Reapers Claim

Chapter One — Mama Bear

Jaxon “Reaper” Kane

The first thing I noticed when I walked into the grocery store was the goddamn smell.

Burnt coffee, floor cleaner, and something rotten coming from the produce section.

The second thing I noticed was the screaming kid.

“BUT I WANT THE PINK ONES!”

Jesus Christ.

I stopped just inside the door, wondering if the cigarettes I needed were worth whatever fresh hell was happening near the checkout.

The cashier, a teenage boy with enough acne to qualify as a medical emergency, looked like he was contemplating quitting his job on the spot.

Couldn’t blame him.

I rubbed a hand down my face, feeling the rough scrape of my beard against my palm. It had been a long fucking day. Two shipments delayed, a prospect who apparently couldn’t follow simple instructions, and Ghost riding my ass about some paperwork Cipher needed signed.

All I wanted was a pack of smokes, a cold beer, and a few hours without someone needing something from me.

Apparently, that was asking too damn much.

“Mama, please!”

I turned toward the voice.

And that’s when I saw her.

Fuck me.

She couldn’t have been much taller than five feet, maybe five-two if I was feeling generous. A wild mess of copper-red curls was piled on top of her head, although half of them had escaped and were hanging around her flushed cheeks.

She wore an oversized gray sweatshirt, black leggings, and a pair of sneakers that had definitely seen better days.

But it wasn’t her hair or those pretty green eyes that made me stop.

It was her belly.

Christ, the woman looked ready to pop.

One hand rested against the underside of her stomach while the other struggled to hold three grocery bags and the hand of a little girl who was currently doing her best impression of a dying animal.

“I said no, Luna.”

“But Mamaaaaa!”

“Luna Marie, I swear on everything holy, if you don’t stop screaming about those damn gummies, I’m going to sit down right here and cry with you.”

My mouth twitched.

Well, shit.

That was one way to handle it.

The little girl stopped screaming long enough to consider the threat.

“You can’t cry, Mama. You’re a grown-up.”

“Watch me.”

I barked out a laugh before I could stop myself.

The woman’s head snapped in my direction.

Green eyes narrowed.

And just like that, I knew I was in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble that came with guns, rival clubs, or unpaid debts.

No.

This was something entirely different.

“Something funny?” she snapped.

I lifted both hands.

“Not a damn thing, sweetheart.”

Her eyes dropped to the leather cut hanging from my shoulders.

I watched the exact moment she noticed the patch.

REAPER’S CREED MC.

PRESIDENT.

Her expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough.

The humor disappeared from her eyes, replaced by something I recognized immediately.

Fear.

Now, I was used to people being afraid of me.

At six-foot-four, covered in tattoos, with a face that looked like I’d spent most of my life getting into fights—which wasn’t entirely inaccurate—I didn’t exactly scream approachable.

But this wasn’t the usual reaction.

She wasn’t afraid of what I might do.

She looked afraid of what I reminded her of.

And that pissed me off for reasons I didn’t particularly care to examine.

“Come on, baby,” she murmured, tugging her daughter’s hand. “Let’s get home.”

She took two steps.

Then the bottom of one of her grocery bags split wide open.

Cans hit the floor.

A jar of pickles rolled beneath a display.

And a box of macaroni slid directly into my boot.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then the little girl looked down at the mess.

“Uh-oh.”

Her mama closed her eyes.

“Of course.”

I bent down, grabbing the box before it could slide any farther.

“Gravity’s a real asshole today.”

She opened one eye.

“Excuse me?”

“Gravity.” I held up the macaroni. “Clearly got a personal problem with you.”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

Almost.

Then she remembered she was supposed to be irritated.

“I’ve got it.”

“Didn’t say you didn’t.”

I crouched to gather the cans.

“Seriously, you don’t have to—”

“Sweetheart, I’m already down here. Might as well finish the job.”

She made a frustrated noise.

I ignored it.

The little girl crouched beside me, her red curls bouncing.

“That’s corn.”

I glanced at the can in my hand.

“Sure is.”

“I don’t like corn.”

“Can’t say I’m a big fan myself.”

She nodded solemnly.

“It’s yucky.”

“Luna,” her mother warned.

“What? He asked!”

I chuckled.

“Kid’s got a point.”

The woman sighed.

“Please don’t encourage her.”

I looked up.

Bad fucking idea.

From down here, I had a perfect view of her face. Freckles scattered across her nose, soft pink lips, and eyes so green they reminded me of the mountains after a summer storm.

Pretty didn’t cover it.

Neither did beautiful.

She was exhausted, clearly overwhelmed, and looked about two seconds away from losing her shit.

And somehow, she was the most captivating woman I’d seen in years.

I stood, holding the rescued groceries.

“Got another bag?”

She blinked.

“What?”

“Bag, mama. Something to put this shit in.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Did you just call me mama?”

I glanced pointedly at her stomach, then at the little girl currently examining my boots.

“Seems appropriate.”

She stared at me.

Then, to my surprise, she laughed.

Not much.

Just a small, breathless sound.

But fuck.

I wanted to hear it again.

“Mommy, he said a bad word.”

The woman closed her eyes.

“Of course he did.”

I looked down at the kid.

“Don’t repeat it.”

She considered me for a moment.

“Okay.”

Easy enough.

Then she pointed at my cut.

“Are you a pirate?”

I froze.

The woman made a strangled noise.

I looked at her.

She was biting her lip.

Hard.

“Do I look like a pirate, little bit?”

The girl nodded enthusiastically.

“You got a skull!”

I glanced down at the Reaper’s Creed patch.

Well.

Couldn’t argue with that logic.

“Guess I do.”

“Do you have a boat?”

“Nope.”

“Then you’re not a pirate.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

Her mother lost it.

She laughed so hard she had to brace a hand against the checkout counter.

And I stood there like a complete fucking idiot, grinning at a woman whose name I didn’t even know.

Jesus.

Ghost would never let me live this down.

By the time we made it outside, the sky had turned the ugly gray that usually meant rain was coming.

The parking lot looked like somebody had dropped a handful of asphalt into a field and called it a day.

Potholes everywhere.

Half the lights didn’t work.

And there were three teenagers hanging around the far end of the building who looked like they were searching for trouble.

I didn’t like it.

Didn’t like the fact that this little woman was hauling groceries through a parking lot that looked like a crime scene waiting to happen.

And I especially didn’t like the way she kept looking over her shoulder.

I should’ve gone to my bike.

Should’ve minded my own business.

Instead, I found myself following a few steps behind her.

“Listen,” she said without turning around, “I appreciate the help, but you really don’t need to follow me.”

“Wasn’t aware I needed permission to walk through a parking lot.”

She stopped.

Turned.

And glared.

Christ, she was cute when she was pissed.

“Do you always have to be a smartass?”

“Pretty much.”

“Wonderful.”

The little girl giggled.

“I like him, Mama.”

“Of course you do.”

I smirked.

“Kid’s got excellent taste.”

The woman rolled her eyes and turned back toward her car.

An old sedan.

Rust along the wheel wells.

A cracked taillight.

And—

“You’ve got a flat.”

She stopped.

Slowly turned toward me.

“What?”

I nodded toward the rear passenger tire.

“Flat. Completely.”

She stared at it.

Then tipped her head back toward the sky.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

I waited.

She didn’t move.

Just stood there with her hands on her hips, her swollen belly pushing against the front of her sweatshirt.

Then she laughed.

Not the pretty laugh from inside.

This one sounded a little unhinged.

“Perfect. Absolutely freaking perfect.”

“Mama?” the little girl asked.

“It’s okay, baby.”

“It doesn’t look okay.”

“No, sweetheart. It really doesn’t.”

I stepped closer.

“Got a spare?”

She looked at me.

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna change your tire.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t ask if I had to.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I can call someone.”

“Go ahead.”

She hesitated.

And there it was again.

That look.

The one that said she didn’t have anyone to call.

I softened my voice.

“Look, sweetheart. It’s getting dark. Your little girl’s tired, you’re pregnant as hell, and you’ve got a tire that’s flatter than my prospect’s last brain scan. Let me change the damn thing.”

Her lips twitched.

“Your prospect’s what?”

“Long story.”

She looked between me and the tire.

Then down at her daughter.

Finally, she sighed.

“Fine.”

“Good girl.”

Her head snapped up.

“Excuse me?”

Oh, fuck.

That came out before I could stop it.

I grinned.

“Nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

She opened the trunk.

And I got to work.

Twenty minutes later, I was tightening the last lug nut when the little girl appeared beside me.

She’d been sitting in the backseat, but apparently she’d decided supervising was more entertaining.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Fixing your mama’s tire.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s flat.”

“Why?”

“Because something probably poked a hole in it.”

“Why?”

I stopped.

Looked at her.

She looked right back.

Big green eyes.

Freckles.

A face full of innocent curiosity.

“Kid, you always ask this many questions?”

“Yep.”

“Thought so.”

She smiled.

Then reached out and touched one of the tattoos on my forearm.

“Does that hurt?”

“Did when I got it.”

“Why’d you get it?”

“Because I wanted it.”

“Why?”

I heard her mother snort behind me.

I turned my head.

She was leaning against the car, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely.”

“Your kid’s interrogating me.”

“She does that.”

“Starting to think she’d make a better cop than half the assholes I’ve met.”

That earned me another laugh.

I stood, wiping my hands on a rag.

“Alright. You’re good to go.”

She looked at the spare.

“Thank you.”

This time, she sounded like she meant it.

I nodded.

“It’s a donut, so don’t go driving all over creation. Get a proper tire as soon as you can.”

Her face fell slightly.

I noticed.

Of course I fucking noticed.

Money.

That was the problem.

I could practically see her calculating how much a new tire would cost and what she’d have to give up to afford it.

I knew that look.

I’d worn it myself once.

Long before the club.

Long before the money.

Before I became the man standing in front of her.

“You got a name, sweetheart?”

She hesitated.

“Ava.”

“Ava,” I repeated.

Pretty name.

Fit her.

“And you?” she asked.

“Reaper.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Your mother actually named you Reaper?”

I chuckled.

“Jaxon. Jaxon Kane.”

She studied me.

“Jaxon,” she repeated softly.

Fuck.

I liked the way that sounded coming out of her mouth.

“Most people call me Reaper.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

“No, sweetheart. You’re definitely not.”

Something passed between us.

A flicker.

A moment.

Then she looked away.

“I’m Luna!” the little girl announced.

I looked down.

“Well, hello, Luna.”

She smiled.

“Are you coming to our house?”

Ava nearly choked.

“Luna!”

“What?”

“We don’t invite strangers to our house!”

Luna frowned.

“He’s not a stranger.”

Her mother stared.

“Baby, we just met him.”

Luna pointed at me.

“His name’s Daddy Pirate.”

I lost it.

Actually fucking laughed.

Ava covered her face.

“Oh my God.”

I crouched in front of the kid.

“Tell you what, little bit. How about you call me Reaper?”

She considered that.

Then nodded.

“Okay, Daddy Reaper.”

I stopped laughing.

Ava went completely still.

And the little girl just smiled at me like she’d settled something important.

Well.

Shit.

I followed them home.

Not because Ava asked me to.

Because the moment she started that old car, the engine made a noise that had no business coming out of anything still legally allowed on the road.

I’d told her I wanted to make sure she got there.

She’d argued.

Naturally.

Then she’d finally agreed.

The apartment complex was less than ten minutes from the clubhouse.

I knew the area.

Didn’t like it.

Not one fucking bit.

Broken security lights.

A busted chain-link fence.

A couple of guys smoking near the back stairs.

And a parking lot that looked even worse than the grocery store’s.

I parked my bike beside her sedan and shut off the engine.

Ava climbed out slowly.

I watched her brace a hand against her lower back.

“How far along are you?”

She glanced over.

“Thirty-six weeks.”

Jesus Christ.

“Four weeks left?”

“Give or take.”

“Girl or boy?”

She hesitated.

“Boy.”

I nodded.

A little boy.

Something strange tightened in my chest.

“Got a name picked out?”

Her hand moved over her belly.

“Maybe.”

That was all she offered.

I didn’t push.

Instead, I grabbed the grocery bags from the trunk.

“Which apartment?”

She sighed.

“Jaxon.”

“That’s me.”

“You’ve already done enough.”

“Probably.”

“Then why are you still helping?”

I looked at her.

Really looked at her.

The exhaustion.

The bruised shadows beneath her eyes.

The way her hand trembled slightly when she adjusted the strap of her purse.

And then I saw it.

A faded bruise near her wrist.

Half-hidden beneath the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

My jaw tightened.

Someone had put their hands on her.

I knew what that kind of bruise looked like.

I’d seen enough of them.

Hell, I’d caused enough damage in my life to recognize it.

But I wasn’t stupid.

She was already skittish.

Pushing her now would send her running.

So I simply shrugged.

“Because I can.”

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then nodded toward the building.

“Ground floor. Apartment six.”

“Lead the way, mama.”

Her apartment was small.

Really fucking small.

A living room that opened into a tiny kitchen, a short hallway, and furniture that looked like it had been purchased secondhand.

But it was clean.

Spotless, actually.

A faded blanket was folded neatly over the back of the couch. Children’s drawings covered the refrigerator. A basket of toys sat in the corner beside a small television.

There were little touches everywhere.

A candle on the counter.

A crocheted blanket draped over an armchair.

A jar filled with cheap plastic flowers.

She’d done her best to make the place a home.

And for some reason, that hit me harder than the broken furniture or peeling paint.

I set the groceries on the table.

“There you go.”

“Thank you.”

I nodded and turned toward the door.

I should’ve left.

Really should’ve.

Then Luna climbed onto one of the kitchen chairs.

“Daddy Reaper?”

I stopped.

Closed my eyes.

Christ.

“Yeah, little bit?”

“Are you hungry?”

I turned around.

She looked at me seriously.

“Mama makes good meatloaf.”

Ava appeared from the hallway.

“Luna, sweetheart, leave the man alone.”

“But he’s hungry.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Am I?”

Luna nodded.

“Yep.”

“Well, shit. Guess I am.”

“Jaxon!”

I grinned at Ava.

“What?”

“Language!”

“Sorry, mama.”

She gave me a look that would’ve sent a lesser man running.

I liked it.

Probably more than I should’ve.

Then Luna announced, very matter-of-factly, “He’s my daddy now.”

Silence.

Absolute fucking silence.

Ava froze beside the kitchen counter.

I stared at the kid.

The kid stared back.

Then she smiled.

Like she’d just told us the sky was blue.

I cleared my throat.

“Come again?”

She sighed dramatically.

The kind of sigh only a four-year-old could manage.

“I said you’re my daddy.”

Ava pressed her fingers against her forehead.

“Luna Marie—”

“What?” Luna demanded. “He’s nice!”

“Baby, that doesn’t mean—”

“He fixed our tire!”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“And he helped with the groceries!”

“Yes.”

“And he’s big!”

I looked down at myself.

Couldn’t argue there.

Luna continued.

“And he looks scary, so the bad guys won’t come.”

Everything inside me went still.

The bad guys.

Not monsters.

Not imaginary creatures hiding beneath her bed.

Bad guys.

Plural.

I slowly crouched beside her chair.

“Little bit?”

She looked at me.

“Yeah?”

“What bad guys?”

Her smile disappeared.

Just for a second.

But I saw it.

So did Ava.

“Luna,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you go get your coloring book?”

The little girl looked between us.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

She slid off the chair and disappeared toward the living room.

I stood.

Ava wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Ava.”

“Don’t.”

One word.

Barely a whisper.

I watched her pull a pot from the cabinet.

“Please,” she added.

Fuck.

Whatever had happened to this woman, it was bad.

Bad enough that her four-year-old knew about it.

I wanted answers.

Wanted names.

Wanted to find the bastard responsible and introduce him to a side of me that rarely saw daylight.

But Ava’s hands were shaking.

And I wasn’t about to become another man she had to fear.

So I leaned against the counter.

“Alright.”

She looked at me.

Surprised.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. Alright.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then I nodded toward the potatoes on the counter.

“You making mashed potatoes?”

She blinked.

“What?”

“Potatoes. You making mashed potatoes with that meatloaf?”

She stared.

Then let out a startled laugh.

“Yes.”

“Good. Hate that boxed shit.”

“Of course you do.”

I shrugged.

“Man’s gotta have standards.”

She shook her head.

But she was smiling.

And I counted that as a win.

Twenty minutes later, I found myself sitting at a tiny kitchen table while a four-year-old explained the rules of being her daddy.

Apparently, there were a lot.

“You gotta make pancakes.”

“Do I?”

“Yep. On Saturdays.”

“Every Saturday?”

She nodded.

“With chocolate chips.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Ava snorted from the stove.

Luna ignored us.

“And you gotta tuck me in.”

“Alright.”

“And you gotta read stories.”

“Can do.”

“And you gotta give Mama hugs.”

That one caught me off guard.

I glanced toward Ava.

She’d gone very still.

Luna continued, completely oblivious.

“Because sometimes she cries.”

The room changed.

Not visibly.

Nothing moved.

But the air seemed to grow heavier.

Ava turned toward the sink.

I watched her shoulders tighten.

Luna swung her feet beneath the chair.

“Sometimes at night. But she says she’s okay.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I looked at the little girl.

Four years old.

And already worried about her mama.

Something ugly twisted inside my chest.

I reached across the table and tapped her coloring book.

“Hey, little bit.”

She looked up.

“Yeah?”

“Your mama takes pretty good care of you, huh?”

She nodded enthusiastically.

“She’s the bestest!”

I smiled.

“Thought so.”

Then I lowered my voice.

“Maybe somebody oughta take care of her sometimes, too.”

Luna’s face lit up.

“YOU!”

Ava made a choking sound.

I grinned.

“Kid, you’re gonna get me in trouble.”

She giggled.

“Daddy Reaper’s in trouble!”

“Apparently.”

Ava turned around, wooden spoon in hand.

“Would you two stop conspiring against me?”

I leaned back in my chair.

“Can’t help it, mama. Your kid’s persuasive.”

“She gets that from me.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

Our eyes met.

Held.

And for the first time since I’d walked into that shitty grocery store, Ava didn’t immediately look away.

There was something there.

Something cautious.

Something warm.

And beneath it, a whole lot of fear.

I wanted to know what put it there.

But more than that, I wanted to see what she looked like without it.

Dinner was better than anything I’d eaten in weeks.

Homemade meatloaf.

Mashed potatoes.

Green beans.

Nothing fancy.

But good.

The kind of food that made a man remember what a home was supposed to feel like.

Luna spent most of the meal talking.

About preschool.

Her friend Sophie.

A boy named Mason who apparently ate glue.

And a teacher who’d told her she couldn’t marry a dinosaur.

“That’s discrimination,” I told her solemnly.

Ava nearly spit out her water.

“Jaxon!”

“What? Kid should be able to marry whoever she wants.”

“Not a dinosaur!”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re extinct!”

I looked at Luna.

“Your mama makes a solid point.”

Luna sighed.

“Fine. I’ll marry you instead.”

I choked on my potatoes.

Ava burst out laughing.

And for a few minutes, the three of us sat around that little table laughing like we’d known each other for years.

It was strange.

Unfamiliar.

And a hell of a lot more comfortable than it had any right to be.

Eventually, Luna climbed down from her chair and wandered into the living room with her dolls.

Ava began gathering the dishes.

I stood to help.

“You don’t have to do that,” she said.

“Starting to think that’s your favorite sentence.”

She smiled faintly.

“Maybe because people don’t usually offer.”

I stopped.

Looked at her.

She kept her eyes on the dishes.

“People should.”

She shrugged.

“People do a lot of things they shouldn’t.”

I didn’t miss the bitterness in her voice.

Or the way she immediately regretted saying it.

I took the plates from her hands.

“Go sit down.”

“Jaxon—”

“Ava.”

She looked up.

I softened my voice.

“Let me wash the damn dishes.”

She stared at me for a moment.

Then laughed under her breath.

“You’re bossy.”

“Been told.”

“Probably because you are.”

“Probably.”

She stepped aside.

But instead of sitting down, she leaned against the counter beside me.

Close enough that I caught the faint scent of vanilla and something sweet.

Christ.

She smelled good.

I kept my hands in the sink.

Probably safer that way.

“So,” she said after a moment, “what exactly do you do, Jaxon?”

I glanced at her.

“Run a business.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“A business?”

“Couple of them.”

“Legal businesses?”

I smirked.

“Some.”

She stared.

Then shook her head.

“At least you’re honest.”

“Didn’t say I was a saint, sweetheart.”

“No,” she murmured, looking at the leather cut I’d draped over the back of the chair. “I didn’t figure you were.”

I rinsed a plate.

“Does that bother you?”

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she looked at me.

“Should it?”

I considered lying.

Telling her I was harmless.

That the skull on my back was just decoration.

That the men who called me President were nothing more than a group of motorcycle enthusiasts who enjoyed charity rides and weekend barbecues.

But she deserved better than bullshit.

“Probably.”

She studied me.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

I frowned.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

She shrugged.

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me and Luna tonight. I’m not stupid, Jaxon. I know what that vest means.”

“Cut.”

“What?”

“It’s called a cut.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Fine. Your cut.”

I grinned.

“Better.”

She nudged my arm.

“Smartass.”

I laughed.

And she smiled.

A real smile this time.

Soft.

Pretty.

Dangerous as hell.

I wanted to kiss her.

The thought came out of nowhere.

One second I was washing dishes.

The next, I was wondering what those soft pink lips would feel like against mine.

I looked away.

Jesus Christ, Kane.

Get your shit together.

The woman was pregnant, exhausted, and had known me for a grand total of a few hours.

The last thing she needed was some overgrown biker making things complicated.

Still, when her arm brushed mine, I felt it all the way down to my fucking boots.

By the time the kitchen was clean, Luna had fallen asleep on the couch.

One little hand was wrapped around her stuffed bunny.

The other rested against her cheek.

Ava sighed when she saw her.

“She’s going to be a bear to get into bed.”

I glanced at the hallway.

“Which room?”

She looked at me.

“What?”

“Which room’s hers?”

“The first one, but—”

I was already moving.

Luna barely stirred when I scooped her up.

She weighed next to nothing.

Her little head settled against my shoulder, red curls tickling my neck.

Then she mumbled something.

I stopped.

“What was that, little bit?”

Her fingers curled into my shirt.

“Night, Daddy.”

Fuck.

Two words.

That’s all it took.

Two little words, and something in my chest cracked wide open.

I stood there for a second longer than necessary.

Then I carried her down the hallway.

Her bedroom was small.

A twin bed pushed against one wall.

A cheap dresser.

A nightlight shaped like a moon.

And a ridiculous number of stuffed animals.

I carefully laid her down.

Pulled the blanket over her.

Then stood there looking at her.

I didn’t know shit about being a father.

Didn’t know how to braid hair or pack school lunches.

Didn’t know what cartoons kids watched or how to handle nightmares.

Hell, I barely knew what to do with a four-year-old who’d decided I belonged to her.

But when she reached for my hand in her sleep, I gave it to her.

And when she whispered, “No take-backs,” I felt something settle deep in my chest.

I crouched beside the bed.

“Go to sleep, little bit.”

Her fingers loosened.

I waited until her breathing evened out before gently pulling my hand free.

Ava was standing in the doorway when I turned around.

She was watching me.

Her eyes looked suspiciously bright.

“You okay, mama?”

She nodded quickly.

“Yeah.”

I didn’t believe her.

But I let it go.

She stepped aside so I could pass.

As I moved into the hallway, she caught my arm.

“Jaxon?”

I looked down.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She glanced toward Luna’s room.

“For not laughing at her.”

My chest tightened.

“Ava—”

“I know she’s little. And I know she doesn’t understand what she’s asking.” Her voice trembled slightly. “But she doesn’t have anyone like that. She never has.”

I watched her struggle to find the words.

“She gets attached easily,” Ava whispered. “And I just... I don’t want her hurt.”

There it was.

The warning.

Not for herself.

For her daughter.

I stepped closer, careful not to crowd her.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

She hesitated.

Then lifted those green eyes.

“I ain’t gonna make promises I can’t keep.”

Her lips parted.

“But I’m not gonna make a joke out of that little girl’s feelings, either.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

She wiped it away quickly.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She gave a shaky laugh.

“Pregnancy hormones.”

“Sure.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t start.”

I grinned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She shook her head.

Then rested a hand against her belly.

A small wince crossed her face.

I noticed immediately.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. He’s just stretching.”

I glanced at her stomach.

“Little guy giving you hell?”

“Constantly.”

“Sounds like his sister.”

She laughed softly.

“God help me if he’s anything like Luna.”

I smiled.

But my eyes dropped to the bruise near her wrist again.

I hadn’t forgotten.

Not for a second.

And I had a feeling whatever put it there wasn’t finished with her.

Not yet.

I finally grabbed my cut from the kitchen chair.

Ava walked me to the door.

The apartment was quiet now.

Luna was asleep.

The dishes were done.

And outside, rain had started tapping against the windows.

I shrugged into my leather.

Ava leaned against the doorframe.

“So, Reaper.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Reaper now?”

She smiled.

“Figured I should probably learn what to call you.”

“Jaxon works.”

She nodded.

“Jaxon.”

I liked that.

Too fucking much.

She hesitated.

Then asked, “Are you always this nice to strangers?”

I laughed.

“Hell no.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“No?”

“Sweetheart, ask anybody who knows me. They’ll tell you I’m a miserable bastard.”

She giggled.

“I can believe that.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

We stood there looking at each other.

Neither of us moving.

Neither of us quite ready to end the conversation.

Then I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

“Give me your number.”

She blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Your number, mama.”

“Why?”

I nodded toward the window.

“Because that tire’s temporary, your car sounds like it’s running on hopes and prayers, and you’re thirty-six weeks pregnant.”

She crossed her arms.

“You always this demanding?”

“Pretty much.”

“And what makes you think I want to give you my number?”

I grinned.

“Because you like me.”

She gasped.

“I do not!”

“Sure you don’t.”

“You’re incredibly arrogant.”

“Been told that, too.”

She stared at me.

Then held out her hand.

“Give me your phone.”

I handed it over.

She typed something.

A moment later, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.

“There,” she said. “Now you have it.”

I glanced at the screen.

Ava.

Just Ava.

I saved it.

Then sent her a text.

Her phone buzzed again.

She picked it up.

Read the message.

And laughed.

Daddy Pirate: Don’t forget about that tire, Mama Bear.

She looked up at me.

“Daddy Pirate?”

I shrugged.

“Kid named me.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Been told.”

She shook her head, still smiling.

I stepped into the hallway.

“Lock up behind me.”

Her smile faded slightly.

“I always do.”

Something about the way she said it made my jaw tighten.

I nodded.

“Goodnight, Ava.”

“Goodnight, Jaxon.”

I waited until I heard the deadbolt slide into place.

Then I walked toward my bike.

The rain had picked up.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the time.

Nearly ten.

Ghost was probably still at the clubhouse, drinking my whiskey and wondering where the hell I’d disappeared to.

I was about to call him when my phone vibrated.

A text.

From Ava.

Ava: Luna wanted me to tell you she forgot to ask if you like dinosaurs.

I laughed.

Actually laughed out loud in the middle of that shitty apartment parking lot.

Me: Tell her I think they’re badass.

Three little dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Ava: You’re really going to encourage her, aren’t you?

Me: Every chance I get.

A moment passed.

Then another message came through.

Ava: Thank you for tonight. Really.

I stared at the screen.

There were a dozen things I could’ve said.

Instead, I typed the only one that felt right.

Me: Get some rest, Mama Bear.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and swung a leg over my bike.

Across the parking lot, one of the men near the back stairs was watching Ava’s building.

I noticed him immediately.

Dark hoodie.

Cigarette hanging from his mouth.

His gaze fixed on the ground-floor apartments.

When he realized I was looking at him, he turned away.

Interesting.

I started my engine.

The familiar rumble vibrated through my chest.

For a moment, I considered walking over and asking the asshole what he was staring at.

But I didn’t.

Not tonight.

I had enough questions already.

And something told me Ava Sinclair had a whole hell of a lot of answers she wasn’t ready to give.

I pulled out of the parking lot, taking one last look at apartment six.

The kitchen light was still on.

I wondered if she was making herself tea.

Or checking on Luna.

Or sitting alone on that worn-out couch, worrying about whatever had put those bruises on her skin.

My phone buzzed again at the first stoplight.

Ava: Goodnight, Daddy Pirate. Luna made me send that.

I grinned down at the screen.

Then the light turned green, and I tucked the phone away.

I had a clubhouse full of impatient brothers waiting for me, a shipment that needed sorting out, and a VP who was going to have a fucking field day when he heard about my evening.

And somewhere behind me, in a little apartment with a broken fence and shitty security lights, was a redheaded woman I couldn’t get out of my head.

I twisted the throttle and headed toward the clubhouse.

Ghost was definitely going to need a drink for this conversation.

Probably two.