Page 2 of The Biker’s Single Mom (Fox Ridge MC #5)

I've made it a point to live by rules. Simple ones. Don't make promises I can't keep. Don't waste words. Don't get attached.

And the most important: keep women and their complications far from my life.

Yet here I am, leading a curvy blonde and her wide-eyed kid through the back entrance of the clubhouse, breaking every damn rule I've set for myself.

"This is temporary," I tell Daisy as I punch in the security code. The heavy steel door unlocks with a metallic thunk.

She follows me inside, clutching Violet's hand like it's a lifeline. The kid's sneakers squeak against the polished concrete floor, and her eyes widen as she takes in the space.

"Is this where the motorcycle doctors live?" Violet asks, staring up at the Riders' reaper insignia painted across one wall.

"Some of us," I answer, my voice gruffer than I intended.

Daisy's gaze follows mine around the room, taking in the leather couches, the bar along one wall, the hallway leading to the private rooms. Her shoulders are set with tension, but there's no fear in her eyes. Just wariness.

"I appreciate the help," she says carefully, "but I don't want to impose. We can find a motel—"

"Not happening." I cut her off, unlocking a door that leads to one of our safe rooms. "Your ex sent men after you. Men who knew exactly where to find you. Motels have shit security."

Her cheeks flush. "I've managed on my own for two years."

"And now you're not on your own." I push the door open, revealing a simply furnished room with a queen bed, attached bathroom, and a small sitting area. "This is yours. Lock it from inside."

She steps past me into the room, her floral perfume brushing against me. The curve of her hip nearly touches my hand, and I clench my fingers into a fist.

Violet bounds into the room and immediately climbs onto the bed, bouncing experimentally. "Mommy, it's like a castle!"

Daisy's face softens as she watches her daughter, revealing a glimpse of the woman beneath the wariness. For a second, I want to see that look directed at me, which is exactly why I need to maintain distance.

"Thank you," she says, turning back to me. "But I still don't understand why you're helping us."

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "The Riders protect what's ours."

Her eyebrow arches. "We're not yours ."

"You're in my territory," I counter. "That makes you my problem."

"I'm not anyone's problem," she says, chin lifting. There's that sunshine pushing through storm clouds again. "I'm a solution looking for the right equation."

Despite myself, the corner of my mouth twitches. "That right?"

"Mmm-hmm." She matches my stance, arms folded beneath breasts that strain against her sundress. "And Carlo Ricci is just one more problem I'll solve."

The name lands like a grenade in the room. I recognize it immediately. New England mob, heavy in weapons trafficking, notorious for brutal enforcement. This isn't some garden-variety ex-husband. This is serious fucking trouble.

"Carlo Ricci," I repeat, watching her face. "That's who sent those men?"

She nods, eyes darting to Violet, who's now arranging pillows into some kind of fort. "My ex-husband. We've been divorced for months, but he doesn't... respect boundaries."

That's one hell of an understatement. Men like Ricci don't let go of what they consider theirs. Ever.

"I need to make a call," I tell her, straightening from the doorframe. "Don't leave this room."

Her smile is sharp around the edges. "There's that ordering again."

"There's that stubbornness again," I counter, but this time there's no heat in it. Just recognition.

I leave her to settle in, making sure the security system is armed before I pull out my phone and dial Blade. Our president answers on the second ring.

"They're settled?" he asks without preamble.

"For now." I step outside onto the clubhouse's rear deck, watching dusk settle over the tree line. "The ex is Carlo Ricci."

Blade's silence tells me he recognizes the name too. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"I'll have Devil run it down. If Ricci's men are in our territory, we need to know everything, who he's allied with, what he's after."

"It's not complicated," I say, my jaw tightening. "He wants the woman and her kid."

"Then he's not getting them," Blade responds, his voice flat with finality. "I'll be there in twenty. Have Hawk check the perimeter."

I hang up and stare into the gathering shadows. The Riders have faced down rival clubs, corrupt cops, and our own bloody history. But the mob is different—they have reach, resources, and a ruthlessness that makes even outlaw bikers wary.

Daisy and her daughter have brought trouble straight to our door. I should be pissed. Should be figuring out how to solve this problem quickly and get them moved along.

By the time Blade arrives, the rest of the Riders have gathered in the common room.

Hawk and Devil are talking tactics by the bar, while Victor checks weapons with mechanical precision.

Florence, Devil's wife, has appeared from somewhere and is sitting cross-legged on the floor with Violet, showing her how to make a paper crane.

Daisy watches from a few feet away, her posture a study in controlled tension.

"Your little one's got the whole crew wrapped around her finger already," Stephanie, Blade's girlfriend, says as she hands Daisy a mug of coffee.

Daisy accepts it with a grateful smile. "She's always been good with people. Better than me."

"I doubt that," Stephanie replies, shooting me a knowing look over Daisy's shoulder.

I scowl at her, which only makes her grin wider. Stephanie's been trying to pair off every single member of the club since she and Blade got together. Having me in her sights is the last thing I need.

Blade calls us to order with a single nod. We gather around the long table that dominates one end of the room, while Florence takes Violet to the kitchen for ice cream.

"Devil," Blade says, "what do we know?"

Devil leans forward, tattooed forearms braced on the table.

"Carlo Ricci, forty-six, third-generation capo in the Rossi family.

Based in Boston, but with operations throughout New England.

Weapons, drugs, high-end theft. Divorced six months ago from Daisy Scott, formerly Ricci.

" His eyes flick to Daisy. "Sorry, this is clinical. "

She nods, her face carefully composed. "It's fine. You need the facts."

"Ricci's got a reputation for—" Devil hesitates.

"Being a sadistic bastard," Daisy finishes for him, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. "You can say it."

I find myself moving closer to her without conscious thought. Not touching, but near enough that she could lean on me if she needed to. She doesn't.

"He's been looking for you since you left," Devil continues. "Word is, he's got men in three states tracking you down."

"Why now?" I ask. "If she's been gone two years?"

Daisy's eyes meet mine. "Because the divorce was finalized six months ago. I got full custody of Violet."

"Which he didn't contest," Devil adds, "interestingly enough."

"Because he was confident he'd get us back." Daisy's voice has gone flat. "He told me once that the law was just... a suggestion for men like him."

"He's right about that," Victor says, cleaning his nails with a knife. "But he's in Riders territory now. Different laws apply."

The room grows quiet as we all process what that means. The Riders don't start wars lightly, but we finish them completely. Taking on Ricci means committing to a fight that won't end clean or quick.

"Why is he so fixated on getting you back?" Hawk asks, his usual humor absent. "No offense, but mob guys don't typically chase ex-wives across state lines without reason."

Daisy's gaze drops to her hands. "It's not me he wants," she says quietly. "It's Violet."

The temperature in the room seems to drop. I find myself straightening, every muscle tensing.

"Explain," Blade says, his voice carefully controlled.

"Carlo doesn't have other children. No sons to carry on the family business.

" Daisy's words come faster now, like she's been holding them back too long.

"When Violet was born, he started talking about her 'potential.

' How she was going to be his legacy. How he'd teach her everything about 'the business' when she was old enough. "

Her eyes lift, filled with a fierce, protective fire that makes my chest tighten. "He talked about her like she was a possession. An investment. When I realized what he was planning for her future... I ran."

"Jesus," Hawk mutters.

"He'll never stop," Daisy continues. "Violet is his property in his mind. His bloodline. His to shape."

The thought of that little girl with her pigtails and glittery sneakers and complete trust in the world being groomed for the mob makes something violent rise in my chest.

"Not gonna happen," I say, the words coming out as a growl. "Not while any of us are breathing."

Daisy looks at me, surprise flickering across her face. For a second, I see the way her eyes drop to my mouth before darting away.

The meeting continues, plans and contingencies laid out.

I listen with half an ear, too aware of Daisy beside me, of the gentle curve of her neck and the strength in her posture.

She doesn't lean on me, doesn't seek reassurance, but every so often her arm brushes mine, and each touch feels like a brand on my skin.

Later, after the club has dispersed and Violet has been tucked into bed, I find Daisy on the back deck. She's leaning against the railing, staring up at the stars scattered across the night sky. Her hair catches the moonlight, turning it to silver-gold.

"You should be inside," I say, coming to stand beside her. "It's not secure out here."

"I needed air." She doesn't look at me. "Sometimes I feel like I've been holding my breath for two years."

I understand that better than she knows. "The club will keep you safe."

"Why?" She turns to me then, her face shadowed. "Why would you all risk yourselves for strangers?"

Because it's what we do. Because protecting people is the only redemption men like us get. Because something about her calls to something in me I thought was long dead.

I say none of that.

"Because your daughter called me Mr. Fix-It," I answer instead, "and I don't make promises to kids I can't keep."

Her laugh is soft and surprised. "Is that why you fixed her toy? Because she asked?"

"Kids see the truth of things," I say, leaning against the railing beside her. "They haven't learned to lie to themselves yet."

"And what truth did Violet see in you?"

The question hangs between us, weighted with something I'm not ready to name.

"That I can fix broken things," I finally reply. "At least the ones with moving parts."

She studies me in the moonlight, her gaze traveling over my arms, the beard that hides half my expressions, the hardness I've cultivated like armor.

"And the ones without moving parts?" she asks softly. "The broken things that can't be fixed with tools?"

I look away, out toward the dark tree line. "Those aren't my specialty."

Her hand touches my forearm, just a brush of fingertips against inked skin, but it burns like a live wire.

"Carlo will come himself," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "When his men fail, he'll come. And he'll bring enough firepower to take what he wants."

I turn to her, close enough now that I can see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. "Let him try."

"You don't know what he's capable of."

"And he doesn't know what I'm capable of." I hold her gaze, letting her see the truth of it in my eyes. "No one is taking your daughter."

The promise lands between us with the weight of an oath. Her eyes widen slightly, and for a second, I think she might step away. Instead, she sways toward me, just a fraction.

"I can't ask you to—"

"You didn't ask," I cut her off. "I'm telling you how it is."

"I've learned not to believe in white knights," she says.

"Good." I let my eyes trail over her face, lingering on her mouth before forcing myself to step back. "Because I'm not one. I'm just a man who keeps his word."