Page 95 of Baby for the Bikers

He jerks his chin, and one of his men produces a photograph, sliding it across the counter toward me.

“I’m looking for someone.” Cypher’s tone shifts, something almost vulnerable flickering across his face. “My daughter.”

I glance down at the photo, and my blood freezes.

Rowan.

Not exactly as I know her—her hair is different, styled in an elegant updo I’ve never seen on her. Her expression is cooler, more distant than the woman who shares my bed. But it is unmistakably her.

“Never seen her,” I lie, sliding the photo back, grateful for years of undercover work that taught me to keep my face neutral. “What’s she got to do with us?”

“See, that’s the curious thing.” Cypher takes the photo, tucking it into his jacket. “My sources tell me she’s been spotted in Wolf Pike. And if you’ve hurt her…”

Behind him, the blue-haired girl flinches. Now that I’m looking closer I see it—the same bone structure and full lips as Rowan.

They must be sisters.

Holy shit. Rowan isn’t just connected to the Vipers. She’s Cypher’s daughter. The fucking princess of the West Coast’s most notorious MC.

Suddenly, everything about her clicks into place.

She’s been running from her father. From the man standing in our diner, ready to kill us all.

“Look, man, we don’t know your daughter,” Maddox says, edging closer to the baseball bat we keep under the counter. “But we’d appreciate it if you took your club meeting elsewhere. You’re scaring our customers.”

Cypher chuckles, the sound utterly devoid of humor. “My apologies. Didn’t mean to disrupt your…business.” His eyes flick to the blue-haired girl. “Emma, why don’t you look around? See if anything seems familiar.”

Emma lifts her head, eyes darting around the diner. When her gaze lands on the chalkboard menu behind the counter, something shifts in her expression. The daily specials, written in Rowan’s handwriting, seem to confirm something for her.

“I don’t see anything, Dad,” she says, voice soft but steady.

Cypher’s eyes narrow. “Look harder.”

“I told you, she’s not here.” Emma’s shoulders straighten, a flash of defiance crossing her features. “Can we go now?”

The resemblance to Rowan in that moment is striking—the same stubborn lift of her chin, the same fire beneath a calm exterior.

Cypher grabs her arm, fingers digging into her skin. “You’re lying to me, Emma.”

“Hey,” I step forward instinctively. “Take it easy.”

His cold eyes snap to mine. “Family business. Stay out of it.”

“Not in my diner.” I keep my voice level. “I don’t care who you are—you don’t manhandle women in here.”

Tension crackles through the room. The other Vipers shift, hands drifting toward waistbands where guns undoubtedly wait. I’m acutely aware of the civilians still frozen in their seats, the innocent people who have no idea they’re sitting in the middle of a powder keg.

“Maddox,” I say without taking my eyes off Cypher, “why don’t you call Teller? Let him know we’ve got visitors.”

Maddox nods, reaching for the phone.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Cypher warns, pulling Emma closer to his side. “Things might get…messy.”

“Already are,” Ryder speaks up from behind the grill, where I know he keeps his Glock taped under the counter.

Cypher studies each of us in turn, calculation written across his features. Then, his gaze returns to the chalkboard menu, lingering on Rowan’s handwriting.

“You know,” he says, almost conversationally, “my Leona always had a gift for baking. Used it to cover our operations for years. The best front we ever had.”

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