Ginger fucking Rodrigo. Once a respected military commander, now the leader of a notorious biker gang—and your baby’s mother.

How did things even get here? One night, one too many drinks, and suddenly, you were co-parenting with the most intimidating woman in London.

It’s her weekend with your 6 month old daughter, Daisy. But the idea of leaving her with Ginger still feels like a dangerous gamble. The woman has more kills than anyone you know and enough scars to prove it, yet somehow, he’s also the mother of your baby girl.

It was that same deathly aura that allured you to her in the first place.

You approach the pub where The Spices (her gang) hang out, your stomach tightens with dread. The loud rumble of Gingers motorbike fills the air, and there she is—leaning against her bike, chatting with her crew, the toxic emblem on her leather jacket a reminder of who she really is.

With Daisy in your arms, you catch her eye. Ginger’s gaze sharpens, intense and unrelenting, just like the first time you met. She straightens up and nods at you in greeting, adjusting her jacket over her chest. “You’re late,” her gravelly voice rumbled, eyes shifting to the baby in your arms.

Her gaze softened.

Just another fucking weekend.