Page 4 of The Biker’s Single Mom (Fox Ridge MC #5)

I can't get the taste of her out of my head.

I still feel the ghost of her lips, still catch myself running my tongue along the edge of my teeth like I might find her there. Her scent clings to my clothes, floral and warm.

This isn't who I am. I don't fixate on women. Don't let them crawl under my skin.

Yet here I sit in the garage office, staring at the same invoice for the third time, seeing nothing but the curve of her neck, the fire in her eyes when she challenges me, the way her borrowed shirt skimmed her thighs.

"Fuck," I mutter, shoving the paperwork aside.

Hawk looks up from the parts catalog he's flipping through. "Problem?"

"No." My tone makes it clear the subject is closed.

He grins anyway, because Hawk's never met a boundary he didn't want to push. "Sure about that? Because you've been growling like a bear with a thorn in its paw since yesterday."

I level a stare at him that would make most men back down. Hawk just shrugs and returns to his catalog, still smirking.

My phone buzzes with a text from Devil: Movement near the county line. Three SUVs heading toward town. Same model as yesterday.

The distraction is almost welcome until I process what it means. Ricci's men, coming back with reinforcements. Coming for Daisy. For Violet.

I text back: Location?

The response is immediate: County Road 17, eastbound. ETA to town 15 minutes.

"Saddle up," I tell Hawk, already moving toward the door. "We've got company coming."

Hawk doesn't ask questions, just follows me out to where our bikes wait. I fire a quick text to Blade, who responds that he and Victor are already en route to intercept.

We take the back roads, cutting through the pine forest that borders Fox Ridge.

We reach County Road 17 in eight minutes, pulling onto the gravel shoulder where Blade and Victor wait, bikes idling. Devil's already there too, his massive frame propped against his Harley.

"Three vehicles," Blade confirms as we kill our engines. "Tinted windows, city plates."

"They're getting bolder," Devil says, his voice tight with controlled rage. "Coming straight into our territory in daylight."

"Good," I growl. "Let's give them a proper welcome."

We position ourselves in a loose formation across the road, a blockade of leather, chrome, and lethal intent.

I feel the familiar cold clarity settle over me, the absolute focus that comes before violence.

But beneath it runs something hotter, more personal than usual.

The image of Violet's small hand in Daisy's, both of them trembling as they faced Ricci's men in my garage.

"Remember," Blade says quietly, "we're sending a message, not starting a war. Not yet."

I nod, though every instinct in my body is screaming for blood.

The first SUV appears around the bend, followed closely by the other two. They slow when they spot us, but don't stop—a fatal mistake.

Blade revs his engine once. The signal.

We move as one, roaring toward the approaching vehicles in a coordinated charge that forces the lead SUV to swerve onto the shoulder. The other two scatter, one veering left, one right.

I peel off after the one that turns right, Hawk close behind me. The SUV fishtails as the driver overcorrects, then skids to a stop when he realizes he's boxed in by trees on one side and bikes on the other.

I dismount in one fluid motion, pulling the steel baton from my belt as I approach the driver's side. The window lowers, revealing a man in an expensive suit, his face a mask of artificial calm.

"This is a private road," I inform him, voice flat.

"Public highway," the man counters smoothly. "We're just passing through."

"No." I tap the baton against my thigh. "You're looking for someone who doesn't want to be found. And you're trespassing on Riders territory to do it."

His eyes narrow. "We have business with Mrs. Ricci and her daughter. Family business."

Family business . The words taste like poison. I picture Violet's trusting and innocent face when she handed me her broken toy. I see Daisy's eyes, fiercely protective yet haunted. This man wants to drag them back to the nightmare they escaped.

"Her name is Daisy Scott. And her family is under our protection now."

The man's hand moves toward his jacket. I react without hesitation, smashing the baton through the window in a shower of safety glass. My other hand darts in, grabbing his wrist before he can reach whatever weapon he's carrying. I twist hard, feeling tendons strain beneath my grip.

"That was stupid," I tell him as he gasps in pain.

The passenger door flies open, and another suit emerges, gun already drawn.

Hawk's boot connects with his wrist before he can aim, the weapon spinning into the dirt.

What follows is brutally efficient, Hawk driving the man to his knees, me dragging the driver through the shattered window and onto the asphalt.

I hear engines revving, shouts, the meaty thud of fists connecting with flesh. The Riders handling the other vehicles.

The driver struggles beneath me, reaching for something at his ankle. I pin him with one hand on his throat, the other searching. My fingers close around a small pistol in an ankle holster. I remove it, check the safety, and tuck it into my cut.

"Listen carefully," I say, leaning close enough that he can feel my breath on his face. "I'm only going to say this once. Daisy Scott and her daughter are off-limits. They're under Riders protection. That means if Carlo Ricci wants them, he has to go through us."

The man tries to speak, but my grip on his throat tightens. I can feel his pulse hammering against my palm, see the fear starting to bleed through his professional veneer. Good .

"I'm not finished," I continue, my voice deadly quiet. "Tell your boss that if one more of his men sets foot in Fox Ridge, we won't be having a conversation. We'll be digging graves."

I release him, standing in one smooth motion. The man gasps, clutching his throat.

"You don't know who you're dealing with," he wheezes.

I smile, knowing it doesn't reach my eyes. "That's exactly what I was going to say to you."

Hawk has the other man on his knees, hands zip-tied behind his back. Down the road, I see Blade and Devil standing over three more suits, while Victor holds a fourth against the hood of an SUV.

The message has been delivered.

We leave them there, engines roaring as we head back toward town. My blood still pounds with unspent adrenaline, the cold battle-focus slowly giving way to something darker.

Next time, it won't be messengers. Next time, I'll make sure Ricci himself understands exactly what happens to men who hunt what the Riders protect.

I shouldn't be surprised to find Daisy waiting on the clubhouse porch when we return. Somehow I knew she would be. She stands with her arms wrapped around herself, her face tight with worry that transforms into relief when she spots us.

Her eyes find mine immediately. The concern in her gaze hits me harder than any punch.

"Violet?" I ask as I dismount.

"Inside with Florence," she says. "What happened?"

The others file past us into the clubhouse, giving us space. I take off my gloves, flexing fingers that are already bruising across the knuckles.

"Ricci's men. Three vehicles."

Her face pales. "Are they—"

"Alive. Hurting. Gone."

She nods, processing this. Then her eyes drop to my hands, to the blood spattering my cut.

"You fought them," she says quietly.

"Yes."

"For us."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."

Something shifts in her expression, a heated recognition that makes my pulse kick harder.

"Some men would run from this kind of trouble," I say, giving her one last chance to be smarter than I'm being.

Her laugh is soft but not gentle. "If I wanted safety, I wouldn't have kissed you on that deck." She steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. "Besides, I've seen what real monsters look like up close."

"And what do you see when you look at me?" The question escapes before I can stop it.

Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, directly over my thundering heart. "The same hands that just hurt those men are the ones that made my daughter motorcycle pancakes. That fixed her toy." Her voice drops. "That held me like I was something precious."

I cover her hand with mine, keeping it pressed to my chest. "Daisy—"

"I know what you're capable of," she says, cutting me off. "The question is, do you know what I am?"

Her words snap the last thread of my control. I pull her against me, my mouth finding hers with bruising intensity. She meets me with equal hunger, her body arching into mine, her hands fisting in my shirt.

I back her through the doorway, kicking it shut behind us. We stumble down the hallway toward my room, unwilling to break contact even to walk. Her hands are everywhere—pulling at my cut, tugging my hair, sliding under my shirt to touch bare skin.

"Violet?" I manage to ask between kisses.

"With Florence until dinner," she gasps as my teeth graze her neck.

That's all I need to hear. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her into my room and kick the door shut. When I set her on her feet, she immediately reaches for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion.

The sight of her, all soft curves and creamy skin, stops the air in my lungs. She stands before me in just a simple cotton bra and jeans, but she might as well be wearing the finest lingerie for how hard it hits me.

"You're beautiful," I tell her, the words rough with honesty.

I pull my t-shirt over my head. Her eyes widen as she takes in the tattoos that cover my chest and arms, the scars from fights and crashes and a life lived on the edge.

Her fingers trace a particularly jagged scar that runs along my ribs. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

She presses her lips to it, and something in my chest cracks open.

"Daisy," I warn, my voice strained. "If you don't want this—"

She silences me with another kiss, her hands working at my belt. "I want this," she breathes against my mouth. "I want you."

We fall onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothing.

Her hair fans across my pillow, golden against the dark sheets.

I hover above her, taking in every detail, the flush spreading across her chest, the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the way her eyes darken when I brush my thumb across her bottom lip.

"Let me look at you," I murmur, reaching for the clasp of her bra.

She arches to give me access, and the simple cotton falls away. My breath catches at the sight of her, full, perfect breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples that tighten under my gaze.

She gasps when my mouth closes around one peak, her fingers threading through my hair to hold me against her. The sound drives me wild, makes me want to discover every noise she can make, map every inch of her body with my hands and mouth.

I trail kisses down her stomach, feeling the softness there, the gentle curve that speaks of motherhood and life. When I reach the waistband of her jeans, I look up, seeking permission. She nods, lifting her hips to help as I slide them down her legs.

Now she's wearing only simple cotton panties, the last barrier between us. I hook my fingers in the elastic, drawing them down with agonizing slowness until she lies completely bare beneath me.

"This is unfair," she says, tugging at my still-fastened jeans. "Too many clothes."

I stand, stripping away the last of my clothing under her hungry gaze. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, and I feel a surge of primitive satisfaction at her reaction.

When I return to her, the first touch of her bare skin against mine nearly undoes me. Heat and softness and the intoxicating scent of her arousal. I settle between her thighs, my hardness pressed against her core, but make no move to take this further.

Instead, I kiss her deeply, thoroughly, one hand sliding down to explore her heat. She's slick and ready, and the knowledge that she wants me as desperately as I want her is a heady drug.

"Daniel," she moans as my fingers find the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center. "Please."

I circle slowly, watching her face as pleasure builds. "Please what?"

Her eyes flash with challenge through the haze of desire. "Don't make me beg."

"Not begging," I murmur against her throat. "Just want to hear you say it."

Her nails dig into my shoulders as she rocks against my hand. "I want you inside me," she whispers. "Now."

I smile against her skin, continuing my torturous pace. "Soon."

"You're enjoying this too much," she gasps, then surprises me by reaching between us to wrap her fingers around my length.

My rhythm falters as pleasure shoots through me. Two can play this game, and she's clearly not content to be the only one teased to the edge.

"Dangerous," I warn, voice tight with restraint.

Her smile is pure wicked temptation. "I told you what I'm capable of."

We hover there, balanced on the knife-edge of desire, each pushing the other toward a precipice we both desperately want to fall from. But not yet. Not quite yet.

"Tell me again what you want," I demand, needing to hear the words from her lips.

Her eyes lock with mine, all pretense stripped away. "You," she says simply. "All of you."