Page 14 of Contracted to the Bikers

“Sure,” he says with a grin, rolling his eyes.

Panic flutters through me. Is there more to being a biker’s old lady than I thought? What the hell have I signed up for? I make a mental note to research it as soon as I can.

Jessy runs into the room suddenly and grabs my hand. “Mommy!”

“Yes?” I say, grateful for the interruption. I’m not sure I like the way Rook is looking at me.

“Boone says he can make dinosaurs out of motorcycle parts!”

I blink. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it. “What?”

Boone appears behind her, looking mildly embarrassed. “I weld sometimes,” he admits.

Jessy beams. “He’s going to make me a T. rex.”

I look up at Boone, feeling a rush of gratitude. This whole situation is difficult enough, but knowing Jessy is happy makes it so much easier. “That’s very kind of you.”

Boone shrugs. “Not a problem.”

I feel the need to offer him something in exchange, a token of my appreciation. To my surprise, I find myself offering to cook dinner for everyone. “It’s the least I can do.”

Boone smiles bashfully. “Well, that would be awesome. I can’t remember the last time I had a decent, home-cooked meal.”

Rook watches the interaction quietly. Cruz watches me with that knowing look. “You’ll fit here,” he says confidently.

“I’m not planning to stay long.”

He smiles slightly. “We’ll see.”

The unsettling part is—I’m not entirely sure he’s wrong.

Chapter 5

Sloane

A week in, my bedroom looks like a law office, albeit not a very good one. It’s a far cry from the polished, glass-and-steel kind I used to work in, but it’s functional and efficient. It’s become my workspace, not quite a sanctuary or a comfort, but it’s a control point where I hide myself away most days, avoiding one person in particular.

I’m not sure what it is about Rook, that sets me off. Maybe because we have similar temperaments we regularly clash. Though despite my annoyance, I can’t ignore the fact that I also find him attractive.

Maybe that’s part of the problem…

Rook reluctantly allowed me to replace the dresser with a large desk I claimed from a storage room downstairs. Boone dragged it up the stairs one day, placing it under the window, and silently slipped away while I was out with Jessy. I know it was him, even if he hasn’t told me, he’s continually found ways to offer his silent support.

My laptop sits open in the center of the desk, glowing and casting a cold blue sheen across the stacks of files. Flanking it are legal pads, filled with my tight, precise handwriting, and color-coded tabs. On the shelving unit, my folders are arranged in strict, deliberate order. A printer hums softly on a side table Boone ‘found’ for me sometime in the last forty-eight hours. There’s even a second monitor now, that I didn’t ask for. Like everything Boone sorts for me, it just appeared, without ceremony or expectation.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temple as another document loads, my eyes track the column of numbers and information that makes sense in a way nothing else does to me right now. The Wi-Fi flickers for half a second—just enough to make the screen lag, the numbers freeze for half a second before snapping back into place.

My jaw tightens. “Don’t you dare,” I mutter. As if responding to my threat, the connection stabilizes. I breathe a sigh of relief and glance at the clock, it’s 2:14 PM. Jessy is downstairs somewhere, probably in the garage again. One upside to staying here is that there seems to be no shortage of willing babysitters, though I am careful to vet everyone she meets, and check that she’s never left alone with just one person. I’ve been in touch with her teachers and explained the situation. Luckily, she’s of an age where school is more about socialization than learning so she’s not missing too much, and her teachers were understanding. We’re going to do homeschooling for a few weeks.

Any concerns I had about how Jessy would adapt to living here evaporated by the end of the first week. I should be unsettled by how easily she adapted to this place. Instead, I’m… relieved, because for the first time in weeks, she isn’t scared. She’s safe, safer than she has been in weeks and that’s what matters.

I look back at the screen, deciding to go check on her soon, but first, I want to finish this piece I’m working on. Work is what has been keeping me anchored, stopping me from feeling adrift. I understand work, unlike everything else in my life right now.

The Wi-Fi cuts out entirely. The screen goes blank of movement, frozen mid-load, the spinning wheel halting like it’s given up entirely. “No,” I hiss, grabbing either side of my laptop as if I can shake it into working. I try to refresh the screen. Nothing. I check the connection, and it’s disconnected completely.

I take in a sharp, controlled breath, filling my lungs, trying to stay calm as I slowly breathe out. The irritation is still there. I grab my phone, and there are no signal issues, so the Wi-Fi issue is internal. My frustration spikes sharper now. I need this, the work, the structure; I need to feel like myself.

I push back from the desk, the chair scraping softly against the wooden floor, and stand. Cruz is out. Boone is in the garage. Which leaves only one person who can help me, Rook, of course, the Wi-Fi would cut out when only he’s around to fix it, and make me beg for him to do so, no doubt. I hesitate just long enough to recognize that I’m hesitating. Then I step into the hallway, teeth gritted with determination, already preparing for another confrontation.