Page 65 of Contracted to the Bikers

We move toward the clubhouse together. The door opens before we reach it, a prospect holding it open wide like royalty has arrived. One of the guys inside spots Jessy immediately and lifts a hand, signaling the others as I carry her inside.

The noise drops, not completely, but enough that they won’t wake her. Voices lower. The guys playing snooker hold up their cues, balls slowly rolling to a stop. They wait respectfully for us to pass. The gesture matters, it shows how much this little girl has wormed her way into the hearts of hardened tough guys.

We don’t stop to talk, don’t linger. We nod our acknowledgments, making a beeline for the stairs. As the door swings shut behind us, the noise resumes, like a spell has been broken.

Each step I take up the stairs is deliberate, careful, my boots quiet against the wood despite their weight. Jessy stirs once, a soft sound slipping from her lips, but she doesn’t wake.

Sloane stays close behind me. I can feel her there without looking; her presence has a way of settling into my awareness like it’s always belonged there.

I push open Jessy’s ajar bedroom door with my shoulder. The room is dim, the curtains drawn just enough to keep the worst of the light out. I move to the bed and lower Jessy down slowly, easing her onto the mattress like she might break if I move too fast. She shifts again, one hand reaching out blindly. I catch it, holding it for a second.

“I’ve got you,” I murmur.

Her fingers relax. I tug off her shoes and place them neatly by the bed. She sighs softly, turning onto her side, settling deeper into sleep.

For a second, I just stand there watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, making sure she’s really here. Really safe. That we didn’t imagine getting her back, I tell myself that she’s not going to disappear the second I look away.

“She looks peaceful.” Sloane’s voice is soft behind me.

I glance back at her. She’s leaning lightly against the doorframe, watching us, something in her expression I don’t have a name for, some deep-seated emotion only a mother has for her children.

“She is,” I say.

Sloane quietly steps closer, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to my mouth.

It catches me off guard. Not the kiss itself, they happen often enough now, it’s the way she looks at me after.

“You’re a great dad,” she says.

I’m still getting used to being called that. I like it more than I ever thought I would. I’d convinced myself that a family wasn’t on the cards for me. I feel blessed that Jessy sees me as her dad. I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have more kids running around the place, kids with Sloane’s sharp mind and kind heart. I almost voice the thought out loud before catching myself.

But she sees it, and her brow lifts slightly. “What are you thinking?”

I shake my head once. “Nothing.”

She studies me. “Would you want one?” she asks softly. “A child of your own.”

I glance at Jessy, then back at her. “I’d love more kids,” I say honestly. The words come easily. “Whether they’re mine or not.”

Her expression softens further. “But…” she prompts.

I exhale slowly. “But this?” I gesture lightly between us. “Jessy. You. The guys. Us.” I take her hands in mine, kissing the knuckles. “It’s enough.”

She nods slowly, and I know she understands exactly what I mean without me needing to elaborate. She always does. “Come on,” she says quietly. “Let’s go tell the others.”

The kitchen is warm and welcoming, and the radio plays quietly in the background. Cruz is leaning against the counter, drinking a beer. Rook stands nearby, arms crossed, waiting. They both look at Sloane as we walk in, turning like sunflowers to the sun.

“What did Alvarez say?” Cruz asks. They’re too impatient to ease into the conversation. We’ve been dying to know what the call was about since she hung up and announced it was time for us to go home.

Sloane steps into the room fully, a grin stretching across her lips that makes my heart swell with relief. “It’s official,” she says. “Briggs is being charged federally.”

“Yeah?” Cruz says, a grin breaking across his face.

“There’s enough evidence to take him down, and to tie him to Escar,” she continues.

Rook’s shoulders loosen slightly, something in his expression settling into something close to satisfaction. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” The word stammers as she laughs with relief, nodding.