The Biker's Mistake: Return Of The Heiress

Jerrica POV:

Four years ago, the Schwartz Motorcycle Club was nothing but a dozen broke riders on rusting bikes, fighting for scraps in the dirt. I spent four whole years building the Schwarz Motorcycle Club, pouring my family trust fund into it bit by bit. I bought them the best hydraulic lifts, imported military-spec engine parts, and funded Daryl's rise from a low-level street thug to a feared 1%er President.

Today, my President finally returned from his cross-state run-helping a blonde Club Princess and his four-year-old secret son off the back of his Harley.

The heavy wrench slipped from my callused fingers, hitting the grease-stained concrete with a deafening clang.

My boots froze in the blazing California dirt. All the air vanished from my lungs, leaving a sharp, burning ache in my chest as I stared at the boy's light-gray eyes-the exact same shade as Daryl's.

A four-year-old child.

Every Prospect in the yard stopped what they were doing. They didn't look surprised. They all dropped their eyes to the ground, no one daring to meet my gaze. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer-every single rider in this compound had known. I was the only fool in the dark.

Daryl strode up to me, the President's Cut stretching across his broad shoulders. His voice was flat and unapologetic. "Jerrica, this is Valencia. And my son, Jaxon."

He didn't even flinch. He had kept another woman hidden across the state line for four full years.

"What is this, Daryl?" My voice was deadly calm, though my fingernails dug so hard into my palms they almost broke the skin.

"She gave me an heir," Daryl said coldly. "From today on, she is the official Old Lady of this chapter. The First Lady of the Schwartz MC."

Valencia stepped closer, pressing her chest against Daryl's arm. She looked me up and down with sheer contempt.

"Daryl, honey, is this the charity orphan you keep around to change your oil?" Valencia sneered, her voice carrying across the silent yard. "Garage girls should know the rules when they see the official Old Lady. Bow your head when you speak to me."

I completely ignored her and looked only at Dary.

"You want me to step down?" I looked straight into Daryl's cowardly, arrogant eyes. "After I funded this entire compound? "

Daryl frowned, his tone dripping with fake generosity. "If you keep your head down and tune the bikes in the back, I'll allow you to stay under my roof. My name protects you."

I hurled a greasy rag straight into the oil drum beside his boots. The metal rang with a dull, heavy thud.

"In your dreams, Daryl."

Valencia gasped, pointing a manicured finger at me. "How dare you speak to the President like that! Know your place!"

I turned on my heel toward my million-dollar custom hydraulic tuning rack.

Daryl's heavy hand clamped around my wrist like an iron vise. "Don't push your luck, Jerrica! Without my patch backing you, you wouldn't last three days on this highway!"

I looked down at his grip, my amber eyes turning completely dead. "Let go."

I ripped my arm back, my right hand dropping instinctively toward the push dagger hidden beneath my leather tool belt.

Before anyone could draw, Amaris-my fiercely loyal lead mechanic and the closest thing I had to a sister-marched out from behind the heavy machinery, hauling a three-foot steel pipe wrench over her shoulder, her dark eyes glaring at the riders.

Daryl ground his teeth. He raised a hand, waving his men back.

"You'll regret this, Jerrica," Daryl spat, leading Valencia toward the main clubhouse.

Valencia shot me a victorious sneer over her shoulder. "Have her bay cleaned out by tonight, Daryl. I want to use that space for Jaxon's playroom."

I stood by the lift, my fingers slowly drifting up to touch the worn blue zircon hairclip pinned in my hair. You took my father's money and treated me like a stray dog.

I will drain every drop of blood out of this club before I leave.