Page 30 of Baby for the Bikers

Heat crawls up my neck. “I’ll put this away,” I mutter, taking the bathroom cleaner to the bathroom.

When I come back, he’s flipping through one of my books—a dog-eared copy ofThe Great Gatsby. Something about Gatsby’s reinvention of himself felt too relatable when I found it at a thrift store.

“Ready?” he asks, standing in one smooth movement that draws my attention to his height.

“Let’s get this over with,” I reply, grabbing my jacket.

The ride to the track isn’t long, but having my arms wrapped around Maddox’s waist, feeling the muscles shift beneath my hands with each turn, is a special kind of torture. His body radiates heat that seeps through my clothes, warming parts of me that have been cold for too long.

We pull into what looks like an abandoned quarry transformed into a racing arena. Cars and motorcycles are parked around the perimeter, their headlights cutting through the growing darkness. Music pumps from speakers somewhere, and thesmell—god, the smell hits me like a physical blow. Gasoline. Rubber. Sweat. Anticipation.

Childhood memories flood back so fast I almost can’t breathe.

I climb off the bike on shaky legs. Maddox’s hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. People nod at him, call out greetings, and slap his shoulder as we pass. He’s clearly respected here. Maybe even liked.

I spot Brick and Ryder near what appears to be a betting table. Brick notices us first, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Did you kidnap her, or did she come willingly?”

“She couldn’t resist my charm.” Maddox grins, arm still at my back.

But I’m distracted by Ryder, whose dark eyes are fixed on me with unsettling intensity. His gaze travels slowly down my body, taking in the racing outfit, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.

He knows these aren’t just random clothes. Shit.

“Nice outfit,” Brick comments. “You ride?”

“Learned a few years ago,” I lie. “Nothing serious.”

Ryder doesn’t speak, but I can feel him watching me, seeing too much. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to ride, just to observe. To remember what it feels like to not be running.

The underground setup gives me two separate kinds of feelings. It’s what I’m used to and not, all at the same time. The track itself is similar to what Dad ran—a quarter mile, good surface, decent lighting. But the vibe is completely different. There are families here, kids running around, and women laughing openly,not huddled in wary groups. No one looks like they’re one wrong word away from violence.

“Come meet some people,” Maddox says, tugging me toward a group gathered near the starting line.

Over the next hour, I’m introduced to more Wolf Pike residents than I’ve met in the past twelve days combined. Jamie, who Maddox introduces as “Tank’s widow,” hugs me like we’re already friends. The Cross brothers nod in recognition, and their wife Evie gives me a knowing smile that makes me wonder exactly what she knows.

“So you’re the one who destroyed the Kane boys’ precious bikes,” a man named Clay says with a grin. “Nice entrance.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t on purpose,” I reply, which earns a round of laughter.

When the races begin, I gravitate toward the edge of the track, muscle memory taking me to the spot with the best view. Maddox leaves to prepare for his heat, and I’m left standing between Brick and Ryder.

“He’s good,” Brick says, nodding toward where Maddox is checking his bike. “Won most of the races here lately.”

“Until tonight,” a woman interrupts, stepping up beside us. “I’m taking that record.”

“Ayla,” Brick introduces her. “Rowan, our new baker.”

“Another newcomer.” She grins. “I caused a scene when I got here too, though with less property damage.”

Maddox’s race begins, and despite myself, I’m captivated. He rides with a confidence that borders on recklessness, takingcorners at speeds that make my breath catch. His body moves with the machine like they’re extensions of each other. It’s beautiful to watch—the kind of riding that comes from natural talent honed by years of practice.

When he crosses the finish line first, the crowd erupts, and I find myself cheering along with them, caught up in the moment.

I feel Ryder’s presence before I see him, suddenly close beside me. He doesn’t touch me, not like his handsy brother, but his proximity affects me just as strongly.

“You know more than you let on,” he says quietly.

My heart skips, but I keep my face neutral. “About what?”

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