Page 94 of Baby for the Bikers

“Emma?” I answer breathlessly.

There’s a pause, then a chuckle that turns my blood to ice.

“Hello, princess.”

My father’s voice.

“How did you?—”

“Get your sister’s phone?” he finishes. “Emma’s temporarily…indisposed. She should be more careful who she trusts at that fancy school of hers anyway, and we’re far from her school and much closer to you now.”

39

BRICK

Lunch rushat Black Dog hits like clockwork. The bell above the door chimes every thirty seconds. Each booth fills, empties, and fills again. Behind the counter, Maddox helps sling plates while Ryder works the grill.

“Order up!” Ryder slides two plates onto the pass.

Lucy, our weekday waitress, grabs them without breaking stride. “Table six is asking about those cinnamon rolls again.”

“Tell them tomorrow.” I tally a check, making changes for Mrs. Foster. “Our baker’s out sick today.”

I know it’s a lie. Rowan isn’t sick—she was terrified when we left her this morning, eyes too bright, hands fidgeting with her mug. Something scared her, but she wouldn’t say what.

The rumble starts distant, then grows—a rolling thunder of engines approaching in formation. Not just one or two bikes. A dozen, maybe more.

The diner falls quiet. Conversations cut mid-sentence as heads turn toward the windows.

“What the fuck?” Maddox mutters, coming up beside me.

Outside, motorcycles line up along the curb, cutting off traffic. Black bikes, riders in matching cuts, a snake insignia coiled on their backs.

“Vipers,” I breathe.

“Here?” Maddox’s eyes narrow. “Matthews said we had two weeks. Also, weren’t Teller’s men supposed to provide twenty-four-hour surveillance?”

“Now’s not the time to ask questions, brother.”

The door swings open. First through is a mountain of a man with a bald head, tattoos crawling up his neck. Two more follow, flanking the door.

Then he enters.

Even without the cut, I’d know who he is. The snake tattoo curling up his neck. The confident stride. The aura of command that makes even our regulars shrink in their seats.

Cypher. President of the Vipers MC.

Behind him, a young woman with electric blue hair enters, her face downcast. Multiple piercings line her ears and eyebrow. She wears black from head to toe, but there’s something familiar about her features that nags at my brain.

“Stay cool,” I murmur to my brothers as I step forward. No point pretending we don’t know who they are. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

Cypher’s smile never reaches his eyes. “Kane brothers. Heard you run the best diner in town.” His gaze sweeps over ourcustomers. “Quite the operation you’ve built here. Be a shame if something happened to it.”

I notice his right hand doesn’t leave his jacket pocket. Fuck.

“We’re just trying to run a business,” I say evenly. “Whatever beef you think you have with us?—”

“Oh, I know exactly what beef I have with you,” Cypher cuts me off, voice dropping so only those nearby can hear. “You and your Cerberus friends have cost me millions. Taken out my best people. But that’s not why I’m here today.”

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