Page 84 of Baby for the Bikers

“They’re going to lose their minds,” Maya assures me, applying the protective covering.

Hours later, I stand before the full-length mirror in the spa’s dressing room, barely recognizing myself. My dark hair falls in glossy waves past my shoulders. My skin glows from the treatments. The subtle makeup enhances rather than conceals. The new dress Evie insisted I buy hugs every curve, the deep green fabric bringing out the gold flecks in my eyes.

“Holy shit,” Ayla breathes, coming to stand beside me. “You look incredible.”

“The Kane brothers aren’t going to know what hit them,” Evie agrees, joining us in the mirror.

For the first time in months—maybe years—I don’t see a runaway, a victim, or the future Vipers president my father triedto create. I see a woman who knows what she wants and is finally brave enough to claim it.

“Ready?” Evie asks, grabbing her keys.

I touch the tender spot where my new tattoo lies hidden beneath my dress. A secret promise to three men who’ve somehow become everything to me.

“Ready,” I confirm, and I’ve never meant anything more.

35

RYDER

Holy fuck.

That’s all I can think when Rowan walks through the diner door, hours after we sent her off for her “me time.”

My brothers are not usually here this late—the garage is our main business—but with Nora out sick and the new guy still learning the ropes, we’ve been pulling double duty all week. Three mechanics by day, diner owners by night. It’s exhausting, but the moment she steps inside, I forget every ounce of fatigue.

She’s always been beautiful, but this is different. Her dark hair falls in shiny waves, catching the overhead lights. Her skin has this glow that makes me want to run my tongue over every inch of it. And that dress—simple, black, but hugging her body like it was made just for her.

Old man Jenkins, our regular who’s been nursing the same coffee for an hour, actually chokes on his drink when she walks past. I can’t even blame him.

“Close your mouth,” Brick mutters as he passes behind me, carrying a stack of clean plates. “You’ll catch flies.”

I snap my jaw shut, not even realizing it had been hanging open. Across the diner, Maddox is having the same reaction, frozen in place with a rag in his hand, staring as Rowan slides behind the counter as if she owns the place.

Which, technically, she does now. Equal partner and all.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, her voice normal but her eyes promising things that are anything but. “The spa took longer than expected.”

“No problem,” Brick answers, somehow maintaining his composure. “We were just about to close up.”

I try to keep working, I really do. But every time she bends over to grab something from the lower shelves, every time she stretches to reach the top cabinets, every time she brushes past me in the narrow space behind the counter, I lose my train of thought.

And I’m not being subtle about it, either. Not when she keeps looking at me like that, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. To all of us.

“You gonna wipe that table all night?” Maddox asks, appearing next to me with a smirk. “Pretty sure it’s clean, man.”

I glance down, realizing I’ve been wiping the same spot for at least three minutes. “Shut up.”

“She’s doing this on purpose, you know,” he says, voice low enough that only I can hear. “That dress, that walk. She’s playing with us.”

“I know.” And I don’t mind one bit. After what we agreed to this morning—after what we’re planning for tonight—a little teasing feels right. Like foreplay.

The evening drags on forever. Every customer who lingers, every coffee refill, every stupid side of ranch dressing someone asks for—it all feels like deliberate torture. By the time Brick finally announces last call, I’m strung so tight I could snap.

Even after the last customer leaves, we still have closing duties. Counting the till. Wiping down tables. Sweeping. Prepping for tomorrow. But tonight, with Rowan moving through the space like some kind of sensual phantom, the routine feels endless.

“We can finish in the morning,” I finally say, unable to take it anymore. “Let’s go home.”

Maddox raises his eyebrows at me speaking first—I’m usually the quiet one—but nods in agreement. “I’m with Ryder. Some things are more important than a well-mopped floor.”

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