Page 22 of Saint Nick
“A baby,” she agreed.
He nodded, quietly, and then laced their fingers together. No grand gestures. No big declarations. Just a steady, quiet kind of promise in the way he held her hand. The sun finallycleared the tree line, turning the wet grass to gold. Birds started singing on the eaves of the porch. And Sandy realized that she didn’t miss the ache that used to live in her chest. It had been replaced with something warm, solid, and real. She leaned against him, letting the world settle around them. Whatever came next didn’t scare her anymore. Because this time, she wasn’t facing it alone.
The End
I hope you loved Nick and Sandy’s story! Now, buckle up and get ready for another Road Reaper! Cyclops (Road Reapers MC Book 6) is coming in March 2026 from K.L. Ramsey!
CYCLOPS
The bar was loud, the way that trouble always seemed to be. The music was too loud, and the air was thick with smoke and heat from the summer night spilling in through the bar’s front door. Cyclops stood near the pool table, a cold beer in one hand, his thumb hooked in his belt loop like he owned the place. Hell, he practically did with Mace out of town. His club’s Prez was on a much-needed and overdue (according to his wife) vacation, and he was brave enough to put Cyclops in charge while he was gone. He wasn’t sure if he’d call Mace’s decision brave or stupid, but it was done, and he had to admit—he liked being in charge of the club, even if it was for just one week.
His patch caught the dim yellow light every time he turned his head, a reminder to anyone dumb enough to think about crossing him. His job, as Sergeant-at-Arms, was to keep the peace around the club, and that was exactly what he was going to do, even as acting Prez.
“Cyclops,” Ink hollered from behind the bar, already halfdrunk. “You tellin’ the Flaming Taco story tonight, or we gotta beg you for it?”
He rolled his one good eye. “You gotta shut your damn mouth, is what you gotta do.”
The whole table of prospects howled with laughter. They all knew the story—it was practically club legend. Only an idiot tried to set his dinner on fire and eat it. Cyclops had done it stone-cold sober and drunk as sin. Only the drunk version took his eye. He was a stupid kid, but he knew if she was asked to do it all over again, he would, because for some odd reason, he just never learned his lesson.
The bar grew quiet as the front door opened, and that was when he saw her. She walked in like she didn’t care who was staring at her. Jeans hugging her beautiful curves, her boots scuffed just enough to say she wasn’t afraid to get a little dirty if needed. The woman’s long hair was tied back and messy, and the don’t-mess-with-me expression on her face let everyone know that she wasn’t there to fuck around. She was the kind of beauty that could make a man stupid. He had known a few women like her and was lucky to get out with his balls intact. She slid onto a stool at the end of the bar, ordered a whiskey, and ignored the wolves who were eyeing her. The guys were circling like vultures, and she didn’t give one single fuck.
Cyclops set his empty beer bottle down and wandered over to where she sat, his boots thudding against the floor as he made his way across the bar. Maybe he was being stupid. Actually, he was sure that he was being a fucking idiot, but there was something about the woman that made it impossible to think clearly. Hell, he probably wasn’t thinking with his head at all, and when he thought with his cock, it usually got him into more trouble than he bargained for.
“Hey,” he drawled, voice rough and low. “You look lost, sweetheart.”
Her eyes flicked up to study the patch, then back to his face—unflinching. “You look like a bad decision,” she mumbled. “And I don’t make them anymore.” He was sure that was a lie. She looked like a woman who thrived on making bad decisions and probably made them daily.
He flashed her his wolfish grin, hoping to win her over with his charming personality. “I am.”
She sipped her beer, seeming unimpressed by his declaration or his charm. “Lemme guess—the eye patch has a tragic war story? You saved a puppy or baby, right?” He couldn’t help his laugh. She was a tough sell, but he liked a challenge. Plus, she was funny, and he really liked that trait in his women.
He leaned in, close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath. “Nah—not a baby or a puppy. A taco took my eye.”
She blinked at him, and he could tell that she was torn between confusion and laughter. “Um, a taco took your eye?” she asked.
He nodded solemnly. “Fiery little bastard. Meanest thing I ever faced.”
Something like a laugh threatened the corners of her lips. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Does that kind of bullshit usually work on the women you’re trying to pick up? Because it’s not going to work on me. You’ll have to work much harder than that if you want my attention, sweetheart,” she spat.
“Yeah,” he said with a wicked grin, “it might be the dumbest thing that you’ve ever heard, but you’re still talkin’ to me.” She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, giving Cyclops her back. She was right—he was going to have to worka hell of a lot harder if he wanted her time or her attention, and for some crazy reason, he wanted both from her.
“Just because I’m still talking to you doesn’t mean that I like you,” she said, still not turning to look at him. “It just means that I’m bored and I’m kind of interested in the whole taco taking out your eye story, if you’re willing to tell it.” He was in—at least for now, and if telling the most humiliating story of his life was what it took to get her to pay attention to him, then he’d do just that.
He tilted his head, letting the light catch the edge of his patch. “Good, because if you liked me this soon in our relationship, I’d think less of you.”
Her brows arched. “I hate to tell you this, but we don’t have a relationship—um, I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t throw it,” he teased. “Everyone calls me Cyclops,” he said.
She snorted, actually snorted, and he couldn’t help his own smile. “Of course they do. Listen, I hate to tell you this—actually, I don’t really hate telling you this. I don’t date bikers.” She was tougher to break than he thought she’d be. She wasn’t going to give him a break.
“Good thing I didn’t ask you out,” he shot back.
She gave him a sharp look, the kind that could cut through steel. “You’re one of them, right? You’re a biker.”
“I’m guessing the whole leather, patches, and tough guy routine gave me away,” he teased. “You forgot that I drink beer for breakfast.” He stepped closer, close enough that the heat of him wrapped around her like smoke. “Yeah, I’m one of them,” he said, looking around the bar at the other bikers. “The kind your momma probably warned you about.”
“I’m not scared of you,” she insisted, but he could tell bythe look in her eyes that she was scared of something—maybe not him, but something had her running scared.
