Page 46 of Reckless: Chaos

“It’s yellow.”

“Cyber yellow.” The correction comes with far too much pride. “Picked the color just for you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re way too amused by this.”

“Thoroughly.”

“You got me a bike named after yourself?” The realization hits and I can’t help but laugh. “That’s either the most alpha thing I’ve ever seen or the most ridiculous.”

“Both.” He hands me the keys, lips twitching. “Impossible to tip over, perfect for beginners, but still has enough power to get your panties wet.”

Desire coils low in my belly at his tone. “Baby, my panties have been wet since you rolled up that driveway in all that leather.”

His nostrils flare, pupils dilating behind those damn sunglasses. But instead of rising to my bait, he clears his throat and gestures to the bike. “Reinforced wheels for off-road capability.”

“Like that,” I mutter, straddling the seat and trying to figure out which part makes it go vroom. How many degrees did I get? And I can’t figure out a glorified tricycle?

With a sigh that suggests infinite patience he doesn’t actually possess, he reaches around me to show me the ignition. His chest presses against my back as he starts explaining something probably very important about handling and safety protocols.

Shame I can’t hear a word over the delicious rumble of the engine.

So when I accidentally-on-purpose hit the gas and take off toward the back of the property, I’m only mildly surprised. The snort-giggle-scream that bursts from my lungs is pure joy as wind whips through my hair.

Trial by fire, baby.

The vibration only mildly disturbs my shoulder as I open it up on the back stretch of their property. Sure, gripping thehandlebars isn’t exactly what my doctor would recommend, but the rush of speed and freedom is better than any painkiller.

Trees blur past as I get a feel for the controls. It’s different from anything I’ve driven before—more stable than a regular motorcycle but somehow more responsive. Like it’s reading my mind, anticipating each turn before I make it.

Okay, so maybe Ryker was onto something with this choice.

Not that I’ll tell him that.

I circle back, not because I’m sore—I am—or because my shoulder is screaming—it definitely is—but because I’m hungry. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I find him exactly where I left him, lounging against his Harley with those arms crossed over his chest like some leather-clad wet dream. I try not to stare at the way his thighs stretch his jeans as he uncrosses his ankles.

I fail spectacularly.

My attempt at a smooth stop turns into more of a jerky lurch. Ryker’s there instantly, plucking the keys from my hands like I’m a teenager who just failed her driving test.

“Feel better?” He mouths the words over the dying engine, and I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or genuinely asking.

“Duh.” I straighten up, rolling my shoulder to assess the damage. The movement pulls uncomfortably, but it’s worth it for those precious minutes of freedom.

“Sore?” His eyes narrow behind those ridiculous sunglasses.

“Nope.” We both know it’s a lie, but there’s something satisfying about watching his jaw clench at my stubbornness. “Hungry.”

“Come on. Theo’s been practicing cooking.” He shakes his head, something fond creeping into his expression. “He’s more omega with you around.”

“I happen to love his cooking.” I swing my leg over the bike with significantly less grace than his earlier dismount. “His burnt food is purposeful.”

A sharp ring cuts through our banter, and something in Ryker’s posture changes instantly. It’s subtle—a slight squaring of his shoulders, a tightening around his mouth—but it raises every hacker instinct I possess.

“I have to take this.” He’s already turning away, voice dropping into that alpha-command tone. “Head in.”

“Locke,” he answers as he walks off.

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