Page 19 of The Biker's Single Mom
The pain only feeds the rage building inside me. I knock the knife away and slam him back against the steps, my hand closing around his throat.
"No," I say, squeezing just enough to make his eyes widen with fear. "She was never yours. And now she's under my protection."
His face contorts with hatred. "You think you can protect them? A filthy biker with blood on his hands? You're nothing but trash."
I squeeze harder, watching his face purple, feeling the darkness rise in me, the part that enjoys this, that wants to watch the lifedrain from his eyes. It would be so easy. One more moment of pressure, and Daisy would be free of him forever.
"Daniel."
Her voice cuts through the red haze of my rage. I feel her hand on my shoulder, gentle but firm.
"Daniel, stop. Not like this."
I loosen my grip slightly, enough for Ricci to drag in a rasping breath. "He deserves it," I say, not looking at her. "For what he did to you. To Violet."
"I know," she says quietly. "But I don't want his blood on your hands. Or on mine."
She's right. Killing Ricci would end one threat but create others, legal complications, potential revenge from his organization, shadows that would follow us.
I release his throat but keep him pinned, pulling zip ties from my pocket to secure his hands. Around us, the gunfire has stopped. The Riders have Ricci's men subdued, some unconscious, others bound and kneeling.
"It's over, Carlo," Daisy says, her voice steadier now. "You lost. I'm filing for a restraining order. The police will have evidence of your men attacking the Riders on their own property. And I'm sure the Feds would be very interested in some of the things I witnessed during our marriage."
Fear flashes in Ricci's eyes. He knows she has leverage, knows what she could reveal.
"You wouldn't," he hisses. "You wouldn't put yourself at risk like that."
"Try me," she says, and in that moment, I see the steel in her that's always been there, beneath the sunshine. "Stay away from me. Stay away from Violet. Or I'll burn your whole empire to the ground."
I haul Ricci to his feet, shoving him toward Blade and Victor, who take over, securing him with the rest of his men.
The fight is finished. The Riders have won, bloody but standing. And Daisy...
Daisy stands in the aftermath, blood smeared on her cheek, dust in her hair, shaking with adrenaline but unbroken. When she turns to me, her eyes are clear and certain.
"It's done," she says, and steps into my arms.
I hold her against me, feeling her heart racing, her body trembling with delayed shock and relief. My own pulse hammers with fading adrenaline and something else—something that feels dangerously like hope.
"You're safe now," I tell her, pressing my lips to her hair. "Both of you."
She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. "I meant what I said, Daniel. I'm done running."
I cup her face in my hands, heedless of the blood and dirt. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go."
Epilogue – Daisy
Two Years Later
Summer evenings in Fox Ridge have a specific rhythm. The sun lingers stubbornly on the horizon, casting long shadows across the clubhouse yard while cicadas hum their electric drone in the surrounding pines. Heat radiates from the concrete, slowly releasing the day's warmth as night approaches.
I sit on the porch steps, nursing a glass of iced tea, watching Violet race across the yard with Hawk's daughter in tow. At seven, Violet has shed every trace of the fearful child who once clung to my leg. Now she runs wild and free, her laughter rising above the rumble of engines from the garage, her ponytail bouncing with each step.
"Higher, Uncle Hawk!" she shouts as he lifts both girls onto the low branch of the oak tree that dominates the yard. His massive hands steady them with a gentleness that still surprises me, his fierce face softening as he guides them safely onto their perch.
Two years ago, the sight of men like Hawk would have sent me grabbing Violet and running in the opposite direction. Now, I can't imagine life without the Riders' steady presence. These dangerous men who have become our fiercest protectors. Our family.
The garage door rolls up with a metallic clatter, and Daniel emerges, wiping his hands on a rag. Even at a distance, my body responds to the sight of him, broad shoulders stretching his black t-shirt, dark hair pulled back, beard neatly trimmed. He looks up, his eyes finding mine across the yard with unerring accuracy. That small half-smile that's mine alone curves his lips.
