Page 57 of Baby for the Bikers

“We’ve got some MC business,” I say, switching gears. “Teller called while you were out.”

Both my brothers straighten. Despite our efforts to distance ourselves from the Black Wolves’ more aggressive activities,we’re still part of the leadership, still bound by blood and promise to the MC that raised us.

“What’s he want?” Maddox asks.

“Protection job.” I set my empty bottle on the counter. “The Hellraisers are moving their annual rally through Wolf Pike territory next week. Three hundred bikes, twice that many riders.”

“And?” Ryder prompts.

“And they’re carrying a shipment that’s caught some unwanted attention. Teller’s offered the service of some members, and included them as additional security for a price.”

Maddox groans. “We agreed to stay clear of that life.”

“This isn’t that life,” I counter. “It’s escort duty, nothing more. They pay us, and we make sure they get through our territory without incident.”

“You’re stretching the definition of‘staying clear’pretty thin, brother,” Maddox points out.

I shrug. “Money’s good. We need it for the diner expansion.”

We need the cash, but more than that, we need to maintain our standing with the Black Wolves. Being part of the MC means protection, connections, and a safety net we can’t afford to lose. Not with Cypher’s bounty on our heads.

“Speaking of threats,” I continue, moving to the closet at the end of the hallway, “something arrived in the mailbox today.”

I pull out a large metal case and set it on the coffee table with a heavy thud. My brothers gather around as I flip the latches andlift the lid, revealing our insurance policy against Cypher’s hired guns.

Maddox whistles low. “Christmas came early.”

Inside, nestled in custom-cut foam, lies an assortment of weapons—handguns, combat knives, and a compact submachine gun that would give any ATF agent a heart attack.

“Placed the order the moment we got word about the bounty,” I explain. “These stay with us at all times—house, garage, diner.”

Ryder picks up one of the handguns, a matte black Sig Sauer, checking the weight and balance with practiced hands. “Concealed holsters?”

“In the side compartment.” I lift the foam to reveal the additional equipment. “Ankle and shoulder options for everyone.”

Maddox lifts a tactical knife, testing the edge with his thumb. “This is serious hardware, Brick.”

“Cypher’s serious business,” I remind him. “These aren’t for show.”

“What about Rowan?” Maddox asks, setting the knife back in its slot.

“What about her?” I keep my voice neutral, though the question sends an uncomfortable prickle down my spine.

“She’s close to us,” he presses. “Could be a target too.”

“So are Lucy and Nora,” I counter. “And every other employee we have. What’s your point?”

“My point is she’s special,” Maddox says, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“Special, how?” I ask though I know exactly what he means. “She’s our baker, who still owes us for damage to our bikes.”

Ryder sets down the Sig with deliberate care. “She’s more than that.”

“What’s gotten into your heads?” I demand, looking between them. “You’re both acting like lost puppies.”

Maddox barks out a laugh. “Don’t act like a saint, Brick. I see the way you look at her too.”

The accusation hits too close to home. I do look at her. I notice the way she moves, the grace in her hands as she works, and the curve of her lips when she smiles. I’ve been noticing since day one, and it’s getting harder to pretend otherwise.

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