Page 15 of Her Savior Biker
“Military police start poking around, asking questions, showing badges—that’s the kind of attention we don’t need,” Tank says. “You know what happens when federal heat comes down on us. Raids, seizures, brothers doing time.”
The Torrino deal. Three months of careful negotiations. Tank’s right—we can’t afford complications. But knowing he’s right doesn’t make it easier to swallow.
“Look,” Tank continues, his voice gentler now. “I wish we could help every woman running from some bastard. But the club comes first. Always. You know that.”
“What are you asking me to do?”
“I’m asking you to remember your priorities.” He pulls the coin back out, flipping it slowly. “Her car’s busted, right? Tell Murphy to speed up the repair. Get her down the road before this gets worse.”
There’s regret in his voice that makes my chest tighten.
“What if itismy problem?” The words are out before I can stop them, hanging in the hot air between us like a challenge.
Tank’s coin stops mid-flip. He freezes, his sharp eyes studying my face like he’s seeing something new. “What’d you just say?”
“I said, what if it’s my problem? Not the club’s. Mine.”
Tank pockets the coin slowly, deliberately. When he speaks, his voice carries the authority of a man who’s led men through hell. “As long as you’re wearing that Savage Kings patch, you don’t get to have individual problems. We’re brothers, Savior. Everything that touches you touches all of us.” He steps closer, the years of leadership weighing on him. “So I’m going to ask you straight—would you risk all that for a woman who’s not yours?”
The question hangs between us like a gauntlet thrown down. The choice between the club that’s been my family for eight years and a woman I’ve known for less than a week. The smart answeris obvious. It's the safe answer. The one that keeps my patch, my brotherhood. But when I think about Shannon’s bruises, about the way Aiden flinches at loud noises, about the terror in her eyes—the smart answer feels like cowardice.
“I need time to think,” I say finally.
Tank nods like he expected it, but there’s disappointment in his eyes. “You have it. Don’t take too long. This needs to get resolved.”
He heads back inside, leaving me standing in the parking lot with the weight of an impossible choice on my shoulders. Through the window, Shannon moves between tables. Something in my chest clenches tight.
Eight years of brotherhood. Eight years of loyalty, sacrifice, and blood.
But as Shannon laughs at something a customer says, as she pushes a braid behind her ear with hands that still shake sometimes—I know Tank’s question is already answered.
Some things are worth the risk.
Even if it costs me everything.
The drive to pick up Aiden gives me time to think, but thinking’s the last thing I want to do. Tank’s words keep echoing in my head—not your woman, not our problem, would you risk all that—and every mile makes the choice feel heavier.
I stop at the gas station, needing something to do with my hands that isn’t punching walls. The magazine rack catches my eye, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m flipping through a kids’ book about motorcycles. Bright pictures, simple words. The kind of thing a man buys when he’s thinking about forever instead of temporary. I pay for it anyway.
Mrs. Chen has Aiden ready when I walk into the daycare; his backpack is slung over his good shoulder, and a crayon masterpiece is clutched in his hand. When he sees me, his face lights up like Christmas morning.
“Savior!” He runs toward me, the cast making him lean to one side. “Look! I drew your bike!”
The paper’s covered in black scribbles with two circles that might be wheels. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“That’s perfect, buddy.” I crouch down to his level. “You even got the handlebars right.”
“Mrs. Chen helped,” he admits, then bounces on his toes. “You have surprise?”
Smart kid. I pull the book from behind my back, and his eyes go wide.
“Motorcycle book!” He grabs it, immediately, flipping through the pages. “Look, Mama! Like Savior bike!”
I look up. Shannon is standing in the doorway, and something in my chest seizes up. She’s changed into jeans and a soft gray sweater that makes her rich brown skin glow. Her braids are loose, framing a face that’s both exhausted and resilient. The contrast between that softness and the steel in her spine is a knockout blow.
“That’s very nice,” she says, her voice carefully neutral. “What do you say, baby?”
“Thank you, Savior.” Aiden throws his good arm around my neck in a hug that nearly knocks me over. “Read it to me?”
