Page 12 of The Biker's Single Mom
I smile, knowing it doesn't reach my eyes. "That's exactly what I was going to say to you."
Hawk has the other man on his knees, hands zip-tied behind his back. Down the road, I see Blade and Devil standing over three more suits, while Victor holds a fourth against the hood of an SUV.
The message has been delivered.
We leave them there, engines roaring as we head back toward town. My blood still pounds with unspent adrenaline, the cold battle-focus slowly giving way to something darker.
Next time, it won't be messengers. Next time, I'll make sure Ricci himself understands exactly what happens to men who hunt what the Riders protect.
I shouldn't be surprised to find Daisy waiting on the clubhouse porch when we return. Somehow I knew she would be. She stands with her arms wrapped around herself, her face tight with worry that transforms into relief when she spots us.
Her eyes find mine immediately. The concern in her gaze hits me harder than any punch.
"Violet?" I ask as I dismount.
"Inside with Florence," she says. "What happened?"
The others file past us into the clubhouse, giving us space. I take off my gloves, flexing fingers that are already bruising across the knuckles.
"Ricci's men. Three vehicles."
Her face pales. "Are they—"
"Alive. Hurting. Gone."
She nods, processing this. Then her eyes drop to my hands, to the blood spattering my cut.
"You fought them," she says quietly.
"Yes."
"For us."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
Something shifts in her expression, a heated recognition that makes my pulse kick harder.
"Some men would run from this kind of trouble," I say, giving her one last chance to be smarter than I'm being.
Her laugh is soft but not gentle. "If I wanted safety, I wouldn't have kissed you on that deck." She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. "Besides, I've seen what real monsters look like up close."
"And what do you see when you look at me?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, directly over my thundering heart. "The same hands that just hurt those men are the ones that made my daughter motorcycle pancakes. That fixed her toy." Her voice drops. "That held me like I was something precious."
I cover her hand with mine, keeping it pressed to my chest. "Daisy—"
"I know what you're capable of," she says, cutting me off. "The question is, do you know what I am?"
Her words snap the last thread of my control. I pull her against me, my mouth finding hers with bruising intensity. She meets me with equal hunger, her body arching into mine, her hands fisting in my shirt.
I back her through the doorway, kicking it shut behind us. We stumble down the hallway toward my room, unwilling to break contact even to walk. Her hands are everywhere—pulling at my cut, tugging my hair, sliding under my shirt to touch bare skin.
"Violet?" I manage to ask between kisses.
"With Florence until dinner," she gasps as my teeth graze her neck.
That's all I need to hear. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her into my room and kick the door shut. When I set her on her feet, she immediately reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.
