“I found out I was pregnant not long after I left,” she began in that low, professional tone she used when shit got too real. Each word was carefully chosen, controlled in both tone and volume.
Before she could say anything else, tires squealed in the distance and then gunfire split the night air.
“Get down,” I shouted and picked up the kid with my free hand. “Come on, Viv. The bike.”
She took one step and froze, turning to me with wide eyes full of fear. “I can’t,” she shook her head. “TJ is just two, that’s too young. I just… can’t.”
“You can,” I barked. “And you will. Now.”
She was still frozen in shock, which confused the fuck out of me. This fragile creature wasn’t the Vivian Grant I knew.
“You called me because you needed my help,” I reminded her. “Listen to me. Bike. Now.”
She nodded absently before she took TJ from my arms, wrapping him tight in her embrace. “Keep your eyes closed as tight as you can, baby. No matter what, okay sweetie?”
“Okay, Mama.” His voice was small and sweet, shot through with a fear that split my chest in two.
She turned her gaze to me, full of trust, and nodded. “Bike?”
I nodded to the spot where the bike rested in front of the gas station doors. “Stay close. Move fast.”
“Okay.” That was all she said but she followed orders like a pro. “Keep your arms and legs around me TJ, really tight like a spider monkey.”
He nodded and did what he was told, which was fucking impressive. The clubhouse was filled with kids these days and none of them listened that well. I started my bike, aware that there was a fucking kid sandwiched between me and Vivian, as we hit the highway with a black car hot on our asses.
Bullets rang out, pinging off the asphalt all around us. Whoever the fuck this was, they meant business. The only reason we hadn’t been hit—yet—was because I rode like a maniac, evading their efforts as best I could. I spun to the side and aimed my gun at the windshield, shattering it with one shot. The car skidded and briefly lost control, giving me time to push the gas and put more distance between us.
The gravity of this situation sat heavy on my chest. A kid on my bike. A kid who was very likely my son with a woman who left me without looking back for someone better. I should be fucking pissed right now, that she sprang a kid on me and it now fell to me to keep them both safe. Hell, I was fucking pissed that she hid him from me, but right now all I could focus on was keeping them safe.
Both of them.
My anger could wait until we were safe. The clubhouse was still a few miles away and the black car had managed to right itself before it caught up with us. Someone hung out the window behind the driver, firing bullets nonstop at us. I knew our luck wouldn’t hold out forever, so I held the bike straight while I shot behind me and hoped for a goddamn miracle. In the mirror I saw the asshole’s head fly back before his body went limp.
One down, at least one more to go.
I spotted the clubhouse and accelerated down the block and into the parking lot. We were almost home free and then another shot rang out. The back of the bike wobbled a second or two before we went down. “Fuck!” I shouted and quickly got to my feet, turning to find Viv flat on her back with TJ cushioned from the asphalt.Jesus, fuck, woman.
“I’m fine,” she gasped, holding the boy out to me. “Really, I am. Get TJ inside,” she ordered in her doctor voice.
The boy went to me easily, wrapping his arms around my neck with total trust. I watched Viv slowly get to her feet, trying to suppress a wince as she did. “Come on. Inside, now.”
The clubhouse door opened quickly and Rocky appeared first, and then Maverick. “What the fuck was that?” Rocky asked, his dark brows twisted into a scowl.
“Don’t know,” I answered honestly. “Assholes with guns.”
“Russian mobsters.” Vivian’s answer was calm and sedate, her voice was dead even. There was no sign the words terrified her except the trembling hands she didn’t know what to do with.
Rocky blinked at her words before his gaze swung to me. “Fuck. Lockdown. Now.”
Chapter Two
Vivian
Four months ago when I hired the private investigator with the streak of silver straight down the middle of his jet black hair to track Falcon down, this wasn’t the reunion I anticipated. My goal—if I had one in mind—had been to see if he was still alive, or more accurately, to make sure that he was still alive because without him my plan wouldn’t work. I wanted to know if he was still a biker, if he was still the man I couldn’t forget. That last part was irrelevant to my plan, but I had to know.
I imagined anger, his. I imagined tears, mine. What I hadn’t pictured, couldn’t have even if I tried, was sitting in what looked like a sports bar surrounded by women, bikers, and kids while everyone prepared for, what exactly? War? That thought made my stomach do a flip because war wasn’t what I wanted, not for these people. The bikers could handle it, but they weren’t just party guys, they were boyfriends and husbands, they were fathers. They were family men.
I balled my hands into fists until my nails dug into my palms in an effort to calm myself down, but who could be calm after bullets were just flying at them? At my son? My heart still raced, and my jaw was clenched tight. I forced myself to focus as the short-haired guy—Rocky was his name—droned on about the lockdown rules as I looked around the room at all the faces. Every single person wore the same serious, watchful expression with a heap of worry stirred in.
