Page 61 of Baby for the Bikers

A moment later, Ryder appears in the doorway. There’s no audio, but their body language tells the story—her surprise, his intensity, the moment she steps toward him rather than away.

“We don’t need to watch this,” Ryder says, reaching for the mouse.

I bat his hand away. “Oh, I think we do.”

On screen, they collide in a kiss that’s all hunger and need. Ryder’s hands are everywhere, lifting her onto the prep table, gripping her hips, tangling in her hair. She responds with equal fervor, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him closer.

My mouth goes dry as clothes start coming off. Her shirt first, revealing full breasts barely contained in black lace. Then, her jeans, Ryder’s practiced hands peeling them down her legs. Even in the poor-quality footage, her body is perfect—curves in all the right places, skin pale against the dark of Ryder’s tattooed arms.

I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight of Rowan arching under my brother’s touch, her head thrown back in clear ecstasy as he buries his face between her thighs.

My cock twitches, hardening despite myself. The way she moves, the unrestrained abandon on her face as she comes undone—it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. And when Ryder flips her over, taking her from behind with her bent over that prep table, the groan that escapes me isn’t entirely voluntary.

Ryder slams the laptop closed, his expression thunderous. “That’s enough.”

The abrupt end to the footage leaves an uncomfortable silence, broken only by our slightly elevated breathing.

“It’s a bit late for privacy concerns,” I say finally. “Considering you’ve both fucked her.”

“It’s not about privacy,” Ryder growls. “It’s about respect.”

“Respect?” I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “That’s rich, coming from you two.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Maddox demands.

“It means you’re both morons.” I stand, needing to put space between us before I say something I’ll regret. Or worse, throw a punch at one of their smug faces. “We’ve got someone breaking in, possibly Cypher’s men, and you two are too busy thinking with your dicks to focus on keeping this place secure.”

“That’s not fair,” Maddox starts, but I cut him off.

“You know what’s not fair? The fact that you two have been messing around with our employee behind my back. The fact that I’m trying to keep us all alive while you’re playing musical beds with the baker.”

“It’s not like that,” Ryder says quietly.

“Then what is it like?” I challenge. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like she’s playing you both.”

They exchange a look I can’t quite interpret, and my temper flares hotter.

“Forget it,” I snap, grabbing my keys from the desk. “Deal with the break-in. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

I storm out, ignoring their calls to wait. The cool morning air does little to calm the heat rushing through my veins—anger, betrayal, and something else I’m not ready to name. My bike roars to life under me, the vibration grounding in its familiarity. I pull away from the diner without a backward glance.

Both my brothers. She’s been with both my brothers. The same woman—our employee and the baker who still owes us for destroying our bikes.

I’m going to confront her. I’ll find out exactly what game she’s playing and what she hopes to achieve by putting her hands between my brothers like this.

The memory of that security footage plays in my head—her body arching, her face transformed by pleasure, the way she gave herself so completely to Ryder.

What I won’t admit, even to myself, is the burning question underneath it all: What would it be like if it were me instead?

25

ROWAN

The kitchen ismy sanctuary today, the rhythmic scrape of my spatula against the mixing bowl drowning out the anxiety still churning in my stomach.

Ben’s Spider-Man cake is coming together perfectly. It has three layers of chocolate with vanilla buttercream, ready for the red and blue fondant I’ve rolled out on the counter.

I’m just piping the final web design onto the top layer when my front door flies open, hitting the wall with a bang that makes me jump, nearly ruining the delicate pattern.

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