Page 9 of Her Savior Biker
Shannon’s hands still on the dish towel. “Won’t he ask questions? About why I need to be paid under the table?”
I lift an eyebrow. “He’s not going to ask.”
She considers this, chewing on her bottom lip in a way that makes me want to do the same. “What about Aiden?”
“Daycare’s attached to the elementary school. Takes kids as young as three. I could pull some strings, get him enrolled.”
“With what documentation? I don’t have his birth certificate, medical records, any of that.”
“Leave that to me.”
Shannon turns to face me fully, and she’s weighing options, calculating risks. “Why would you do that? Get involved like this?”
Because watching you try to put your life back together reminds me of someone I used to know. Because your kid deserves better than to grow up afraid.
“You don’t know me. I get that. But I’m one of the good guys.” I gesture at my leather jacket. “Don’t let this fool you. If I were driving a gray sedan and wearing khakis, you wouldn’t even question it.”
She’s quiet, waiting for more.
“I grew up like this. My mom, running from one bad guy straight into the arms of an even worse one. I can spot it a mile away, and I hate it every time I see it.”
Shannon’s chin lifts, that fire flashing in her eyes again. “I’m not a victim. And I’m not seeking out bad guys.”
“No?” I lean against the counter. “So where’s the kid’s dad? Why isn’t he here helping you?”
Her face goes carefully blank. “He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. We were both foster kids, same house. Got turned out when we aged out at eighteen.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, like she’s reciting someone else’s story. “We were young, and all we had was each other. We were in love. Jim was my first. I got pregnant. And he was determined to make our family work. He thought dealing drugs would help us get by faster.” She shrugs. “Got himself killed for the effort.”
Jesus. “How long have you been on your own?”
“Since Aiden was six months old. Three years.” She meets my eyes, daring me to pity her. “I haven’t been with anyone since. Hell, I haven’t even tried until—” She stops herself.
“Until this Mason.”
“I was determined to take it slow. Didn’t even sleep with him. I was taking my time.” A bitter laugh escapes her. “I thought I was being smart, careful. But he still turned out to be—” Her voice cracks. “The first time he laid a hand on my son, I was done. I’m never going back. My son deserves better.”
There’s a tear sliding down her cheek now, and it guts me. This woman who’s been fighting alone for three years, trying to do everything right for her kid, and she thinks she failed. “You forgot to add that you deserve better too,” I say quietly.
Shannon’s breath hitches. “What?”
“Your son deserves better. But so do you.” I reach out without thinking, brushing the tear away with my thumb. “You didn’t screw up, Shannon. You got away. That takes guts.”
She leans into my touch for just a second, and the air between us crackles. She’s looking at me like I’m something she wants but doesn’t trust herself to have.
I should step back. Should keep my hands to myself and my thoughts professional.
Instead, I pull her closer. She comes willingly, fitting against me like she belongs there. Her hands fist in my shirt, and her heartbeat races against my chest. When she tilts her face up, her lips are just inches from mine.
For a moment, the world narrows to this—her warmth, her scent, the way she’s looking at me like I might actually be the good guy I claim to be.
Then Aiden’s voice cuts through the moment. “Mama? Can I have some juice?”
Shannon jerks back like she’s been burned, putting safe distance between us again. But I catch the way her fingers linger on my chest, the way her breathing is still erratic.
“Of course, baby,” she says, already moving toward the refrigerator.
