Page 12 of Baby for the Bikers

I nod, my mind moving too fast to second-guess myself. “Then let me work off what I owe.”

Brick’s gaze narrows. “Doing what?”

I gesture to the cupcakes. “I bake. Professionally. Or I did, before I moved here. If you’ve got a diner, that means you serve food. Let me run your kitchen.”

Maddox raises an eyebrow. “You think making cupcakes is gonna cover five grand?”

“Not just cupcakes,” I shoot back. “I can do pasta, bread, full dessert menus. I can make your place stand out.”

Brick looks at me like he’s measuring something, like he’s considering the weight of my words. “How long would it take?”

I do the math quickly in my head. “If I make, say, eight hundred a week? That’s six weeks. A month and two weeks.”

Maddox whistles. “Damn. You sure can do quick math.”

I ignore that. “Two months, and we’re even. But since we’re talking about debts…” I cross my arms again. “You owe me too.”

Brick’s brow lifts, and Maddox full-on barks out a laugh. Ryder stays silent, but there’s something in the way he tilts his head—like he’s actually interested in where I’m going with this.

“You broke my door,” I say, lifting my chin. “That’s two hundred dollars in damages. So, technically, I only owe you forty-eight hundred.”

Maddox wipes a fake tear from his eye. “Oh, I like you.”

Brick doesn’t smile. He just stares at me for a long, drawn-out moment before finally giving a small nod. “Fine. Two months. You work for us until your debt is paid. And we’ll fix your door.”

Relief sweeps through me, but I keep my face neutral. I don’t trust them yet.

“And we start tomorrow,” Brick adds. “We’ll pick you up at six-thirty. It’s a long drive.”

“Six,” Maddox corrects. “I wanna get a head start on annoying her.”

I roll my eyes. “Can’t wait.”

Maddox grins, grabbing another cupcake as he heads for the door. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

Brick follows, his presence still heavy even as he leaves. Ryder lingers a second longer, his gray eyes scanning my face, my body, like he’s trying to pin something down. He says nothing.

And he still doesn’t return my underwear.

I exhale as the door clicks shut, my heartbeat thundering against my ribs.

I just agreed to work for three men who break down doors and steal my things like they own the world.

But I wasn’t running this time.

And that has to count for something.

5

RYDER

The garage humswith the familiar sounds of metal against metal, the distant buzz of a grinder, the scent of oil and steel thick in the air. It should be grounding, this place, with its well-worn tools and work that makes sense. But nothing feels settled. Not with something burning slow and deep in my chest, something I don’t have a name for yet.

My fingers curl around the lace in my pocket, the fabric soft and delicate against the callouses on my hands. It shouldn’t be here; it shouldn’t be mine. And yet, I can’t bring myself to put it down.

Brick is in the office, hunched over the books like he always is, muttering about overhead and expansion, making sure the diner brings in as much as the garage. Maddox has his head under the hood of a ’68 Camaro, a cigarette hanging from his lips, completely lost in his work. Neither of them notices how quiet I’ve been, but they will soon. Maddox is usually the first to sense a shift, even when he pretends not to care.

Sure enough, he turns, his sharp blue eyes flicking over me, assessing.

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