Page 52 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

Neither can I. The kid’s made himself completely at home. I don’t doubt it’s the only reason Sadie came back here and has come back every day. Owen is obsessed with Moose. Half the old ladies around the clubhouse feed him snacks constantly. All the other kids whose old men are club members have welcomed him. And I have to admit, having him and Sadie around feels right.

Sadie catches me watching her. “What?”

“Nothing,” I lie, swigging my beer and avoiding meeting her eye. I can hardly tell her that every time I look at her lately, something low and possessive tightens beneath my ribs. It’s bad enough that the others have all fallen hook, line, and sinker for her. I’m meant to be the sensible one, the one in control. Yet I’ve already accepted she matters too much, and now I’m just dealing with the consequences.

Owen climbs onto Dash’s back, squealing hysterically while Moose barks around them.

Sadie laughs again, softer this time. Her eyes are soft. “He’s good with kids.”

“Dash?”

She nods.

I take a slow drink of whiskey. “He had a rough childhood.”

Her expression softens immediately. “Really?”

I nod once. “Guess he decided nobody else around him should have one.”

Dash dramatically collapses onto the grass while Owen declares victory loud enough to shake windows. Sadie smiles helplessly, watching them.

God. She’s beautiful when she forgets to guard herself. She’s so alive, so natural. She’s the kind of woman men write songs about—the kind of woman you’d kill to protect. Apparently, every man in this club is dumb enough to volunteer to do just that.

The clubhouse door opens behind us. Trigger strides outside, still looking irritated from this morning’s argument with a supplier. He’s dangerous looking enough that people instinctively shift out of his path when he’s in a good mood. When he’s pissed, he’s downright terrifying.

But then his eyes land on Sadie and immediately soften. It happens every damn time he looks at her.

He crosses straight toward us. “How long’s Owen been outside?”

Sadie squints up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Twenty minutes maybe.”

Trigger nods once, still watching Owen carefully. Too carefully. I notice Sadie noticing it too. There’s a slight tension in her shoulders, a tiny hesitation before speaking. She likes him, hell, she slept with him, but Trigger’s intensity gets heavy fast if you’re not used to it, and lately he’s been spiraling deeper every damn day.

“He might burn,” Trigger says.

Sadie rolls her eyes but smiles indulgently. “He’s fine, Kane. He’s wearing sunscreen.” He softens. Sadie always seems to know how to calm him down, even without trying. “Come, sit with us, relax,” she says, handing him a beer from the ice bucket on the table.

Like an obedient puppy, he sits down beside her. “Any updates?” he asks.

Sadie shakes her head. “I still haven’t received any more notes,” Sadie says carefully. “Maybe it really was just a one-off thing.”

“No,” Trigger and I say abruptly.

Sadie blinks.

Trigger folds his arms across his chest. “It’s too soon to know that.”

I nod once. “People don’t usually escalate once and then disappear.” Unless they’re testing boundaries first, I don’t say that part out loud.

Sadie sighs softly. “I just don’t want Owen to be scared.”

“He isn’t,” Trigger says immediately. Again, while he’s right, his defensiveness is too intense. He watches Owen like he’s made of glass, and there’s a line of people around the corner waiting to try to break him. He’s even more protective about Sadie, and that’s dangerous for everybody involved—especially Trigger.

I set my glass down calmly. “Trigger.” He glances toward me. “I need you to run over to Miller’s garage. The parts shipment finally showed.”

His eyes narrow slightly. He knows exactly what I’m doing.

He swigs his beer, looking at Sadie as she smiles at Owen. “It can wait.”