Page 58 of Baby for the Bikers

“This conversation is over,” I announce, abruptly standing. “We have to focus on staying alive, not fighting over a woman who works for us.”

“Convenient exit,” Maddox mutters, but he doesn’t push.

“I’m going to bed,” I say, leaving the weapons case open on the table.

Neither of my brothers responds as I head upstairs, the tension thick enough to cut with one of those fancy new knives. I hear Maddox grab another beer, and then his footsteps head toward his own room.

Alone in my bedroom, I sit on the edge of my bed, running a hand over my face. Six weeks ago, our biggest problem was getting the diner up and running. Now we’ve got a death markfrom one of the most dangerous men on the West Coast, and we’re falling over ourselves for a woman who crashed into our lives with the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

A woman who’s wormed her way into my thoughts despite my best efforts to keep her at arm’s length. A woman who might be sleeping with one or both of my brothers, if I’m reading the signals right.

I’ve never been the jealous type. Having brothers means sharing almost everything. But this—Rowan—feels different. Feels like something that could drive a wedge between us if we’re not careful.

23

ROWAN

Sunlight streamsthrough my new curtains—soft blue ones I splurged on last week—and for a moment, I just lie here, letting my body remember last night. My thighs ache pleasantly. There’s a delicious soreness between my legs that makes me press them together, savoring the remainder of Maddox’s touch.

God, his hands. The way he hoisted me onto that counter like I weighed nothing. The heat of his breath against my skin. The filthy promises he whispered as he took his time with me.

“You ever been worshiped before, Rowan?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, heat flooding my cheeks at the memory. No, I hadn’t, not before him.

When I try to sit up, my muscles protest, and I can’t help the small smile that curves my lips. It almost feels like a dream, except for the very real evidence my body provides. The marks he left on my inner thighs. The slight tenderness of my breasts from his attention. The way he flipped me over so effortlessly, taking me from behind, his chest pressed to my back, his lips at my ear.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. I shouldn’t be thinking about this. About him. About any of them.

Especially not since I’ve now slept with two of the three brothers.

Tom’s knowing smile flashes in my mind.“Patterns don’t lie.”Was this what he meant? Am I just the next in line to fall into this strange Wolf Pike tradition of one woman with multiple brothers?

The thought sends another curl of heat through my belly, shameful and exciting all at once.

I grab my phone from the nightstand to check the time, and the date catches my eye. Two weeks. I have exactly two weeks left of my debt to the Kane brothers. The realization hits me like a bucket of cold water, and I sit up straight, suddenly wide awake.

Six weeks have gone by in a blur of baking, deliveries, and increasingly complicated feelings. Six weeks, and I haven’t made a concrete plan for opening my bakery in the empty storefront downstairs.

What happened to me? I came to Wolf Pike with one goal—disappear, start over, and open a legitimate business. The perfect cover for someone on the run. And yet here I am, half-settled into an apartment with new curtains and kitchen upgrades, sleeping with two of my bosses, and no actual business plan in sight.

The truth is uncomfortable—I’ve gotten attached. Not just to the brothers, though that’s definitely part of it, but to this life. To having a place where I belong, even if it’s temporary.

To the regulars at the diner who know my name and leave generous tips. To the extra cash from overtime when the diner’sshort-staffed, which happens more often now that I’ve been picking up additional shifts.

Between what’s left of my weekly pay after the brothers take what I owe, the tips, and side baking gigs like the weed brownies for Mae, I’m doing better financially than I expected. My emergency fund is growing steadily, even with the small improvements to the apartment.

But what happens when the two weeks are up? When I’ve paid my debt and have no more excuses to see them every day?

The idea of partnering with the brothers for a real bakery has crossed my mind more than once. The thought is both tempting and terrifying. Putting down those kinds of roots would mean trusting them completely. Trusting that they won’t discover who I really am. Trusting that my father won’t find me.

I drag myself out of bed, wincing at the pleasant ache between my thighs, and head for the shower. The hot water soothes my muscles but does nothing to clear my jumbled thoughts.

As I’m toweling off, my phone pings with a text from Kate next door:

Don’t forget Ben’s birthday cake for tomorrow! He’s been talking about Spider-Man nonstop.

I smile despite my inner turmoil. Ben is turning two, and Kate commissioned me to make a special cake for his party. It’s a small job, but it means something—people here trust me with their celebrations and memorable moments.

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