Page 34 of Baby for the Bikers

The fact that he knows Rowan was with us tonight shouldn’t surprise me. Wolf Pike’s top MC president knows everything that happens in his territory. “Noted.”

After hanging up, I sit in silence for a long moment. Matthews reaching out directly is unusual. The organization that employed us for five years prefers to maintain distance once operatives are “retired.” For them to initiate contact means something serious is brewing.

I pull out my phone and send a message to our group chat:

Taking the morning off tomorrow. No early opening. Will explain later.

Maddox responds immediately:Everything good?

Things will make more sense in the morning,I reply.

I switch to my messages with Rowan, typing carefully:No early shift tomorrow. Diner opening delayed until noon. Take the morning off.

Her response comes quickly:Everything okay?

Just business matters. Nothing to worry about,I send back.

Then I add:Good riding tonight.

I stare at her reply—just a simple thumbs-up andThanks—longer than I should before setting my phone aside.

Sleep proves elusive. I drift in and out of restless dreams—some featuring Rowan’s curves in those leather pants, others darker, filled with memories of operations best left buried. By the time morning breaks, I’ve given up on real rest.

I find my brothers already in the kitchen, Ryder making coffee while Maddox scrolls through his phone.

“So what’s this about?” Maddox asks without looking up. “Since when do we close on Saturday mornings?”

“Meeting at nine,” I announce, accepting the mug Ryder hands me. “Teller’s clubhouse. Cerberus will be calling in.”

That gets their attention. Maddox sets his phone down, all traces of his usual humor gone. “What do they want now?”

“Don’t know. But it concerns us specifically.”

“Thought we were done with them,” Ryder says quietly.

“So did I.” I take a deep drink of the too-hot coffee, welcoming the burn. “Be ready in thirty.”

The ride to Teller’s clubhouse takes us through the heart of Wolf Pike. Saturday morning brings families to the main street, shoppers filling the sidewalks. Normal people living normal lives with no idea of the darker currents running beneath their town’s peaceful surface.

Black Wolves headquarters is on the outskirts, in the opposite direction from our place. It’s a converted farmhouse, surrounded by outbuildings that serve various club purposes. The security is subtle but thorough. Cameras track our approach, and armed men watch from seemingly casual positions.

Clay meets us at the door, expression serious. “They’re waiting in the war room.”

The club’s inner sanctum hasn’t changed much since my brothers and I left town—there’s a large wooden table in the center, maps on the walls, and a tech setup that would make most government agencies jealous. Teller sits at the head, flanked by his oldest members. The empty chairs at his right hand are clearly meant for us.

“Kane brothers.” He nods as we enter. “Right on time.”

A large screen dominates the far wall, which is currently dark. As we take our seats, it flickers to life, revealing a face I haven’t seen in almost a year—Andrew Matthews, senior handler for Cerberus operations.

“Gentlemen.” His voice comes through crystal clear despite the distance. “Wish we were connecting under better circumstances.”

“Cut the pleasantries,” Teller growls. “What’s the situation?”

Matthews’s expression tightens. “We’ve got a problem. Specifically, the Kane brothers have a problem.”

I lean forward. “What kind of problem?”

“Cypher.” The name hangs in the air like a curse. “He’s put a bounty on your heads.”

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