All Chapters of Mummy, Please Marry Uncle Biker Daddy: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Cole I lit the cigarette too hard and snapped the filter clean off. “Fuck,” I muttered, staring at it like it had personally betrayed me. I crushed it under my boot and kept walking. I should have been gone already. Back at the clubhouse. Back in noise and engines and men who didn’t ask questions with their eyes. That was the rule. Always had been. Don’t linger. Don’t circle back. Don’t let a woman crawl under your skin and start rearranging shit. I made it three blocks before I turned around. Jesusfuck. I stood there on the sidewalk like a jack-ass, helmet tucked under my arm, chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with exertion. The house was quiet behind me. Lights low. Curtains drawn. Normal. Safe. She was in there. Mara Collins. Tired eyes. Sharp mouth. Hands that shook when she was trying not to let them. I hadn’t meant to touch her. Not tonight. I’d told myself I was just going to make sure she was okay. Make sure nobody followed her home. Make sure E

Mara I slammed the bathroom door harder than I meant to and gripped the sink like it had personally offended me. My reflection looked wrecked. Not crying wrecked. Worse. Awake. Lit up in places that had been dormant for too long. My pulse was still kicking hard in my throat, my skin buzzing like I’d touched a live wire and pretended it was nothing. I turned the tap on just to hear something other than my own breathing. “Jesus fuck!” This was exactly the kind of feeling I’d sworn off. The kind that snuck up on you wearing leather and patience and didn’t ask permission before settling in your chest like it owned the place. Cole should’ve scared me. Men like him were warnings, not possibilities. Loud engines. Sharp edges. Violence stitched into their posture. The kind of men women whispered about and crossed the street to avoid. The kind of men who ruined lives without meaning to. I splashed water on my face and straightened, staring at myself like I was going to gi

Cole I slammed the clubhouse door hard enough to rattle the wall because I needed the noise to drown out my own head. “Jesus!,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders like that might shake her off me. Didn’t work. Jax looked up from the table, beer halfway to his mouth. “You break my door, you fix it.” “I didn’t break shit.” “You scared Rhea,” he said calmly. “That’s worse.” I exhaled through my nose and dragged a hand down my face. “Where is she.” “Kitchen. Making coffee you won’t drink.” I nodded once and kept moving, boots heavy on concrete. The clubhouse smelled like oil, smoke, and old decisions. Home. Safe. Predictable. And lately, it felt too goddamn small. Rhea leaned against the counter when I walked in, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “You look like hell.” “Always do.” She snorted. “You went by her place.” It wasn’t a question. “Yeah.” “You weren’t supposed to.” “I know.” She studied me the same way she always did, like she could see past the leathe

Cole I found Evan’s address I didn’t knock. I kicked the door in because patience is a luxury for good men not for scum like him. The apartment smelled like cheap cologne and bad decisions. Evan stumbled back, eyes wide, beer sloshing onto the carpet like he’d earned it. “What the fuck!” I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall hard enough to make the picture frames rattle. “You don’t talk about my me,” I said. Calm. Deadly. “You don’t threaten a woman you abandoned. And you sure as hell don’t bring a kid into your little midlife bullshit.” He tried to shove me back. Cute. “You’re trespassing,” he spat. “I’ll call the cops.” I laughed. Loud. Mean. “Go ahead. Tell them the guy you ran your mouth about finally showed up.” His face went pale. “Let go of me,” he snapped, trying to puff up. “You don’t scare me.” I leaned in close, slow and deliberate. “That’s because you’re stupid.” I shoved him harder, forearm pressing into his throat just en

Cole The girl climbed into my lap like she’d done it a hundred times before. Too easy. Too practiced. Perfume hit first. Sweet. Cheap. The kind meant to crawl under skin and stay there. Her thigh pressed against mine, warm, deliberate, asking a question she already thought she knew the answer to. I didn’t move. Didn’t put my hands anywhere. Didn’t even look down at her mouth. “You’re tense,” she said, fingers brushing my shoulder like she had permission. “You need to relax.” I caught her wrist mid-slide and held it there. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just enough pressure to make the point clear. “Get off,” I said. She blinked, surprised. Actually surprised. That almost made me laugh. “Wow,” she muttered, pulling back slightly but not leaving my space. “Didn’t take you for the monk type.” “I’m not.” “Then what’s the problem.” The problem had dark hair and tired eyes and a kid who’s starting to like me. And The problem wasn’t sitting on my lap. “Move,”