Page 76 of Baby for the Bikers

“He’s got a point,” Brick says finally, setting his empty bottle on the counter with a decisive clink.

“What, that we should share her?” I scoff, but there’s no heat behind it anymore. I’m too tired, too drained from the fight and the truth Chase laid bare.

“That we should talk to her,” Ryder corrects quietly. “Find out what she wants.”

I look between my brothers—Ryder with his split lip, Brick with his guarded expression, both of them as tangled up in this mess as I am. As much as I hate to admit it, Chase is right. This can’t continue as it has been. Something has to change.

“Fine,” I concede. “We talk to her. Together.”

Brick nods, a decision made. “Tomorrow. After closing.”

The prospect of sharing a woman goes against everything we’ve believed in. It’s not how we were raised, not how we’ve lived our lives. The Kane brothers have always been competitive—in business, in racing, in women. We’ve shared almost everything, but never this.

And yet, watching how naturally Rowan fits into our world, how she seems to understand each of us in different ways—Ryder’s silence, my playfulness, Brick’s control—makes me reconsider everything I thought I knew.

This late-night meeting in our garage, with Chase’s blunt insights, has brought out truths none of us have voiced before. We all want her. We all need her in ways that go beyond the physical. And maybe, just maybe, she needs all of us too.

“Let’s head home,” Brick suggests, rubbing his tired eyes. “Been a long day. We all need to clear our heads before tomorrow.”

Ryder and I nod in agreement, the fight drained out of us by exhaustion and revelation. Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever Rowan decides, one thing is certain—nothing between the Kane brothers will ever be the same again.

As we lock up the garage and head to our vehicles, I can’t help but wonder if Chase is right. If some women really are worth breaking every rule for.

If Rowan is one of them.

31

BRICK

The drive home is silent,each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Chase’s words echo in my mind like a persistent melody I can’t shake.Sharing. A concept that goes against everything I’ve believed in, everything I’ve built my life around. The Kane brothers share many things—business, responsibilities, burdens—but never women. Never something this intimate.

Yet as I glance at my brothers—Ryder’s stoic profile illuminated by dashboard lights, Maddox brooding in the rearview mirror—I can’t deny the truth Chase forced us to confront. We all want her. In different ways, perhaps, but with equal intensity.

Our house appears through the trees, modern lines softened by the moonlight. Home. A sanctuary we’ve created away from the noise and demands of the world. The place we retreated to when we came back from the darkness Cerberus planted in our souls.

“We need rules,” I say as I kill the engine. “If we’re really considering this.”

Ryder nods, his expression unreadable. “Boundaries.”

“Communication,” Maddox adds, surprising me with his seriousness. “No more secrets.”

The front door clicks shut behind us, the house welcoming us with familiar silence. We move through our nightly routines—boots by the door, keys in the bowl, weapons secured. But there’s a new tension humming beneath the surface, an awareness that tomorrow everything might change.

I head for the shower, needing to wash away the day’s grime and clear my head. The hot water pounds against my shoulders, loosening muscles tight with stress and indecision. Steam fills the bathroom, fogging the mirror and blurring the edges of reality.

Chase made it sound simple. Find out what she wants. Be honest about what we want. Choose it every day. But nothing involving Rowan Callahan has been simple, from the moment she crashed into our bikes.

I towel off and pull on a pair of loose pajama pants, leaving my chest bare in the warmth of the house. Sleep beckons, but my mind refuses to quiet. I pace the length of my bedroom, bare feet silent on the hardwood floors.

The sound of an approaching vehicle cuts through my thoughts. At this hour, unexpected visitors rarely bring good news. I’m at my window in seconds, spotting headlights winding up our private drive.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand—the security system alert. I check the camera feed, and my pulse quickens. Rowan’s bike, with her hunched over the handlebars like she’s running from something.

“Guys,” I call out, grabbing my gun from the bedside drawer out of habit. “We’ve got company.”

Ryder and Maddox appear in my doorway, both shirtless and alert despite the late hour. I show them my phone screen.

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