Page 3 of Viper's Single Mom
He took one look at me—really looked, like he could see straight through the suburban mom costume to the terrified woman beneath—and something in his expression shifted.
"Ma'am." His voice was whiskey and gravel. "What can the Pike Creek Riders do for you?"
I stood in that clubhouse, surrounded by everything I'd been taught to fear, and prepared to beg dangerous men to save me from a monster in a three-piece suit.
CHAPTER 2
VIPER
The woman in my clubhouse didn't belong here. Dressed in cardigan and with a death grip on that purse, everything about her screamed suburban mom in the wrong place. But the fear radiating off her—that belonged. That cut through everything else. One look sent my boys filing out without argument.
"Now." I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Someone's got you scared enough to walk into an MC clubhouse. Start from the beginning."
She perched on the edge of my couch like she might bolt any second, fingers twisting in her lap. "My ex-husband. He's... he hurts people. Hurt me. And today he sent texts saying he knows where we are. Where my daughter goes to school."
Harrison Clarke. The name burned into my brain, already marked for destruction.
"He filed papers claiming abandonment. Says I'm unstable, that I kidnapped his daughter." Her laugh came out sharp, bitter. "The courts see a respected attorney versus a waitress who keeps running. Who do you think they believe?"
Forty-two years I'd lived without this feeling. This recognition that slammed through me like a sledgehammer tothe chest. My brothers talked about it—that moment when you just know. Always figured they were full of shit or I was too far gone, married to the club too young to want anything else.
But this terrified woman with honey-colored hair falling out of her ponytail, shadows under tired eyes, soft curves hidden under sensible clothes—she changed everything in a heartbeat.
"How old's your girl?"
"Six. Her name's Izzy." Her whole face transformed when she said the kid's name. Fierce protectiveness mixed with exhaustion. "She's finally sleeping through the night again. Finally made a friend at school. I can't... I can't run again. But I only have eight hundred dollars saved, and I know protection isn't free?—"
"Stop." The idea of her trying to pay for safety made my chest tight. "We'll handle it."
She blinked. "Just like that? You don't even know me."
I'd been watching her for weeks. The new rental on Maple with the broken porch rail. The woman who changed her locks the first night, who jumped at shadows but still showed up for double shifts at Bea's. The way she counted tips twice before putting them away, planning every penny. I’d seen it for myself, and besides it’s a small town. You can’t do shit here without someone knowing about it.
"Know enough. You're staying in that rental on Maple, right? The blue house with the broken porch rail?"
She went rigid. Too much information, too revealing. But fuck it.
"How did you?—"
"Small town. We pay attention to newcomers, especially single mothers who change their locks the first night and jump when doors slam." I pulled out my phone. "Blade, need you at the clubhouse. Bring Wraith."
I hung up without waiting for response. My brothers knew that tone.
"I can set up a payment plan. Fifty dollars a week, maybe seventy-five if I pick up more shifts?—"
"Your money's no good here."
"I don't understand."
How to explain that she'd walked in and fundamentally rearranged my entire universe? That I'd burn down the world before letting anyone hurt her or her kid?
"You walked in here asking for help. We protect what's ours. End of discussion."
"But I'm not yours?—"
"Aren't you?"
The question hung heavy between us. Her lips parted, breath catching. The attraction hit both ways, even if she wasn't ready to acknowledge it.
