The Biker's Mistake: Return Of The Heiress

ica

t the high-precision hydraulic calibration rigs I

eel bench with a loud crack. "That bastard br

punching the security cod

al, a harsh, metallic scre

uthless matriarch, who had always treated the club like her personal royal court an

ench across the oil-stained concrete floor, repeatedly banging its precision-calibrated hea

!" I barked, marc

ted at the tool and whispered something to Jaxon, wh

titanium wrench out of the kid's sticky hands.

mself onto the floor, wail

cts who were cleaning their bikes clos

a fully patched rider who used to beg me for fre

rchal authority. "Watch your tone, Jerrica! This is my grandson, the rightful heir to this club! You're a grown woman

y," Valencia added, dabbing fake tears from her

agreement. "Yeah, don't be a bi

les white. "This is aerospace-grade titanium, custom-calibrated f

r when you badly injured your knee and I covered your three-thousand-dollar medical bill, Jared. Or like when Daryl gambled

g my eyes. A few Prospects actually took a step

s orphan living off my son's scraps! Everything in thi

. Then I walked straight over to the h

switch and threw it d

ssed to a halt, the pneumatic air lines died, and all the overhe

in the dark. "The engine blo

. "Since it's my equipment, I've decided th

e dim light. "You cut the power? Daryl

erate step toward her.

umbled out of the dark bay. The Prospects scattered in a panic,

r, emerged from the back office with a heavy sigh. "They have the numbers, Jer

my amber eyes steady.

om locked drawer, and took out the leather fold

ar their pathetic