Another explosion rocks the warehouse, closer this time. Shouts filter up from below, men scrambling, orders being yelled. My father yanks a radio from his belt.

“Report!” he barks. “What the fuck is happening down there?”

The distorted reply is lost beneath a third explosion that shatters the office window, glass spraying across the room. My father ducks, cursing.

I throw myself backward, chair and all, using my full body weight against the desk edge. I wince in pain when I remember there’s a life growing inside me.

The zip tie snaps, pain lancing through my wrists as circulation returns. I scramble to my feet, grabbing the splintered chair leg as a weapon.

My father turns, registering my freedom a second too late. The chair leg connects with his knee, buckling it. He stumbles, reaching for his gun, but I move faster.

Elbow to solar plexus.

Palm strike to chin, snapping his head back.

Knee to groin when he doubles over.

Each move executed perfectly, just as he taught me.

His gun clatters to the floor. I dive for it, fingers closing around the grip as the door bursts open. Dennis and the big guard rush in, assessing the situation in an instant. Their hands move to their waistbands.

I don’t hesitate. Two shots, center mass, just like Dad taught me. They drop before they can clear their weapons.

My father lunges from behind, arm wrapping around my throat in a chokehold. I twist, trying to break his grip, but he’s stronger.

“I gave you everything,” he hisses in my ear as spots dance before my eyes. “And this is how you repay me?”

The gun is useless with his arm pinning mine. But there’s another weapon—another lesson he taught me.

I go limp, dead weight in his arms. His grip loosens for just an instant, surprise overriding training. I drive my head back, connecting with his nose. The crunch and his howl tell me I hit my mark.

His hold breaks. I stumble forward, spinning to face him, gun raised.

Blood streams from his broken nose, his eyes wild with fury and something else—grudging pride.

“You always were a fast learner,” he says, wiping blood with the back of his hand. “Better than Emma ever was.”

“Where is she?” I demand, keeping the gun steady despite my racing heart.

“Safe enough. Insurance policy.” He smiles through the blood. “Lower the gun, Leona. We both know you won’t shoot your own father.”

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