Page 22 of Baby for the Bikers

“Hey, hey. I started riding three years before you,” Brick counters, offense clear in his tone. They’ve been having this argument since we were teenagers.

“Can we just get the hell out of here?” Rowan’s frustrated voice cuts through their bickering, startling both of my brothers into silence.

“My thoughts exactly,” I say softly, offering her my helmet. I watch with interest as she takes it, expertly adjusting the straps and fitting it over her head.

“Need help with that?” Maddox teases, leaning against his bike.

She doesn’t even look his way, just raises her middle finger in a gesture that’s somehow both elegant and unmistakable.

I can’t help the small smile that forms on my lips. She’s something else—beautiful, smart, defiant, fiery. Thecombination stirs something dangerous in my chest as I swing my leg over the bike and kick it to life.

The engine rumbles beneath me, vibrating through my body like a living thing. Rowan hesitates only a moment before climbing on behind me, her body close but not touching mine.

“You might want to hold on tight!” Maddox yells over the engine noise. “Ryder rides like he has a death wish!”

“I have nothing to live for anyway,” I hear her mutter against my back, the words not meant for anyone else.

Hmm. Interesting. I think there’s a story here, and we’ll find it out in time.

I pull away from the curb, merging into the empty predawn street. Brick and Maddox follow, their headlight casting strange shadows as we ride. Rowan still isn’t holding on, her body swaying slightly with each turn. She’s going to get herself hurt.

After a few minutes, when we reach a quiet stretch of road through a residential area, I pull over. Brick’s bike sails past, Maddox turning to look back with confusion.

“What? Why did you stop?” Rowan’s voice is muffled by the helmet.

“You should hold on to me,” I tell her, keeping my voice low. “It’s for your safety.”

“I already have a helmet on,” she argues.

“Just do what you’re told, princess.”

The word slips out before I can stop it. An echo from another life when I was someone else. I feel her breath catch, her body tensing slightly.

For a moment, I think she’ll argue again. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist, her body pressing fully against my back. The softness of her breasts against me makes my jaw clench. Her thighs bracket mine, warm and firm.

This was a terrible idea.

The ride to the diner takes another thirty minutes, winding through back roads that gradually transition from residential to commercial. By the time we arrive, I can feel how stiff Rowan has become, her muscles locked from holding on so long. It’s clear she hasn’t ridden in a very long time, though everything else about her movements says she used to ride regularly.

Black Dog Bites stands alone on the corner, its newly painted exterior gleaming under the security lights. The sign is Maddox’s design—a stylized black wolf with its teeth bared, surrounded by simple text.

Through the windows, I can see the interior we’ve spent months preparing—classic diner booths in black leather, chrome-edged tables, and a long counter with matching stools. The kitchen beyond is my domain—state-of-the-art appliances I insisted on despite Brick’s grumbling about the cost.

Rowan slides off the bike, removes her helmet, and shakes out her hair. The motion sends her scent toward me—the same scent that made me want to pull her close and lick every surface of her body back at her place.

“Welcome to Black Dog Bites,” Brick says, already unlocking the front door. “Hope you like early mornings, because this is going to be your home for the next couple of months.”

Brick gives her a quick tour inside. I hang back, watching her take in the space, her eyes lingering on details—the flow of thefloor plan, the visibility from the kitchen to the dining area, and the placement of service stations.

“We won’t always be here at the diner,” Brick explains, leaning against the counter. “Most days, we’ll be at the garage while you run the kitchen.”

Rowan nods, asking questions about expectations, menu rotation, and supplier deliveries. The way her mind works fascinates me—quick, practical, always finding the next logical step. I wonder if I’m developing a crush on her, which is ridiculous, considering I didn’t know she existed twenty-four hours ago.

Then again, that didn’t stop me from stealing her panties and doing dirty things with them. I think of the black lace fabric that now hangs from my shower head, drying after I washed it clean. Waiting to be used again.

“Ryder? Ryder? Did you hear me?” Brick’s voice pulls me from thoughts I shouldn’t be having at six-thirty in the morning.

“No,” I admit. “Could you say it again?”

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