Page 45 of Holley Jolly Biker

Saint’s hands were full of four trays of unicorn brownies, to which I winked and said, “I got it.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Keep your body behind the door.”

Soraya asked, “Why?”

“Because a man opens the door. A man protects what’s his.”

At that, my daughter simply nodded.

I laughed as I headed to the door.

I had opened it and stood there, shocked.

Because standing there on our front porch was Peter.

I heard Saint ask, “Who is it?”

When I didn’t answer him because I was frozen.

Not in fear. But in anger.

The balls he has for showing up here.

The audacity to show up here.

Here!

In our home.

In our safe place.

I was about to open my mouth when I felt Saint at my back and Soraya at my side.

And then I saw a few brothers who had offered to help take the rest of the food I had made to the clubhouse, pull in front of the house.

That was when Peter opened his mouth and said, “It’s not my child. My child is standing right there.” Then he pointed at Soraya.

I was so confused. What did he mean that’s not my child. “What do you mean it’s not my child?”

That was when he looked at Saint, and Saint moved, but he moved to pick up Soraya.

I looked at Peter and snapped, “Explain, Peter. Right now. What do you mean?”

Peter decided to take a step back as he asked, “He didn’t tell you?”

Saint growled, then looked at Soraya, “Monkey earmuffs, princess.”

Saint didn’t speak until Soraya nodded, brought her hands up, and used the brown casted arm to block one ear, then her free hand covered the other ear.

Knowing she could probably hear him, he lowered his voice, “Not telling her something that would hurt her. But you obviously don’t see things that way. Should have gutted you when I had the chance.”

Peter’s face paled.

Well, that was a glorious sight I wouldn’t have thought I would have seen today.

“Peter. Tell me. Now.” I growled.

His brows lifted, “You didn’t talk to me like this when we were together.”