Page 56 of Baby for the Bikers

“Six weeks down, two to go,”I mutter, taking a pull from my beer as I watch Ryder clean a dismantled handgun at the kitchen table. “If she keeps up her pace at the diner.”

Ryder doesn’t look up, his fingers and eyes focused on the weapon. Night has settled over our house, the kitchen clock ticking toward eleven.

“You think she’ll stay after she pays off the debt?” I ask, already knowing I won’t get a real answer.

Ryder shrugs, a gesture that could mean anything or nothing.

I lean against the counter, studying my youngest brother. Something’s shifted in him since Rowan came to town, something that I can’t quite place my finger on.

“What do you think about her?” I press, determined to get something out of him.

He looks up finally, his gray eyes unreadable. “She’s a good baker.”

“That’s it?” I snort. “Six weeks of working together, and all you’ve got isshe’s a good baker?”

“What do you want me to say?” He slides the clip into place with a decisive click.

“I don’t know.” I drain half my beer. “Something tells me you’re hiding something.”

The corner of his mouth twitches—not quite a smile, but close enough that I know I’ve hit a nerve. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

Before I can push further, the distinctive rumble of Maddox’s bike pulls into the driveway. Moments later, the front door swings open, and our middle brother strolls in, grinning like he just won the lottery.

“Well, well,” I say, eyeing his unusually cheerful expression. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

Maddox heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a beer before dropping into a chair across from Ryder. “A good night,” he says simply, but that shit-eating grin doesn’t fade.

“You were with Rowan the entire night?” I keep my tone casual, though something uncomfortable twists in my gut.

“Yep.” He pops the cap off his beer. “I ate the best lasagna I’ve ever had at her place.”

Ryder’s hands still momentarily before resuming their work. “So nothing else happened between you two?” he asks, his voice flat.

“What’s supposed to happen?” Maddox asks, all wide-eyed innocence that doesn’t fool either of us.

I study him, noting the relaxed set of his shoulders and the satisfied gleam in his eyes. He looks like a man who’s gottenexactly what he wanted, and knowing Maddox, that could mean anything.

“You smell like you need a shower,” I comment, wrinkling my nose.

“That bad?” He laughs, standing. “Guess I’ll clean up.”

“Hurry,” I call after him. “We have that meeting in twenty.”

As his footsteps fade up the stairs, I turn back to Ryder, who’s staring at the reassembled gun like it holds the secrets of the universe.

“Dibs on Maddox fucking her,” I say casually, watching for his reaction.

Ryder’s fist clenches around the weapon, his knuckles going white. I blink, surprised by the visceral response.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, genuinely confused.

He sets the gun down carefully. “No problem.”

“Fine, I’ll stop bugging you,” I tell him, going back to my beer.

Fifteen minutes later, Maddox reappears, hair still damp from what must have been the world’s fastest shower. He drops back into his chair, looking between us with a raised eyebrow.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asks.

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