Page 52 of Never Distract a Biker

“Viktor, please fuck me.” She pleads with a voice I can barely recognize. So I introduce a second finger and start pumping in and out, gradually increasing my speed.

Scarlett’s breath comes in shallow gasps as my hands explore her, her body yielding to me in ways that leave no room fordoubt. The tension that’s been building between us for weeks erupts, her moans soft but urgent, her movements deliberate.

I take my time, savoring every reaction, every sound. She’s intoxicating, and for a moment, all the chaos and danger of our world fade away, replaced by the sheer intensity of this connection.

When she comes beneath my touch, her breath hitching, her body trembling, I can’t look away. She slumps against the chair, trying to catch her breath as her gaze meets my eyes. It’s a moment that’s both raw and profound, and I know I’ll kill any man who would so much as think of seeing her like this.

“You’re mine,” I repeat, my voice low and possessive. The words come unbidden but feel undeniably true. “You and the twins—you belong to me.”

Scarlett’s eyes widen, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words come. The weight of my declaration hangs in the air, undeniable and inescapable.

She looks away, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “You can’t just claim me, Viktor,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

“Watch me,” I reply, leaning back in my seat but keeping my gaze fixed on her. “This isn’t up for debate,moya koroleva.”

“What does that even mean?”

“My queen.”

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with tension and unspoken words. As I start the car and pull back onto the road, I glance at her, noting the conflict in her expression. She may not agree with me now, but she will.

For now, we drive in silence, the unspoken promise of what’s to come lingering between us.

23

Viktor

Later that evening, my screen lights up with Zasha's name, and a flicker of anticipation courses through me. I swipe to read his message; the words clear and concise: "We have him." A surge of satisfaction swells in my chest—it's about time. My fingers fly over the phone, replying with two simple commands: "Location. Now."

As I push away from the heavy oak desk, determination hardens my resolve. This is it, the key to unlocking the mystery tangled around that stripper who dances with secrets in her eyes, secrets tied to the Bratva ... to my father's cold-blooded murder. Tonight, the truth will bleed free, and I will be the one to draw it out, drop by precious drop.

I stride through the corridors of my estate, the echo of my footsteps reminding me of the path I've walked—a path stainedwith blood and power. The weight of the family ring on my finger is a constant reminder of the legacy I uphold.

Exiting the mansion, the cool New York air greets me. My breath plumes in the night as I settle into the backseat of the waiting car. Lev, silent as always, slips into the driver's seat, and we glide away from the sanctity of Holly Village into the heart of Blackstone.

Streetlights streak by, casting shadows that flit across my face. I'm a specter in this city, a ghost returned from the dead to claim his throne. Yet, tonight, the city feels more like a chessboard, and I'm poised to take down an unsuspecting king.

Images of my father flash before me, his life snuffed out too soon, leaving a void no amount of vengeance can fill. But someone will pay; the strip club manager's capture is a domino set to topple an empire of lies.

"Thinking of the next move?" Lev's voice cuts through the silence, showing how well he knows me.

"Always," I reply, my gaze fixed on the darkened streets. "I have stayed alive all these years by being a dozen steps ahead. And New York is my turf, so I have no excuse for not fishing out the motherfucker."

Lev nods understanding without the need for further words. We've both shed our pasts, but the scars remain, etched deep within our skin.

The car slows as the factory district begins to materialize. Grimy buildings standing as sentinels to our grim work come into focus. This is where the truth will be spilled under harsh lights and harder fists.

"Ready?" Lev asks as we draw near.

"Of course."

I am more than ready for my own kind of justice, for revenge, for the fragile hope of peace in a world that knows none. I am always ready.

The car door closes behind me with a definitive thud, the sound swallowed by the thick air of the industrial district. My footsteps echo against the concrete as I approach the nondescript warehouse that serves as tonight's stage for retribution.

Inside, the atmosphere crackles with silent tension, the air almost shimmering with it. Harsh lighting bears down from above, throwing stark shadows across the concrete floor, creating pockets of darkness where none should exist. This is no place for mercy; it's an arena where secrets are dragged into the unforgiving light.

I push open the heavy metal door, stepping into the room where the manager is held. My entrance is silent but palpable; the shift in the air announces my presence before my shadow falls upon him. The manager—a wiry man with eyes like a cornered rat—sits cuffed to a chair, his chest rising and falling quickly.

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