Page 73 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

His confusion appears genuine. “What notes?”

I study him carefully, watching every movement, every expression, every shift in posture. Years of leading the club have taught me how to read people, and right now I don’t think he’s lying.

“I didn’t leave any damn notes.”

The answer comes instantly, without hesitation or calculation. That doesn’t remove Ethan from the board entirely, but it does move him several places down the list.

“What I did do,” Ethan says, leaning forward, “Was tell her you people aren’t safe.” There it is. The real issue. He doesn’t want us anywhere near Sadie; he doesn’t want her, but that doesn’t mean he wants us to either. His gaze hardens. “You should stay away from my wife and son.”

For the first time since arriving, I smile. It’s a small smile. The sort that usually makes people nervous. “Ex-wife.” I remind him again.

The word lands like a slap. Ethan visibly flinches. That seems to be what he’s struggling with most. He doesn’t care about Sadie or the possibility that somebody is stalking her. The thing that bothers him is that Sadie moved on and it bothers him is that she doesn’t belong to him anymore, even if he doesn’t want her. I’m guessing the things aren’t going so well with his new woman. Especially going by what Owen overheard. Maybe Brielle wised up to his behavior as she wasn’t trying to hold a marriage together for the sake of a kid.

I turn toward the door. “We’re done here.”

His laugh follows me. “You think she wants you? You think you’re good enough for her?”

I pause—the question stings, far more than I would ever admit aloud.

I think about the way Sadie smiles at Owen. The way she argues with Trigger. The way she looks at Shadow when she thinks nobody is paying attention. The way my entire life seems to have become divided into before her and after her. I think that maybe he’s right, maybe I’m not good enough, but none of that changes my answer.

“I think,” I say quietly, “That the only thing that matters is what Sadie wants.”

I leave before he can see the expression on my face, the weakness, because I honestly don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t want her.

Chapter 23

Sadie

I feel as though I’m slowly suffocating. That thought makes me feel guilty almost immediately, because I know every single person in this clubhouse is trying to help me. Nobody is watching me because they want to control me. Nobody is hovering because they enjoy making my life difficult. The Wild Riders are protecting Owen and me because someone left threatening notes, someone has been watching my house, and there is a very real possibility that whoever is doing it hasn’t finished yet.

I know all of that. The problem is that knowing something and feeling it are not always the same thing. For weeks now, somebody has always been nearby. Somebody has always known where I am, what I’m doing, and who I’m with. Every trip to the grocery store comes with an escort. Every outing involves one of the guys shadowing me from a distance. Even inside the clubhouse, there is rarely a moment when I am completely alone with my thoughts. Usually, that would be comforting. Lately, it just feels overwhelming. It also doesn’t help that I’m developing complicated feelings for all of the men, and I don’t know if it’s real or if it comes as a result of forced proximity. Maybe it’s like Stockholm syndrome? Except they aren’t my captors and I’m here willingly.

I stand at the window of the room Owen and I have been using, watching the late afternoon sunlight spill across the yard below. A few of the kids are still outside, racing around the playground while Moose chases them enthusiastically. The clubhouse feels alive, busy, vibrant, and full, as always, but right now, all I can think about is how badly I want a few hours away from it. A few hours away from all of them.

Normality.

That’s what I miss.

The request should be simple. Instead, it immediately becomes complicated, because the truth is that the men themselves are a large part of the reason I need space in the first place.

I let out a slow breath and press my forehead against the cool glass. How exactly am I supposed to process any of this?

A few months ago, my biggest concern was figuring out whether Owen had remembered his lunchbox. Now I somehow have feelings for four different men, all of whom seem determined to turn my life upside down in completely different ways.

Trigger is intense, protective, and increasingly impossible to ignore. Dash makes me laugh so hard my stomach hurts, and somehow always knows exactly when I need cheering up. Shadow understands parts of me that I rarely show anyone. And then there is Chief. I close my eyes. Chief is somehow the most confusing of all. One day, he looks at me as though I’m the only woman in the room, and the next, he becomes distant and professional, talking about nothing except security plans, cameras, and protection schedules. Sometimes I catch him watching me from across the clubhouse, and his expression makes my pulse stumble. Then, before I can make sense of it, he retreats behind that calm, controlled mask again. I wonder if he thinks about that night when he saw me with Trigger and Dash, if he wonders what it would have been like to join in. I know I do—far more than I should.

It would almost be easier if he disliked me. At least then I would know where I stood.

A knock sounds against the partially open door. I turn to find Shadow leaning casually against the frame. Even after everything that has happened between us, his presence immediately settles something inside me. “You look like you’re planning a prison escape.”

A laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Is it that obvious?”

His mouth twitches. “To me? Yeah.”

I gesture vaguely toward the window. “Am I a terrible person if I say I need a break from all of this?”

Shadow steps fully into the room. His expression softens. “No.”