Page 63 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

I chuckle, breathing in his scent and stroking the soft down of his hair. “Morning, baby.”

“We’re going to live with the thunderbike men!”

I laugh. “For one week.” The distinction apparently means nothing to him as he continues to chatter about how great it’s going to be.

Shadow looks up from his coffee, and our gazes meet briefly, warm and steady, with no pressure or expectations, just an understanding that somehow affects me more than Kane’s intensity or Dash’s flirting ever could.

That thought creates a completely different problem. Now my feelings are a mess. I care about Kane, I enjoy Dash, Chief fascinates me, and somehow, Shadow has quietly slipped under every defense I have.

None of this is supposed to be happening. I should be focused on keeping Owen safe and figuring out who is stalking me. Instead, I’m standing in my kitchen, wondering why seeing a man drink coffee at my table feels more intimate than half my marriage. The thought is unsettling enough that I immediately turn away and make another cup of coffee.

Chapter 18

Sadie

The clubhouse feels different this morning, maybe because I’m seeing it differently. Or maybe because I spent half the night talking to Shadow, learning things about him that make the quiet biker even harder to understand. The scar on his face isn’t from some bar fight or motorcycle wreck. And the loss of his child still lives behind his eyes every time he thinks nobody is looking. The memory of his face when he talked about it twists something painfully soft inside my chest.

Behind me, Owen bounces excitedly in his car seat. “I can’t believe we’re going to be living here!” In Owen’s mind, we’re moving into a castle.

“Only for a week,” I correct.

“A whole week,” he repeats, as if that’s an age. To him it is, I suppose.

Shadow glances over from the driver’s seat. He insisted on driving, leaving his bike behind to collect later, and perhaps to convince any would-be intruders that he’s still there. The corner of his mouth twitches. He doesn’t smile often, which makes it feel strangely satisfying when he does.

The clubhouse comes into view around the bend. Immediately, Owen starts vibrating with anticipation. He rolls down the window and sticks his head as far out as he can. “Moose! Moose! Moose!

“Buddy, we can’t even see the dog yet.” I smile, twisting in my seat.

Owen sits back in his seat and looks at me. “He knows I’m coming,” he insists with certainty. The second we pull into the parking lot, Owen is already trying to unbuckle himself. I barely manage to stop him launching out of the vehicle before it’s fully parked.

The clubhouse yard is busy despite the early hour, with kids running around and several bikes parked neatly in rows. Already, I can hear music drifting softly from inside. Safe. That word keeps sneaking into my head every time I come here. Safe. Which is ridiculous considering it’s a motorcycle clubhouse full of heavily tattooed, dangerous men, but somehow, it’s true.

The front door opens, and Trigger strides out. As soon as his eyes land on me, his expression changes, not much, but enough to see the relief. His shoulders relax slightly. But then his gaze shifts to Shadow, and the relief disappears.

The reaction is so immediate that it catches me off guard. He’s been worried, really worried. For a split second, before he notices Shadow standing beside me, his face is completely open, filled with relief, happy, and underneath, something deeper. Then it vanishes, replaced with pain and confusion, with envy. I shouldn’t notice the little micro-expressions like that, shouldn’t be so attuned to his emotions, not yet, and I definitely shouldn’t feel guilty about it.

But I do. I know exactly why he’s looking at Shadow like that.

He knows something happened last night, maybe not exactly what, but enough. The energy between Shadow and me has shifted, molded into something more comfortable, more familiar, more intimate. It seems neither of us is particularly good at lying or hiding that. The knowledge settles heavily in my stomach. Chief warned me, Shadow warned me, and now, seeing Trigger’s reaction firsthand, I understand why.

Shadow notices too, how could he not? Trigger is an open book, his shoulders square, eyes narrow, the veins in his arms pressing against his skin as his muscles tighten. The atmosphere goes weird almost instantly. It’s not openly hostile, not yet, but tense. They look like two wolves trying very hard not to bare their teeth.

Owen, thankfully, notices none of it. “Trigger!” He abandons me immediately and sprints across the parking lot.

Trigger catches him automatically before he can collide with a motorcycle. The transformation is immediate. The contrast is ridiculous. Five seconds ago, Trigger looked genuinely dangerous, now he’s nodding solemnly as Owen explains sanitation routes.

“Wednesday’s recycling,” Owen informs him.

Trigger nods. “Recycling is important.”

Owen nods back somberly. “Very important.”

“What day is garbage truck day here?” Owen asks, placing his little hand in Trigger’s and looking up at him, squinting.

Trigger pauses to think about it. “Thursday.”

Owen gasps. “Really?”